Cosplay, comic shops, and college applications collide in this new novel from the author of You're Welcome, Universe, perfect for fans of Adam Silvera and Noelle Stevenson! Cameron's cosplay creations are finally starting to earn her attention--attention she hopes to use to get into the CalArts costume design department for college. But after she wins a major competition, she inadvertently sets off a firestorm of angry comments from male fans online. When Cameron's family moves the summer before her senior year, she hopes to complete her costume portfolio in peace and quiet away from the abuse. Unfortunately, the only comic shop in town--her main destination for character reference--is staffed by a dudebro owner who challenges every woman who comes into the shop. At her twin brother's suggestion, Cameron borrows a set of his clothes to waltz into the shop as Boy Cameron, where she's shocked at how easily she's accepted into the nerd inner sanctum. Soon, Cameron finds herself drafted into a D&D campaign. But as her "secret identity" gets more and more entrenched, Cameron's portfolio falls by the wayside--and her crush on one of the guys in the group threatens to make a complicated situation even more precarious. " Captivating .... A delightfully diverse, feminist, and realistic narrative." — Booklist " Charismatic ." — SLJ Whitney Gardner is the author of You're Welcome, Universe. She played her ukulele in an episode of Portlandia, danced the rumba with Bill Nye in a New York swing dance club, and experimented with LARPing in college. She lives with her husband, Roger, and their incredibly cool pug, Gouda, in Portland, Oregon. Find her at heywhitney.com and on Twitter at @heywhitney. 1     The girl section.     “Your boyfriend won’t like that one.” He smiles at me through his patchy, barely grown‑in beard, leaning against the wall of shelved comic books. I hang my head. This is exactly what I was afraid of. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. With a jerk of his neck, he flicks his greasy brown bangs out of his eyes. He looks me over, his arms folded tightly in front of his puffed-out chest. He hovers close by, waiting for my response, dying for me to acknowledge him, not taking silence for an answer. His name spelled out inside a bat-signal pin: brody.   “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, not daring to look directly at his face. I knew better; I knew better and I came into the shop anyway. I read the reviews online: five stars from the guys, two stars from the girls. I don’t need his advice; I don’t need a debate. Right now I need inspiration. And this guy’s killin’ my vibe.   “It’s super girly. He probably won’t like it. When’s his birthday?”   “I--I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s, you know, for me.” Dingbat. My fingers squeak against the cover of the latest The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, holding on tight. I’m kicking myself for painting my nails sparkly pink and curling the rat’s nest out of my hair this morning. I brace myself for what’s coming next. All I wanted was a few new cosplay ideas without having to pass the geek-girl quiz.   “Oh! No wonder!” Brody laughs, and his expression softens. “You should check out the girl section.”   “The . . . girl section?” I scowl, feeling my dark brown eyes turn black.   “No worries, tiger. You’ll love it.” He ushers me, hand on my back, toward one narrow shelf in the corner. I step away from his touch as soon as I can, but I can still feel his phantom palm resting there. The shelf is in disarray, with a few pastel-covered graphic novels and some very kawaii manga.   “Here you go,” he lilts, eyes lighting up his pallid face. “All your comics lined up just for you. That way you don’t need to get lost in the big-boy stuff.” Another patron snorts from the board game section. This is humiliating. I’m trying not to flush, not to show a reaction. I can’t let him know he’s getting to me, but I don’t think it’s working. What year am I in? What kind of backwater wasteland is this? I swallow hard.   “Welp, I am a big boy, so, if you don’t mind.” I sidestep him on my way out of the “girl section.” I try to stomp my feet as I go, but I’m wearing ballet flats, so I hardly make a sound. Brody’s black leather boots echo through the shop as he follows me. Why is he following me? Leave me alone.   “Big boy in a pink dress, huh?” Why, oh why, did I wear the doughnut dress today?   “Yep.” I try to sound preoccupied as I flip through an old issue of X‑Men, looking for Jubilee. I’ve been dying to replicate that yellow coat of hers.   “So you like X‑Men?” Brody stands over me, reeking of arrogance and body spray.   “Sure.”   “Gen X, First Class, ’92? What’re we talkin’ here?” He combs through the comics, pretending to help. I don’t want to answer him, but the way he reaches over my head is a little intimidating. Maybe if I answer, he’ll leave me alone.   “Whichever one Jubilee is in.”   “Jubilee? Jesus.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and winces.   “Jubil