Zoe Rosenthal Is Not Lawful Good Read online

  Episode 1: August–September 2018 @ Dragon Con

  Scene 1: Sneaking

  Scene 2: Atlanta

  Scene 3: Bloodygits!

  Scene 4: Sweet

  Scene 5: Season 2, Episode 1

  Scene 6: The Ex-Cheerleader

  Scene 7: A Nice Cold Facecloth

  Scene 8: Before the Parade Passes By

  Scene 9: Fettered

  Episode 2: October 2018 @ NY Comic Con

  Scene 1: The Most Terrifying

  Scene 2: How I Got Hooked

  Scene 3: Lorelei

  Scene 4: Skittish

  Scene 5: Character Alignment

  Scene 6: The NYU Tour

  Scene 7: Love and Robots

  Scene 8: The Princesses

  Scene 9: Ugly Beautiful

  Episode 3: November 2018 @ Weird World

  Scene 1: Enter Josie

  Scene 2: What If

  Scene 3: Cons a Specialty

  Scene 4: To Fight For

  Scene 5: Meanwhile, in Season 2

  Scene 6: Squirrel Girl

  Scene 7: Insta-Heartbreak

  Scene 8: Cards Against Humanity

  Scene 9: Lawful Good Again

  Episode 4: December 2018 @ Bloodygit Video Chat Meeting

  Scene 1: Thrift

  Scene 2: Competition

  Scene 3: The Tangled Web

  Scene 4: Hope

  Scene 5: Capitalism

  Episode 5: January/February 2019 @ Lilithcon

  Scene 1: An Artisanal Con

  Scene 2: AMT!

  Scene 3: Disaster

  Scene 4: Doom River

  Scene 5: From Zoe’s Bullet Journal

  Scene 6: An Organic Compound

  Scene 7: The Panel

  Scene 8: Wentworth’s Revenge

  Episode 6: March 2019 @ Home

  Scene 1: Misery

  Scene 2: Reggae

  Episode 7: April 2019 @ Bean Con

  Scene 1: Not So Lawful Good

  Scene 2: Handmaid at the Con

  Scene 3: Thank You

  Scene 4: Reunion

  Scene 5: Bleeders!

  Scene 6: Season 3

  Scene 7: Wants and Needs

  Episode 8: August 2019 @ Dragon Con

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  As I waited to board my Friday afternoon flight, I got a text from my boyfriend.

  SIMON: Are you feeling better?

  SIMON: I’ll come over when I get off my shift, OK?

  I remained as calm as Captain was when the Bleeder virus—suddenly fully sentient—looked back at her from under the microscope in Episode 2. I knew Simon didn’t suspect me. I might have decided spontaneously to do this, but then I had planned every move. (Planning is my superpower.) Also, I was morally in the clear. I was.

  ME: Don’t come. It’s only a headache.

  ME: I’m going to nap now anyway.

  SIMON: Well, if you’re sure you don’t need me.

  ME: Our state-senator-to-be needs you more. And I have Maggie checking on me later.

  SIMON: OK, good. See you tomorrow! xo

  ME: Absolutely. xo

  I boarded my flight. Calmly!

  This alternate, obsessed, geeked-out, Bleeders-fan version of myself (that I’d only discovered a few weeks ago) was kind of silly. Simon would use a stronger word than silly. Nobody could do blistering, intelligent scorn like Simon, although of course he never directed it at me.

  I made sure of that. I was the perfect girlfriend. As such, I also knew that he needed his focus on bigger and more important things than my tiny personal . . . excursion. My whereabouts for the next twenty-four hours were between me, myself, and (of course) Maggie. And if I regretted that I had to hide from the only Bleeders fan I knew personally, well, that was the price. It was too risky to tell Simon’s younger sister. At fourteen, Josie had no filter between her brain and her mouth.

  I do not take unnecessary risks.

  Usually.

  I found my window seat and stowed my backpack. I listened to the flight attendant’s spiel about seatbelts and exit rows. But I only breathed fully again after Simon sent a funny GIF of some guy getting “back to work.”

  My parents didn’t know what I was up to, either, but I wasn’t worried about them. I might even have told them—if I could have figured out how to instruct them never to mention it to Simon. I couldn’t, but they were off on a romantic end-of-summer Montreal trip anyway. We’d agreed I’d text them only in case of emergency, which this was emphatically not.

  They deserved their time together. They’d been all croissant au chocolat and au revoir and je t’adore before they ran off to the car together. So cute! Maggie had mouthed at me. I’d rolled my eyes, but it’s true, they’re adorable.

  Fun fact: my parents got together in high school, just like Simon and me. It was because of their example that my mental bullet list went something like this:

  The plane took off and my everyday Boston world shrank teeny-tiny and got left behind. I nudged my backpack with the toe of my orange high-top sneaker. I hadn’t brought much, since I’d be back tomorrow morning. My con registration. My season premiere ticket. Change of clothes. Of course my bullet journal.

  Simon and I had a lot to do our senior year to figure out college together. Once this little fandom indulgence was over, I wouldn’t have time to think about Bleeders. After seeing the premiere tonight, I might not even watch the rest of Season 2.

  And I shouldn’t waste this plane time! I pulled out my bullet journal and ultra-fine Sharpie to outline a college application essay. “Describe a problem you’ve solved or a problem you’d like to solve. It can be an intellectual challenge, a research query, an ethical dilemma—anything that is of personal importance, no matter the scale. Explain its significance to you and what steps you took or could take to identify a solution.”

  I looked out the window at the summer sky. Simon would have a dozen ideas—for himself and for me—but on the plane to Dragon Con, Bleeders felt like the only thing of personal importance to me.

  The Bleeder virus! When you’re infected, the walls of your arteries and veins and capillaries transmute into basically tissue paper. Blood seeps rapidly from every pore, so within seconds, you’re a bleeding sack of skin holding in bones and organs. But somehow you stay upright, alive, for a few completely horrifying and totally infectious minutes. (The special effects are riveting.)

  Essay. Focus.

  I thought of Lorelei in the lab in the first episode. The way she looks into the microscope, down at the virus. Then at Captain.

  “We took an oath to save life,” Lorelei says neutrally. “All life.”

  “I’m taking another oath right now,” Captain answers. “To stop this.” But we see her face as she says it. We see that she doesn’t know how. And that she’s scared. On top of everything else, Captain Paloma is a mother, and the virus is a threat to all humanoid life. She’s also levelheaded, deadly, and dedicated to keeping her tiny MOSS (mobile space surgery) crew safe from the robotic Interplanetary Sanitation Force, doing their forbidden scientific research . . . while running and evading and hiding. And when they must, fighting.

  But only when they must. Originally, they chose to flee. I don’t blame them for it. Because: What are you supposed to do against a Really Big Bad? When deep in your heart, you don’t believe you can have any effect on it? When, even deeper in your heart, you truly think the worst will surely come? When you can’t help but despair, no matter how hard you pretend to have hope, especially when you’re with the people who really do have hope?

  You run. It’s logical!

  And yet I know that if I keep watching, t
he crew will figure out a way to fight and win. Somehow. Because fiction, not reality. Captain, Lorelei, Celie, Tennah/Bellah, Monica, and Torrance will win in the end.

  And I want, I need, to see that happen.

  Yes, yes, yes. It’s an imaginary universe with imaginary problems. (Simon’s words to his sister about Bleeders.) I shouldn’t care so much about entertainment. But I do, and honestly? I’m truly worried about this season!

  Essay! Focus. An idea stirred in me—but no. “No matter the scale” was an obvious trap. I shouldn’t write about the personal miracle of a properly organized to-do list. It’s not important enough.

  Also I have learned that nobody wants to hear it.

  There’s a real-world virus, Marburg, which is the conceptual progenitor of the Bleeder virus. Also obviously Ebola is a source. But if I wrote about viruses, that might imply I was interested in a scientific career. And I’m definitely not. I haven’t settled on anything else yet. Which is extremely frustrating for Simon and me, because it makes our college applications even more challenging.

  I decided to spend just a few minutes looking at cat videos. It’s research for my job. That’s what I tell Simon.

  I was shocked by the announcement that our plane was preparing to land. I had wasted the whole flight daydreaming about Bleeders, rejecting stupid essay ideas, and watching cats. Great.

  Still, I’d gotten to Atlanta. Now all I had to do was get to the right place at midnight. I’d see the Bleeders Season 2 premiere (a week early!), get back to the airport, and get home tomorrow morning with nobody but Maggie the wiser. Zoe Rosenthal for the win!

  I texted Maggie that I’d arrived. Then I gave myself a quiet little fist bump.

  As soon as I got off the subway in downtown Atlanta, I saw it—no, her—no, them! Someone was cosplaying Tennah/Bellah! Another Bleeders fan was rapidly disappearing on the upward escalator! The crowd was so thick, I couldn’t even pursue them.

  Tennah/Bellah is two separate people—not personalities, people—who happen to share a single humanoid body. Probably we’ll learn more in Season 2 about how the Quatos species shape-shifts between their two selves. It hadn’t occurred to me that there would be Bleeders cosplayers here for Dragon Con. I swiveled in place and craned my neck, but I didn’t see any other Bloodygits. Unless they were camouflaged in Muggle clothes like me.

  There was certainly no lack of other cosplayers. As the crowd and I shuffled slowly along toward the escalator and exit, I gawked. I stared. I ogled.

  Thranduil, the elf king from Lord of the Rings. A Wonder Woman mother and her matching small daughter. Three chatty stormtroopers. Walking Dead. Castiel from Supernatural, in his trench coat. Jon Snow and Daenerys (with a stuffed dragon on her shoulder). Oooo—Mr. Rogers in his cardigan! I couldn’t help it—I called his name and waved. He shouted back, “Hello, neighbor!” I got a little sniffly. It actually almost felt like Mr. Rogers himself had greeted me.

  There were also lots of people simply wearing geeky T-shirts. Moving upward on the long, steep escalator, I glanced self-consciously at my clothing: a billowing, light, sleeveless white top and capri leggings, orange sneakers. I could have borrowed Maggie’s WAKANDA FOREVER T-shirt if I had only thought of it. Or maybe done a simple lightning-bolt temporary tattoo on my forehead.

  Only no. I wasn’t actually like these other fans. I’d never do cosplay. I was just here for a few hours, for my show. I wouldn’t embarrass myself in public. I mean, you could see that some of the Muggles were sneering or rolling their eyes at the cosplayers. Who needs that? I was a low-profile kind of person.

  I made it out onto the people-packed street, where the difference in temperature between Boston and Atlanta made itself known. I was going to sweat. That didn’t matter. Orienting myself mattered. I started to pull out my map and phone, but someone near me, wearing a bright blue ball gown and a blond Elsa wig, was talking about going to registration with her friend, who wore a brown bodysuit and a reindeer headdress. So I just skulked along behind them.

  I kept on staring as I walked.

  A medieval Japanese female knight. A leather-clad black cat in a neon-green furry gas mask, with other green fur-ball things stuck all over his body. A steampunk Santa. Ruth Bader Ginsburg arm in arm with Sonia Sotomayor. A man who was naked except for tight silver shorts and silver body paint. A phalanx of Star Trek ensigns in red shirts who spontaneously fell onto the sidewalk together while everyone around them yelled, “They’re dead, Jim!”

  My mom loves anything Star Trek, including the original series, so I got that one.

  The cosplayers didn’t seem to mind being stared at. There was a lot of posing and preening.

  “Awesome, huh?” said a motherly-looking winged angel. I discreetly checked to make sure this wasn’t directed at someone else. It wasn’t.

  I smiled back. “Who’s that?” I pointed to the nearly naked guy in the silver paint.

  “The Silver Surfer. He’s a Marvel Comics character.” She rolled her eyes. “One of millions.”

  I didn’t know much about comics. “Okay, what about the neon cat?”

  “That one I don’t know. Maybe he’s from a game.”

  I’d lost sight of the Elsa cosplayer I’d been following before. I asked, “Are you going to the Sheraton to register? Can I just follow you?”

  “Sure.” The angel gestured at some of the people streaming past us in the opposite direction. “You can tell they’re coming from registration because they’re all wearing their badges. Stick with me.”

  I said, “I love your costume, by the way. Should I recognize you?”

  The angel wore a long white lace dress that I guessed to be a repurposed wedding gown and wings formed from wire and feathers.

  “No, I’m just my own angel. So this is your first Dragon Con?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You?”

  “Oh, I’ve been coming for fifteen years. You’re going to have a fantastic time.” A wave to indicate an elderly Princess Moana. “Everybody wearing their inside on their outside! Which is how life should always be.”

  I suppressed a smile at her naivete. “But it’s not how life is.”

  “Maybe not for everyone,” said the angel. “But you can make a free individual choice.”

  “I take it you’ve forgotten high school,” I said dryly.

  “Nope. Never.” The angel laughed. “What year are you?”

  “Senior.”

  “Planning for college?”

  “Yes.” I thought of the long list of schools that Simon and I had finalized together over the summer. We had no idea yet where we’d end up; we only knew we’d do it together. That was so comforting.

  “Well, unlike high school, Dragon Con is a place where you can be yourself,” the angel said with assurance. “It’s why you’ve come!”

  I have come to see my show, I thought, but said, “Any other tips?”

  “Get to your programs early. There can be huge lines and then you don’t get in.”

  “Thanks.”

  We filed into the basement of the Sheraton, where two friends joined the angel, and then I got flowed into a different registration line. I waved goodbye, but I’d already been forgotten.

  There continued to be wonderful cosplays everywhere to look at. But I also noticed how everybody else had somebody to talk to.

  I really could not have brought Josie. She certainly couldn’t have afforded her plane fare and registration, and I couldn’t have paid for her. Aunt Kath’s birthday money went only so far, and I was totally committed to saving all my earnings from my job. I reminded myself, too, of all the complications of Josie being Simon’s sister. The logistics would have required a spreadsheet! That said, if I’d put on my thinking cap, perhaps it wouldn’t have been completely impossible—no. I made the right choice. Plus, there just wasn’t time.

  For company, I texted Maggie.

  ME: Are you there?

  MAGGIE: Yes but no, sorry, cousins galore, chat later.

&nbs
p; ME: No worries. Have fun!

  My line moved forward.

  Then, ahead of me at registration, I spied my Tennah/Bellah cosplayer again. They had figured out a really cool way to indicate Tennah and Bellah, with a vertical body division. A wig had Bellah’s braid on the right and Tennah’s scraped-back bun on the left, and makeup delineated each face differently. The costume was literally two costumes sewn together: Bellah’s loose navy jumpsuit with military decorations on one side and Tennah’s form-fitting slinky dress in camouflage green on the other. The chest, however, was even on both sides and preposterously, wincingly, and worst of all, erroneously large for Tennah/Bellah. But it did make a good base for the stethoscope-garrote riding majestically on top. The only thing that wasn’t Bleeders-inspired was the cosplayer’s round pink glasses.

  What if I just shouted out “Tennah! Bellah!” like I’d shouted at Mr. Rogers?

  If only I’d had some indicator of my own Bleeders fandom on me! Then I might have had the courage. Josie had a Bloodygit T-shirt she’d bought off Etsy, with the stethoscope-garrote printed on the front like a necklace . . . I wished I’d thought to get something like that.

  Beep.

  SIMON: How are you feeling now?

  SIMON: Don’t answer if you’re sleeping!

  Best not to answer. I looked up from my phone, only to see Tennah/Bellah disappearing under the EXIT sign. Again! I felt bereft. Compulsively, I answered Simon.

  ME: Are you at Tropical Foods?

  SIMON: Yes. We’ve registered two people so far.

  ME: That’s great!

  SIMON: Most people are ignoring us but that’s OK.

  SIMON: I wish you were here too.

  ME: I’m sorry I’m not, but rest is doing me good. I’m going to sleep.

  SIMON: See you tomorrow!

  ME: Yes! I know I’ll feel all better by then. xo

  SIMON: xo

  I was glad Simon could be upbeat about voter registration, which to be honest I found depressing. But it was sweet to think that we were both feeling lonely for each other at this exact same moment.

  This summer, Simon had volunteered a lot at Alisha Johnson Pratt’s state senatorial campaign, along with working full-time at his day-care job (children love Simon). I helped with the Pratt campaign too, when I wasn’t working for my neighbor Mrs. Albee. But voter registration versus seeing the Bleeders season premiere a week early? I mean! The steps I needed to take to be at Dragon Con instead practically wrote themselves in my bullet journal . . . because, listen, to-do lists really and truly can work miracles in your life, and if you also deploy a spreadsheet . . .