Genre: YA Romance
Word Count: 53,000
Pitch: When fanboys get handsy with a Sailor Moon cosplayer, Boba Fett comes to her rescue. But soon he’s the dude in distress. His dad abandons the car, changes locks, and smashes the phone—house arrest.
If smell could kill, I’d have died long ago. Early Saturday morning the “con funk” had infiltrated the dealers’ room like a critical hit on a ballroom-wide Cone of Stench. Unwashed bodies packed between the tables managed to produce an odor ripe enough to have its own name. Gross, über gross, but strangely enough con funk comforted me. I dunno, maybe like how IcyHot conjured memories of Grandpa. The dealer’s room was like home.
My booth blended in with all the others. A few ruffled table cloths, oversized graphic banners, and collapsible wire racks transformed six-by-four folding tables into miniature storefronts. A guy sporting a Naruto headband handed me a box from my table—an unopened Darth Vader figure, vintage.
“Forty-five dollars and sixty-eight cents,” I said.
“Better than eBay.” He flicked out his Master Card and I swiped it through the machine. It beeped, stopped, and I swiped again. The old ticker-tape thing finally spat out a receipt. Uncle Rick really needed to upgrade to something made this millennium. Maybe Dad could convince him. They’d been best friends since high school, so Dad might have shot.
I ripped the yellowed receipt and pinned it under a pen on the clipboard. “Sign here.”
We finished the fumbling dance of transaction. Dude took his generic plastic bag filled with 1970’s swag and shuffled into the mob. Attendees hunted through the packed aisles for treasure while I watched, hoping to make a buck. Uncle Rick could use more than a few bucks.