Velveteen vs. the Junior Super Patriots by Seanan McGuire

cry, and stepped into the Starbucks.
    Aaron had been gazing anxiously around, but his attention focused on the door as she entered, his shoulders suddenly going rigid. He half-stood, nearly knocking over his chair, then seemed to think better of the gesture, and slammed himself back into a sitting position. Velma saw the small pile of shredded napkins on the table in front of him as she approached. She wasn’t the only one that was nervous. That might have been reassuring, if she’d known what he was nervous about. After all, people tend to display signs of guilt when they’re in the process of setting traps for their former teammates and ex-girlfriends. Especially when those two people happen to be one and the same.
    “Aaron,” she said coolly, sliding herself into the open seat and picking up the waiting mocha. “I’m going to assume that you’re here on good faith, and that you haven’t poisoned my coffee. Is that a safe assumption?”
    He flushed. “Vel—”
    “I know you’re here on company time, and that makes it a fair question. Is it okay for me to drink the coffee?”
    “Yeah,” he said, doing his best impression of a big blond Eeyore. “You can eat the coffee cake, too. I got it for you.”
    Despite herself, Velma smiled. “Yeah, well. I figured that you hadn’t suddenly developed a thing for blueberries.”
    “I could be a clone.”
    “You’d have the same allergies.”
    “Parallel dimension.”
    “Wouldn’t have known I’d want it.”
    Now Aaron was smiling, too, tension briefly forgotten in the face of their favorite of the old, odd games: How Would You Know If I Got Replaced? “Shapechanging alien.”
    “Possible.” She sipped her mocha. “But would a shapechanging alien have remembered the extra sugar?”
    “Probably not,” said Aaron. “Your game.” Sobering, he picked up his own cup and rolled it between his hands, saying, “You look good, Vel.”
    “Oh, please.” Velma shook her head. “I’m in road pants, I need a haircut, and I’ve put on like eight pounds in the last month and a half. This has been the trip from hell. I’m starting to think I’ll never get where I’m going.” She paused. “But it was nice of you to say. You look just like I expected you to.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. I saw this year’s trials.” Seeing the sudden hope in his eyes, she shook her head. “Accidentally. They were on TV at the coffee shop where I was working.”
    “You mean the place that got shunted off into a world of eternal shadow?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “That’s . . . sort of why I’m here,” said Aaron, regret coloring every word. Velma tensed. “See, the thing is, we were doing the mop-up, and some of the people in town, they said you were the only survivor. And one of them said—”
    “Aaron, don’t.”
    “—said they’d seen you being carried back to the place where you were staying. Carried by something about six inches tall. That was just before the place got shunted off into a world of eternal shadow, so you can see where they’d remember it. And—”
    “Please, don’t.”
    “—it sort of has a few people wondering whether—”
    “If you ever loved me, don’t.”
    He stopped, looking at her with wide, injured blue eyes. “You know that’s not fair. You know I loved you.”
    “Yeah?” She wiped her hand across her eyes again, harder this time. “Could’ve fooled me.”
    *
    Seven years ago. Velveteen was coming out of the gym, leotard sweaty and sticking to her sides. Working out in tights had never been her favorite way to spend an afternoon, but with the chance that training could be filmed at any time, all heroes with non-public secret identities were required to wear variants of their standard costumes while exercising. It was an annoying, inconvenient rule, but unlike so many of the annoying, inconvenient rules at The Super Patriots, Inc., it actually made sense.
    At least they weren’t allowed to film in the showers. As soon as she