There aren’t many things that could get me to change directions when my head is like this. In fact, there’s only one—Grayson Nicole Everlasting, Gray to me, heir apparent to the family business, the golden child to my black sheep, and the best big sister I could ever ask for. Not that I’d admit that last part. She’s got a big enough head as it is.

I hit the bottom of the stairs, and Gray texts again to make sure I’m coming, the buzzing phone equal parts accusation and encouragement. I drag the heavy door open, focusing on the pinch of the mask’s elastic strap behind my ears and the prick of the feather in my hand to keep from freaking out even more. The sound of slot machines and the smell of cigarettes waft through the air, and I try not to cough.

My parents don’t usually bring me along to this stuff, since I kind of suck at being social, something that seems to frustrate my dad on a cellular level. But once a year, FabCon comes around, and with The Geekery being its biggest sponsor, my dad insists our presence is required. So Mom and I fly in from the Seattle house and he drives over from Connecticut with Gray, and we all fake being a happy little family for seventy-two torturous hours.

I skirt around the edge of the casino floor on my way to the convention center, holding my breath, with a smile pasted on my face. Mom spent the whole plane ride reminding me to hold it together in front of her Very Important Friends and to not piss off my father, so that is THE GOAL. All caps. Because I would give anything for this fake family reunion to be real, for just once my dad’s hand on my shoulder to not pinch.

I take a long, deep breath when I finally cross into the no-smoking area—god, I hate cigarettes—and come to a stop in the hallway outside of FabCon prom, undoubtedly the most ridiculous part of this whole weekend.

There’s a giant banner on the wall with my family’s logo under the words PROUDLY SPONSORED BY written in the biggest letters imaginable. I don’t know whether to tear it down or high-five it. Everything my father does is big, bigger than big, like a superhero from one of his favorite books. You kind of have to respect it.

“Ridley!” my sister calls, leaning over the railing the bouncer put up. She’s dressed like—I don’t even know. Poison Ivy, I think, but with a masquerade mask, I guess. Not like I’m in any position to judge. What did that other girl call me? Office Batman? Cool, cool, cool.

“Get in here before Allison tells Dad you were late,” she says, frantically waving me over. She’s right, but I roll my eyes anyway.