I find myself frozen to the spot; one, because New York is absolutely freezing and two, because I can’t stop gaping at the thousands of little windows all lit up. It’s like one humongous Advent calendar. A check to the shoulder and a wheelie bag running over my toe snaps me into action. It’s early evening but there are people everywhere and they all seem to be in a rush to get somewhere. It takes me a second to make the two strides forward to the front door of the hotel without getting trampled on and muttering a plethora of “sorries” and “excuse me’s”.
The warmth of the indoors engulfs me when I enter the lobby. I feel like Ant-Man, like I have suddenly shrunk in size. My mind can’t quite comprehend that the giant room I am standing in is just the lobby. It’s glorious and gold, with chandeliers dangling from the ceiling and the architecture is stunning. I mean I love our Village Gazette building, but this New Yorker is something else.
I check in and find my room, which is all gleaming white with brown accents and a bed that screams bedtime the minute I lay my weary eyes on it. But it’s the view from the window that knocks me for six. I’d heard people talk of the New York skyline; only last week Devon had been his animated, passionate self, telling me that it was something I had to experience one day and well, here I was, experiencing it in all its magnificence. Lights upon lights upon lights, everywhere I turn.
I kick off my boots as my right hand begins to tingle. Laying my suitcase on my bed, I open it up and pull out my sketchbook and make myself comfortable in the armchair by the window.
The next minute I wake up, scrunched up in the armchair, legs curled up underneath me, my sketchbooks sprawled out on the floor displaying only a few sharp grey lines depicting the many buildings before me. Glancing across the skyline, a few lights have been extinguished but it is still very much a sparkling beauty. Looking over to the side of the bed at the small alarm clock, I read three-thirty a.m. and think it might be sensible to have a quick wash and get into the comfy-looking bed to finish the remainder of my slumber, if I’d like to remotely not resemble a zombie tomorrow.
*
I fill up on a breakfast of pastries and fruit, not quite to the deliciousness of Mr and Mrs’s Rolph’s treats but they weren’t bad, when I realise I’m mentally comparing Springhollow and New York in my head, almost like this is a test that will decide my fate next year and whether I attend the art school. If the art school has accommodation as good as the New Yorker, then count me in. The bed didn’t just look cosy, it had felt so glorious and snug that I’d not wanted to get out of it this morning until I remembered the plan for today.
Now, I’m following the instructions the taxi man so kindly gave me yesterday while trying not to get bumped into by the stream of rushing pedestrians. This certainly would take some getting used to; I already miss the peaceful square back home and the fact that everyone stops and says hello to each other on any given day for any given reason. I’ve been walking a good twenty minutes when I start to see Spider-Man graphic tees and Pikachu bobble hats, which can only signify I’m heading in the right direction. My stomach doesn’t miss this information when it gurgles with nerves.
I follow a small group of men and woman each sporting brightly coloured spandex outfits. I immediately think back to the cosplay Devon, Hope and Jess had told me about. On closer inspection I recognise that together they make up the five Power Rangers, and for a moment my nerves vanish as I revel in being this close to such ridiculously cool people. Is this the kind of stuff I have been missing out on with hiding who I am all these years? These are grown men and women dressed as Power Rangers and they look awesome. I tell them so and receive hellos and thumbs-up from each of them.
My confidence is steadily rising, my shoulders relax, and I stand taller as the line to go inside dwindles down and I pass more amazing costumes and cheerful people. Handing my ticket over the man at the door, I can barely contain my excitement when the entire convention room comes into view. Everywhere I look there are posters representing my childhood and signs informing me where I can meet comic book legends and actors from all the movie franchises I have managed to miss in the last ten years.
There’s so much to take in. The worlds I loved as a kid have all come to life through the big screen and I have so much to catch up on. Devon had got me caught up on The Avengers before he left and I’d watched a couple of the movie trailers that followed that one, so I recognise some names, but otherwise it’s the posters and the imagery all over the show that has me gawping like I’ve forgotten how to close my mouth.
A little to the right of me I notice a line and a sign reading “The First Avenger”, a squeal of excitement escapes my lips and I jump in the queue. No way, it’s my first Comic Con and I’m going to meet Steve Rogers. My insides are doing a happy dance. Hope and Jess will be so proud of me when I tell them, and Devon will have a heart attack.
*
‘OK, I think I’m hyperventilating,’ D informs me as we make our way into the packed movie theatre and take our seats.
‘Here, have some popcorn,’ I say, smirking. My insides are squirming with excitement too but I’m trying to keep it together so I can take in every morsel of Captain America: The First Avenger.
‘I’m sure you’re not supposed to offer people who are hyperventilating food,’ D says shooting me a look with his hand on his chest. ‘Scar, we’ve been waiting for this day since we were in nappies.’
‘I know, I know. Shh it’s starting,’ I reply, gripping D’s knee so hard my knuckles turn white.
‘Oh my God, that was epic,’ D practically squeals three hours later as we exit the cinema.
‘Tell me about it. Hands down best movie ever,’ I declare.
‘Can you believe we have to wait until next year for The Avengers?’ D moans, his sixteen-year-old brain not being able to deal with such torture.
*
‘Scar?’ I swear I can hear my name, but with each step closer I take to Steve Rogers, I get distracted thinking about what I’m going to say to him. ‘Scarlett.’ I hear my name for sure this time and my stomach triple-vaults when I register the warm voice. I turn around and see Devon standing there with a man even taller than him next to him; whom I take to be his security guard. He’s broad and has a stoic face. The people in the line with me all turn too, immediately getting their phones out and snapping pictures and enquiring about selfies. The security guard raises his hands to calm them.
I smile at Devon but the speech that I had planned on the plane over here gets lost somewhere in my overstimulated mind.
‘What are you doing here?’ Devon asks. I know I wanted to tell him something but right now I can’t focus.
‘Erm, well right now I’m in the line to meet “Captain America”. He’s right over there, D. Have you seen this place? Holy moly it’s amazing.’ I’m barely able to contain the glee in my voice as I try and point discreetly at Steve Rogers himself. I’m sure I see a flicker of a smile tug at the corner of Devon’s mouth, which gives me hope that he might not be as mad at me as he was when I closed the door in his face a few days ago.
Suddenly I start to feel a little claustrophobic as a small crowd begins to gather around Devon and starts pushing to get closer to him. I curse myself for being a scaredy cat and for getting distracted when I know I don’t have much time. I leave tomorrow morning. I need to stick to my plan and tell Devon why I’m here now.