The muscular security guard scanning badges inside the convention center hands me back my pass, and I immediately thrust it back.
“That’s not possible,” I insist, wiggling the laminated piece of plastic at him, the little red and yellow flags on the end stating “exhibitor” and “speaker” flapping about. “I’m a guest here.”
“You and everyone else,” he retorts, scanning the badge again and making a face.
“Come on,” I groan as he hands it back with a shrug. He gestures for me to step aside and starts welcoming in other people. I fuss with my phone as a few other convention goers make their way in, more than a handful casting sideways glances at me. Yes, hi, my pass didn’t work, let’s all stare.
Finally, the GamesCon website loads. It takes what feels like an eternity, standing here with random eyes on me, and the cell service being absolutely garbage inside the convention center. I swipe along the rotating banner on the home page, and there I am.
“Hey.” I reach out and tap the security guy’s shoulder, noticing a large, fully detailed and colorful Chrono Trigger tattoo on his biceps featuring the anime figures from the game’s cinematics, as opposed to the classic, old-school Super Nintendo sprites. He barely glances at me as he finishes scanning in someone else.
“Listen, you can head over to registration when—”
“Look, okay?” I hold up my phone to show him the landing page on the convention website. Right there in the shuffling banner there’s a big ol’ photo of me. I mean, it’s a picture of me with different hair and another look, but I think it’s still clear it’s me. Maybe?
He squints at the phone and at me, looking skeptical.
“Yeah, I don’t—”
“Wait, wait.” I rustle in my bag and pull out my wallet, showing him my license. “See? The names match.”
He takes his time studying my ID while I tap my foot impatiently. Finally, I say, “Look, you gotta cut me a break here. I have a panel and I won’t get to it on time to—”
“Alright, go ahead,” he grumbles, gesturing at the entrance, clearly annoyed.
“Thank you, thank you!” I exclaim, hustling by. “Frog is the best character, by the way!” I shout, turning around. He glances back over his shoulder, and a sliver of a smile pulls along the edges of his mouth.
I shuffle my way into the convention building. The Javits Center in New York City is a sprawling mass of glass and marble and steel beams, and the morning sun pierces the long, open hallways that lead to the different floors and massive halls containing these events. It’s still early, so the fans aren’t yet swarming about the inside, and there are hardly any lines at the registration tables. But once everything officially opens, those lines are going to be a monster, and I would be stuck at the back, waiting with everyone else.
The lines outside were enormous, making a slow crawl around what looked like the whole city block. I felt my heart beat wildly as I passed by some of the guys standing in that line, wondering if anyone was here for me. And not in the good way.
I hurry up a set of stairs that has a massive sticker coating the surface, so it looks like a set of bricks from any number of Super Mario Bros. video games, and head toward the exhibition hall, where yet another security guard waves me by and into the actual convention.
As angry as I am at this scene that I’ve tried so hard to be a part of, I can’t help but feel elated about being here. A rush of joy courses through me as I make my way down the grid-like walkways between vendor and exhibitor booths. A massive exhibit that’s practically the size of a house boasts the Sega logo, with some new games being tested out on gorgeous gigantic HD screens. There are a bundle of booths selling things along the aisle, stuffed plush recreations of various Pokémon and other bits of recognizable video game pop culture, like Pikmin and weapons from the Final Fantasy games.
I keep an eye out for the number and letter combination that Rebekah gave me for where our booth is sitting. Well, more like a table. We’re situated somewhere near the Artist Alley, with a bundle of other speakers and indie artists exhibiting prints, dishing out autographs, and selling books and other swag.
I edge my way past the Archaia and Boom! Studios comic booth, a large black square of an exhibit with tables surrounding it, selling a number of comic books, both video game tie-in related and not, from Adventure Time to Ladycastle. I finally spot Rebekah’s bright hair at a table situated beyond the giant cube, next to someone who looks like an illustrator and a table with what appears to be a bunch of podcasting equipment. With a flourish, Rebekah unravels something that looks like a giant blanket and starts to arrange it on the table.
I hurry over just as she finishes smoothing it out.
“Oh wow,” I drawl, taking a step back.
Rebekah looks up and smiles, then moves to join me, her hands on her hips, clearly admiring her handiwork. “Not bad, right?”
“Who designed it?” I ask. The black sheet draping over the front of the table is decorated with an Angst Armada logo, a little spaceship from Reclaim the Sun crossed with a balled-up fist, the name of our clan emblazoned over it. It’s orange and gold and furious looking, and I love everything about it.
“Remember that player, Maggs?” Rebekah asks, grinning. “She made it. Sent it on over. Said good luck today. And that’s not all we’ve got.”
Rebekah walks back over to the table and pulls out a box from underneath, setting it on top of the kinda-shaky table. For a place that charges so much money to exhibit, you’d think the rental furniture wouldn’t feel fit to fall apart. She opens the box and dumps the contents out onto the table.
Pins. Hundreds and hundreds of pins.
The beautiful enamel looks spectacular. “Angst Armada” is written in stunning golden script against a black star-filled sky on one pin. Another has an illustration of one of the Reclaim the Sun ships, blasting off, flames erupting from the thrusters on the wing and tail. There are even some patches thrown into the mix, which read an array of things, from “Space Trash” to “Blast Like a Girl.” A pin that says “Log On, Fight Back” immediately catches my eye, reminding me of that email from the Oculus publicity director. I scoop one up and pin it to my shirt.
Then I quickly pocket one of everything else. I can’t help it—I just love all the designs Rebekah’s put together.
“These are free for me, right?” I ask with a wink.
Rebekah offers me a weak smile and sits down behind our little table. Compared to the podcaster and this illustrator, and with all the other exhibitors around us, our offerings look pretty sparse, but it’s still something I’m feeling way too damn proud of.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling up a chair next to her. “This all looks so good. Did you get the autographs you wanted?”