I step forward, getting an elbow in my sternum as I do so – ouch, I just want to get closer to my best friend; my best friend who to these people is a beloved superhero. Shoot, this might be harder than I thought. There might be a flaw in Hope’s idea.
‘Excuse me, miss, if you want a picture with Devon, the line is over there.’ I follow the man’s finger to where there is a line wrapped around one length of the convention centre, waiting for Devon. Yep, this was going to be way harder than I had imagined. This time there isn’t a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Devon is smirking and there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint in his eye. He shrugs as he gets dragged away. OK, so maybe he is still a little mad at me and is going to make me work for this.
I glance back at Steve Rogers, let out a sigh and go in search of the end of Devon’s line.
So, if I thought Devon and I were hardcore superhero nerds when we were kids, it’s nothing compared to the thousands of people in the line with me right now. An hour has ticked by and the line is moving terribly slowly.
‘How come we’re not moving very fast?’ I finally pick up the courage to ask the girl in front of me who’s wearing a T-shirt with Devon’s face on it. It still hasn’t quite sunk in that he’s a movie star. I pry my eyes away from the shirt.
‘Oh, it’s just Devon. His lines always take forever. He likes to talk to everyone he meets, instead of the usual hi and bye most people stick to. He’s really lovely. Is this your first time meeting him? Oh, you will love him. He’s a sweetheart,’ the girl answers enthusiastically, rocking back on her heels and clapping her hands.
Right now, I would love food, but I can’t help the smile that forms at my lips and how my skin prickles with goose bumps when the girl speaks, and I know I can’t lose my place in line. I have things I need to say to this nerdy sweetheart.
Can you believe it takes another hour before I can even see Devon’s table? My stomach is well and truly growly at me, but we’ve made it this far and must go on. The squeals from fans are louder now and I can even make out a few happy dances from enthusiastic movie goers. This place is amazing, allowing everyone to interact, and I can hear Devon put everyone at ease, listen to their stories and oblige all the requests for selfies and photographs. And to think, only a few days ago I thought he had grown into a smooth, standoffish and smarmy man.
I’m now the second in line. My heart starts hammering in my chest and I can feel the sweat on my top lip. It made sense to wear my cream chunky knit and denim flare combo when stepping outside of the hotel this morning but now it feels like I’m standing next to a heater and my jumper is sucking up all the heat. I concentrate on the girl in front of me and her awesome “Team Bartowski” Converse, making a mental note to get some for Hope and to try and steady the dizziness I feel in my head. This is Devon for crying out loud, the guy I can tell everything and anything to, so what’s wrong with me? I tell him how I feel and then I’m done. He either feels the same or he doesn’t. I’m no stranger to rejection, so all will be OK, I tell myself.
Yet somehow at that thought my stomach feels like I’ve raced down a half-pipe full speed, twisted my ankle and landed with a heavy thud at the bottom. Will I really be OK if Devon doesn’t feel the same? Yes, I tell myself, yes. I have to be.
When he left me at sixteen years old I let it change my entire world, hid who I was, felt ashamed of who I was, but now, now I’m a grown-up, a grown-up who loves to draw comic books and watch superhero movies and skateboard and Devon’s visit made me love all those things again and not be afraid of them. Devon made me see that it’s OK to be an adult and still be passionate, still get excited and to still let our inner children out every now and again. I don’t want to lose that again.
With that thought I feel my body temperature cool down and my heart rate slow down. Ever since we were kids Devon has worn his heart on his sleeve and I was always the tougher one, the tomboy with attitude, but as I look at him sitting against the edge of the plastic fold away table talking to the girl with his face on her T-shirt and making her smile as broad as The Joker, but in a nice way, I know my walls are once again crumbling but this time I know that’s where I want them to stay. No more walls. I can be vulnerable and still strong, just like Devon has always been. I just never realised. Through his own heartbreak and troubles, he remains a light to everyone around him.
Now, it’s not about him feeling the same way, though I’m still crossing my everything. I just need to thank him. I need him to know that I love him for all that he is and for all that he inspires me to be and I need to look him in the eyes and for once in my life tell him that it’s me who is sorry.
‘Excuse me, miss.’ It takes me a second to realise that one of the assistants is looking at me, gesturing towards Devon’s table. I suck in a deep breath and catch Devon’s eyes on me as my stomach grumbles at me angrily. Even my happy thoughts are having trouble keeping my hunger distracted. As I make my way over I notice a security guard walk in from behind the curtain to the left of Devon, bend down, whisper in his ear and hand him a plastic bag that holds something delicious as the smell wafts up and hits me, before he stands up straight and offers me a nod. I smile back at the man and then get back to concentrating on Devon’s brown eyes and not the idea of food. Devon gets up and edges around the table to greet me. My shoulders release their tension the minute he steps closer.
‘Look, I didn’t exactly come here to meet Steve Rogers, though you do owe me a photo op,’ I say, which receives a small smile from Devon. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything, D, and I came to see you. I came after you. I know it might be ten years too late, but I came after you.’ Saying the words releases a bunch of tightness in my chest. Owning my regrets but more importantly putting them in the past and rectifying them, doing something about them, makes me feel as light as feather.
Devon doesn’t say anything. He turns away and reaches into the bag the security guy brought over and pulls out a box, like the ones you get from a food truck, and hands it to me. I smell a burger and fries. If I had any doubts before about loving this man, then they quickly dissolve.
‘I knew you’d be hungry.’ He shrugs casually, like it’s no big deal to be so ridiculously thoughtful, when the reality is it means everything to me, and I really want to hug him right now. ‘Do me a favour, Scar? Go eat something and enjoy every inch of this place and meet me at the Rockefeller tree tonight at seven, OK?’
‘The big tree?’ I ask in a hushed whisper, not taking my eyes off his.
‘Yes, the big tree – you can’t miss it,’ he replies with a grin and a cheeky wink.
I shove him in the shoulder playfully, which causes the security guard to step forward. Devon quickly raises his hand and the security guard steps back. I jump and offer Devon an apologetic look then nod at his plan; a little fearful of my surroundings. I’m grateful that Devon understands how much I want to explore this convention and I now realise this is probably not the best place to talk. There’s a lot I want to say but Devon’s line is still wrapped around the building.
I raise my arms to wave at him or hug him or something but see the security guard out of the corner of my eye shuffle so instead I just awkwardly back away and shrug at Devon, waving the burger and fries box in thanks. His shoulders move up and down with a chuckle and he does a shy wave, which nearly causes me to topple into a camera set-up. It’s getting rather hot in here again.