I settled for giving him a hard stare instead. “Uh. Hands off the costume.”
“Sorry.” Wizard guy shrugged. “Habit. I had fun altering this one.”
“You make the costumes?” My head tilted as I considered him again. He was tall and wide, built like a linebacker, and he had a scruffy beard. He was the sort of guy who probably grew his first beard in junior high, and his hands were bigger than mine. I had a hard time picturing him threading a needle.
“Some of them.” His grin had a lot of swagger to it.
“Kellan’s a theater major. You’ll be seeing his designs on Broadway someday.” Jasper slapped Kellan on the shoulder, pride clear in his voice. I had no business caring about their easy friendship, but knowing that wasn’t enough to stop an edge from creeping into my voice.
“Cool.”
“You’re shorter than our last Neptune. But I suppose you’ll do.” A petite red-haired elf gave me a regal nod. She had a mask embroidered with leaves covering her mouth and nose, and elbow-length gloves on as well.
“And this is April.”
“Oh. Right. Your sister.” The red hair should have tipped me off. But she’d been born when we were seven or eight, a surprise for the whole family, and had been little more than a preschooler when we’d stopped being friends. “You got big.”
“You probably remember her as a tiny—”
“Jasper.” She elbowed him hard enough that he winced. And now both her mask and Jasper’s interest in the hospital made more sense. She’d been born with some rare genetic blood disorder that impacted her immune system’s ability to fight off infections and had been hospitalized a lot as a kid, especially before they found out what was wrong.
“Sorry. Meet my super ancient and wise sister.”
“Dork.” April rolled her eyes before giving me another critical look. “I told Jasper to find us a Neptune and you’re not a bad look-alike, but you need to own it more. Like maybe don’t look like we’re asking you to chew glass.”
“Damn. You’re ice cold.” Kellan sounded impressed, and honestly, so was I. April had a lot of personality packed into a small package, and I liked how she wasn’t afraid to tell it like it was.
“Sorry.” Straightening my shoulders, I tried to force myself to relax. Mine was hardly the most outrageous costume in the group. And everyone else was laughing and joking and acting like this was the highlight of their week.
“Okay.” Jasper clapped his hands, the clear leader of this motley group. Like his sister, he had a natural take-charge quality to him that I’d always admired. Jasper got stuff done. “Everyone ready?”
No. No, I was not ready to see yet more people. And privately, I was a little worried about seeing sick kids. Unlike Jasper’s family, I didn’t have a lot of experience with small children in the hospital. I didn’t like the idea of kids being so close to something awful. I’d seen enough medical stuff myself the past few years to not want that for anyone, let alone a kid who should be out playing. My back tensed. I hoped I didn’t freak out. But everyone else was nodding and murmuring, so all I could do was mutter, “Sure.”
Jasper pursed his mouth and positioned himself next to me, almost like he expected me to make a run for freedom. But I wouldn’t. I said I’d do this, so I would, no matter how chilly my bare legs were and no matter how embarrassing this became. I’d stick it out so that I could earn Jasper’s help and maybe also so he’d stop expecting the worst where I was concerned. I didn’t fool myself into thinking we could be friends again, but I wouldn’t mind elevating myself in his opinion some. And if it took being Neptune to do that, then so be it.
Chapter Seven
Jasper
This was my favorite part of the week, especially when I got to do it with April by my side. I liked walking the hospital corridors in costume, getting smiles from passersby. I knew firsthand how scary it could be visiting loved ones in the hospital, and if we made a sibling or grandparent grin for a minute, that meant a lot to me. And the doctors and nurses worked so hard that I liked bringing some lightness to their days too. Like the doctors earlier in the restroom. We’d made them laugh, and maybe Milo couldn’t see the value in that, but I did.
Not that I expected Milo to see any of this my way. April was right. He looked like he was chewing glass as we made our way down the hall, jaw set, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back. He might as well be a prisoner we were escorting to an interrogation. He stiffened further as we reached the large and airy patient lounge favored by some of the older patients and their families—lots of art supplies and games and puzzles, and less of the toys and play equipment of the spaces intended for tiny kids.