Page 9 of The Crafting Con

“Is that all?” Hiro grumbles, clearly put out as he turns off the Nintendo. He hesitates, still leaning forward with his forearms resting on sweatpants-clad thighs. “So, um, about the workshop. There’s been a slight complication…”

My head snaps up from the notebook so fast my neck will be feeling it the rest of the day. “Complication? What sort of complication?”

“It’s just, May sixth is my grandparents’ wedding anniversary, and normally that’d be no big deal, but apparently this year is, like, their fiftieth.” Hiro rubs the back of head, his voice lowering to a mumble. “Or something.”

“Okay.” Alarm bells are pinging in my head while sweat coats my palms, but I try to maintain a semblance of calm as I hop off the bed and start pacing the length of the room. “And that affects our workshop, how?”

“Well, you see, there’s gonna be a party. Like, a really big one, with an actual venue and family flying in and all that. And apparently my parents expect me to be there. Or else. Direct quote.”

This is not happening. If Hiro bails on the workshop, I’ll be screwed. None of my other friends have the skills to pull it off, and Grady specifically said I had to have at least one other person there to help run things. Even if it wasn’t required, I’d need backup. There’s just no way I can realistically give twenty crafting newbs the one-on-one assistance they’ll need to assemble an awesome prop within an hour window… I just can’t. The workshop will have to be canceled, and I doubt I’ll be asked to come back next year.

Worse, I’ll be letting Grady down.

Might as well kiss that summer collab project goodbye.

“What time is this all-important shindig? Maybe you can do both,” I suggest, clawing at any straw that might save my rapidly disintegrating dream.

“Party starts at six, with family photos at five…”

Hope blooms sweet and fragile. “That’s perfect! You’ll have plenty of time to⁠—”

“…in Spokane.”

Only to be crushed beneath the heavy boot of reality. “Spokane? Why Spokane?”

Hiro shrugs, and he at least has the decency to look chagrined. “It’s where they got married. Before moving to western Washington.”

“Well, that’s”—frustrating, annoying, mildly rage-inducing—“romantic, I guess.” I sigh, slumping onto the floor to lean despondently against the bed. “So I guess that’s it. I’ll have to email Grady and let him know I don’t have anyone to run the workshop with me. It’s over.”

“Ah, but that’s where I’ve got you covered.” Hiro stretches up out of the beanbag before grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. Fleeing the scene of the crime like any wise traitor would.

I barely summon the energy to look up at him, not willing to risk another vestige of hope quite yet. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

He spreads his hands wide, a grin lighting his face. “I already found someone to fill in for me.”

My eyes narrow. “You found an experienced crafter to help run the workshop?” Color me skeptical. “Who? And don’t say Zeke or Bailey. They still think cardboard and duct tape are all you need to make a decent shield.”

“Okay, trying not to be offended that you think I’d suggest either of them for an event of this caliber,” Hiro huffs. “You do know my social circle extends past our lunch table?”

As a matter of fact, I didn’t. Not that I’ll admit as much when my entire prop-making career hangs on whatever mystery friend he has yet to name. “Sure I do. I just didn’t realize any of them were skilled makers,” I hedge, fingers drumming anxiously against my knees.

Hiro adjusts the straps on his bag, his gaze shifting to the door. “Well, they aren’t per se, but they know someone who is.”

“Wait—this person isn’t your friend, but a friend of a friend? And they agreed to help without even meeting me?” Yeah, that’s sounding pretty sus. As is Hiro’s inching toward the door.

“Well, to be honest, my friend hasn’t technically asked them yet, but they’re ninety percent confident they’ll agree.”

I run a hand down my face as I draw on my last, fraying shred of patience. “So, what you’re saying is you don’t have someone lined up at all, and I’m screwed.”

“You’re not screwed. They’re going to say yes, and everything is going to be golden. You’ll see.” He’s halfway out the door now, but he pauses long enough to add, “Just be in your garage, ready to work at the usual time tomorrow morning, and they’ll meet you there. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Sure. Whatever.” It’s not like I’d be anywhere else on a Saturday morning, anyway. “But aren’t you gonna tell me who this prospective partner is? Maybe it’s someone I know, and I could help convince them.”

The look that crosses Hiro’s face has me jolting to attention, alarms bells ringing at full blast. But he only grins and says, “Oh, you definitely know them, but I think the element of surprise will work in your favor. See you tomorrow.”

The door closes on his parting words, and I’m left in the proverbial dark with a nervous pit gnawing its way through my stomach.

What has my soon-to-be-former best friend done now?