Chapter 2: Kiki's Kind of a Bitch—But I Love Her Anyway?
At lunch the next day, while Z. watched the poor kids take turns attempting to backflip off the monument to the 90s massacre, a hand tapped her shoulder. She turned and nobody was there but then a voice whispered from the opposite way than the way she turned: "Poor baby, all sad so alone."
"Kiki—the heck are you doing here? Doesn't Cal need you for something?"
Kiki Radney, Z.'s other friend, vaulted the waist-high brick wall where Z. sat and leaned against the dead kids monument, one leg crossed near the knee. She exhaled a terse puff to brush a purple bang from her eyes. "Cal can suck my pimple-covered dick. He doesn't need me to plot his next terrorist attack. But hey, I see a pretty girl looking sad, I cheer her up. You escape Max's clutches or what."
"He's absent today," said Z., "I visited him yesterday but he acted weird."
"Max, weird. No way." Kiki plopped her backpack onto her crossed leg and extracted a brownbag lunch, KIKI scrawled across in felt tip. "I refuse to believe it."
"Well it's true, and it pretty much sucks. The new Faerie Endless trailer came out last night and—"
"Really. How high the stockings go this time."
Before Z. could conjure a clever retort, Kiki bribed her with a banana. Finally! Z.'s mom was three days late on groceries, she peeled the banana and it was mushy and gross.
The poor kids moved to a new side of the monument and planted impressive landings while Kiki dug out things from under her fingernails and Z. related the previous night's Max encounter. "He was obsessed with some stupid new story, I forget the name—Homestuck, he said Homestuck—can I use your phone?"
"Fuck no you freeloader. The welfare state will be the death of America." Kiki tossed her the phone.
"You see because I wanted to check this Homestuck thing so I could talk to Max but I kinda forgot so..." Tap tap tap, Kiki had the best phone, it actually worked. First search result looked like a match: same gray background, same godawful font, but squished into Kiki's phone, and the homepage read MSPAINT ADVENTURES and below it Homestuck. At the bottom of the page was a column for announcements.
"What's the home stuck on." Kiki spat onto the dead grass.
"Huh?" The most recent announcement, posted by "Andrew" two days prior, began: Hey guys...
"Rock or hard place." Kiki fished her lunch, found a sandwich, plopped it next to Z. "Nah, that joke's no good. Subject change: how's your Adderall."
"You got a test?" Thanks for all the support. Your letters, posts, and general appreciation mean more to me than my favorite unicorn painting. You know, the one with the football guy.
"AP Chem, Friday." Kiki jabbed a finger so far down her throat Z. thought she might actually barf but she didn't.
As I'm an eternal slave to your whims, I've endeavored to attend a series of so-called "conventions" over the next month. Blah, blah. Z. maneuvered the phone with one hand while her other snuck into her pocket and tossed Kiki a plastic baggie of pills. Kiki leaned forward, tucked the compensatory greenback behind Z.'s ear, and kissed her forehead.
"Anyway," said Z., "Where was I? Oh yeah so first Max ignored me, then he got obnoxious and said stuff like I wouldn't understand this exalted new story, and in general acted like he didn't want to talk to me."
"Definitely abnormal behavior for Max Roddlevan."
"I know right?" Z. noticed an accumulation of Kiki's lunch items at her side and went for the prize of the cornucopia, the chocolate chip cookies.
"I've never seen him act like a snobby stupid jerk before," said Kiki. Z. almost muttered another agreement but stopped herself and scrutinized her dubious friend.
"Anyway," more trepidatious than before, "The weirdest part is he—Kiki are you listening? Kiki? Kiki?"
Kiki was watching the poor kids backflip. "Oh yes, do continue, I find your Max story absolutely riveting."
"So the weirdest part's he tore up his books, totally shredded them, the pages floated in his room, every single book."
"Really." The same dull monotone as everything Kiki said, but in her eye a flicker of real unmistakable engagement in the conversation instantaneously squashed when she followed up with: "Hitler did the same thing, halfbloods like you and I ought to watch out for his inevitable racial purity scheme."
Z. disregarded everything after the "really." "Bizarre right? I'm not overreacting right? Something's totally wrong with him."
Kiki contemplated a good five minutes (actually ten seconds), her body gradually settling against the monument and her limbs crossing together in intricate folding patterns until only one leg stretched to the ground and everything else became a snazzy purple knot, she pursed her lips and blew a breath to brush back her bangs... The pause lasted so long Z. checked the phone again, the rest of Hussie's announcement contained a list of dates and locations—Philadelphia, Cincinnati, and in two weeks Las Vegas. Las Vegas FanCon—Z. knew that name. Had heard it recently, too, because—because!—it was where the creator of Faerie Endless, Shirou Katsumata, was going to promote the new game.
"Actually, I've seen this before," said Kiki. "Classic manic pixie dreamgirl setup."
"Classic what?"
The bell rang. The poor kids gave momentary pause to their backflips, but resumed once the signal subsided. Las Vegas FanCon, two weeks away... Shirou Katsumata, Andrew Hussie, everyone's favorites in one place... An idea sparked, Z.'s hair sputtered with static, she jolted upright as Kiki said:
"Manic. Pixie. Dreamgirl. You ever see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, starring Kirsten Dunce?"
"Kiki—when's Spring Break?"
The words sailed through the translucent hologram of Kiki Radney and struck the monument's stone edifice. "It's a romantic comedy, except really its Oscarbait bullshit, the one serious flick every comic actor does to prove he can actually act. This film's unfortunate funnyman is one Jimmus carrius—"
"But really when's Spring Break?" She flicked through the phone as though Kiki had an itinerary but all she found was a picture of the thirty-foot cobalt bronco outside Denver International Airport, the image labeled Important.
"—who plays a rather depressive fellow, a young white male subjugated by his humdrum environs, who cannot see the beauty of life behind the shroud of his ennui—"
Z. hailed the poor kids clique. "When's Spring Break?"
They twittered with glee. "Spring Break! When's Spring Break!"
She wheeled on the deluge of students crossing the thoroughfare on the other side of the waist-high brick wall. Her arms flapped akimbo at faces as she repeated her simple, earnest plea.
"—then he meets this girl, Kirsten Dunce, and she's fun and flirtatious but not in a bimbo way, in a way like she's also got this intelligent side, and she dyes her hair and teaches our hapless protagonist how to live with her joie de vivre. It speaks to my inner tortured bourgeoisie."
Z. waded halfway into the post-lunch commerce, repeating her plea ad nauseam, until a generic student said: "First week of April."
Despite the distance, Kiki's voice droned: "Kirsten Dunce is the manic pixie dreamgirl—the fun, idiosyncratic female whose only purpose in life is to resuscitate humdrum men. I apologize, Z., but the power of tropes is undeniable. You have no choice but to sashay into Max's fetid life and inspire him."
Kiki's blather made it difficult to concentrate, already Z. had to stop and remember why she wanted to know the time for Spring Break anyway, then she noticed the phone in her hand, she swept away the bronco photo and brought up the screen with Hussie's announcement.
Monday April 2 through Wednesday April 4—Las Vegas FanCon.
Infallible! The goddesses of fortune conspired in her favor, destiny, kismet, whatever thesaurus Stegosaurus you named it, everything dropped her way, Z. tumbled back to Kiki and seized her threadbare wrists and said:
"We're taking a trip Spring Break."
Kiki missed zero beats. "You ever see National Lampoon's Vacation starring—"
"It'll be sick, you me Max, exactly the thing to fix him, if he's nuts for this Hussie goon and his stupid story then we give him the Hussie goon, it's great, and Shirou Katsumata—it's fantastic, I've saved everything."
"Not Christmas. They still say Happy Holidays."
Z., kinetic with her unleashed idea, astonished by her genius, dragged Kiki from the statue and revolved with her across the green. FanCon was immense, Z. knew about it even before Shirou Katsumata, internet chums blogged pics, cosplayers, booths and merch and celebrities. Everyone will find something they love, no lunches by herself, no squalid Spring Break twelve-hour internet video sessions alone in her room, everything back to before, when Kiki didn't hang around upperclassmen and Max gabbed about fantasy with her—phenomenal!
She said as much to Kiki, with less eloquence and some sentences jumbled.
"Sounds like the absolute best way to spend my Spring Break," said Kiki. "Three nights in nerdvana with Max Roddlevan."
"I know right?" Z. released Kiki's wrists and bounced off somebody and revolved her way back to Kiki. "It's been so long since you and Max hung out, everything will be great."
"Right." Kiki nodded and smirked, which Z. had trouble reading, was she on board? Where was her enthusiasm? Why did she have to be ultra dull sometimes, like this time in particular when Z. wanted someone to be excited with her so she didn't get excited by herself in the middle of the school pavilion?
"What's wrong with you Kiki, why are you so boring?" She again reached for the wrist, Kiki's main weakpoint, but Kiki drew away and shouldered her backpack and turned toward her next class, AP European History, far away from Z.'s next class.
"Logistics, darling. How do you expect to reach Las Vegas when none of us can drive."
Kiki walked away.
