Page 4 of The Crafting Con

“Anime isn’t cartoons,” I mutter, and Stasia raises a brow. Yeah, kind of walked into that one. I sigh. “Fine. We were nerds. But it doesn’t really matter who he is, because we aren’t even friends anymore.”

Stasia’s fingers drum along the steering wheel. “The name, Ava, or I continue this interrogation over breakfast with Ben and Tyler as witnesses.”

I blanch. “Whatever, it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Lots of people have childhood friends they grow apart from.”

“Spit it out already, Aimes.”

“Fine,” I huff. “It’s Declan Greene. There. Happy now?”

Stasia’s brow furrows in thought, and I can almost see the wheels spinning in that diabolical brain of hers. “Declan Greene…” Her eyes light up when recognition strikes. “Ooh, skinny band boy.” Her lips tilt in a calculating smile, and she glances my way. Are we going too fast for me to safely tuck and roll out of the car? “He’s cute in a band-geek kind of way. Not who I would have pictured you with, but now that I am, I’m kind of digging the vibe.”

“Well, you can go ahead and stop, ’cause Declan and I are not, nor will we ever be, a thing. We’re not even friends anymore.” I made sure of that when I tore out his twelve-year-old heart and stomped all over it. Abandoning him the same way my dad abandoned me. There’s just no coming back from a betrayal like that.

Even if you wanted to.

CHAPTER 2

DECLAN

Nineteen days until OA Con

The most critical event of my years-long propsmithing journey is coming up in less than three weeks, and I am nowhere near ready. A fact that my best friend and cosplay partner, Hiro, has yet to grasp. He’s all, it’s cool, we’ll get it done, while I’m over here burning an ulcer through my stomach lining just thinking about it.

I like to be prepared.

Something I was very much not when I received Grady Wells’s email last night.

An email from the most influential prop-maker in the Pacific Northwest. Nay, the country. No, the world. The man is a legend, and I had the mind-blowing honor of assisting him in a crafting workshop during last year’s OA Con. An honor I was thrilled to accept once again this year, the anticipation of working side by side with said legend buoying my every step. But then came the email:

Hey Declan,

Sorry to drop this on you at the last minute, but I’m double-booked. They need me down in LA the weekend of OA Con. I hate to cancel the workshop when it’s already filled up, so I checked with the convention, and they said it would be okay if you lead the workshop in my place, on the condition that you have at least one other qualified (take that with a grain of salt) person there to assist. All my local contacts are busy that weekend, so you’ll have to get one of your maker buddies to help out.

I know it’s A LOT to ask this close to the con, but I wouldn’t if I didn’t think you were up for the challenge. Side note—I’ve got a big project coming up this summer, very hush-hush commission for a prominent cosplayer, and I could use an extra set of hands if you’re up for a collab. Will touch base after the workshop!

Thanks in advance,

Grady

Collaborating on a massive project with Grady Wells? Heck. Yeah. Anyone would kill for a chance to work with him one-on-one. He’s the ultimate prop mentor. But running a convention-level workshop is no easy task, and if things go badly, I can forget collabing anything. He probably wouldn’t even ask me back as an assistant at next year’s OA Con.

Best not to think about that, though. Gotta stay focused.

“We’re gonna want plenty of extra foam, various thicknesses. And we’ll need enough hot glue guns that no one has to share. Oh, hey, did you ask about X-Acto knives? Is the convention going to let us bring them in, or do they expect us to have people chew through the foam like rats or something?”

I tap a nervous beat with the end of my pencil, running a hand through my mess of dark brown hair while I scan the notes scribbled in my journal. Cafeteria chatter fills the space around me, but I tune it out as I glance over at Hiro, his giant backpack wedged onto the bench between us.

“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Hiro says around a mouthful of ham-and-Swiss sandwich. He swallows. “We haven’t even decided on what prop to make yet.”

“That does seem like a critical first step,” Bailey adds from her place across the table. She leans into Zeke’s side, and he immediately wraps an arm around her, tugging her close before dropping a kiss on the top of her turquoise-streaked hair. Honestly, the two of them are so cute together I could puke.

“Must we endure the endless PDA even at lunch?” I grimace. “People are trying to eat over here, you know.”

Zeke quirks a pierced brow, eyeing the untouched food on my tray.

“I was obviously referring to Hiro,” I grumble, picking at the grilled cheese lying cold and unappealing before me. I seriously need to start packing my own lunches. Although, that would probably require getting up more than fifteen minutes before leaving the house, so scratch that. Cafeteria food it is.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Hiro beams at our friends and lifts a carton of chocolate milk in their direction. “I find your open affection delightfully refreshing.”