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has totally sold out,” Wanda says. “This doesn’t compare to her earlier, low-budget films. I can’t believe she spent millions of dollars to make a film only to take all the color out of it in post-production. Why not just make it a black-and-white movie?”
    “Saba Greer will be there with the director for a Q & A,” I say. “And the movie’s not coming out in theaters for another two months.”
    Wanda likes obscure independent films. She programs all the cult films. She’s a big purist. Unlike me she doesn’t also like the big splashy Hollywood films.
    “She plays Egg in
Terminal Earth,
” I say.
    “I know who she is, Egg. How could I not?” Wanda points at my cloak and smiles. She’s not laughing at me, like other people do, and I like that most about her.
    “How about I put you on duty for the special prefilm reception? You can help Eduardo set up the tables and then mingle at the party,” she says.
    “That would be great,” I say, and then I stuff the envelopes with much more gusto.
    In a little over a month, I will meet Egg herself!

Making a life cast involves slathering someone’s face with alginate. I know how to do it, but I don’t have anyone to make a life cast of. So today, since Dad isn’t so busy, he takes the time to make a new life cast of my face. I sit extremely still so I don’t distort the mask. I am completely enclosed, ears plugged, senses shut off. The only thing I can hear inside my head is my own steady breathing and the strong sound of my heartbeat. Some people freak out during the process, but I like it.
    When the alginate hardens, Dad pulls off the mother mold. I love seeing the inside of my own face.
    I pour the plaster in to make a positive cast. I pull it out after about an hour and then I leave it to dry. Next week I’ll have my own face to sculpt my creations on instead of a stock one that Dad has on the shelf.
    I go over to the area where my positive from last week is waiting for me. I get the modeling clay and begin creating.
    I like the way the clay softens in my fingers and how the monsters and aliens spring to life under my capable and sturdy hands.
    I take the tools and make the pores in the face. I crease the line where a growl or a snarl is frozen in place. I determine the age of the character by the lines I press into the clay.
    I am not doing this for anyone but myself.
    I work and work and work silently next to Dad as he tinkers with an eyeball or an alien or ears that he needs to make for this project or that project. He is always tinkering.
    After I spend two hours working and molding and pressing and poking the clay, Dad comes over to observe my work.
    He turns the positive around. He circles it. He nods. He scrunches his face. He picks up a tool and adds something, an obvious wrinkle that I forgot.
    “You’re getting better, Egg,” he says.
    I make a two-piece mold over the entire head, then I open the mold and clean the clay out. I’m ready to make the foam latex. Soon, I will have a new mask for my collection.
    “Document, document, document,” Dad says.
    I take out my camera and photograph the mask I finished painting last week.
    “You have some great ideas for monsters,” Dad says.
    “My mind is a scary place,” I say.

    I sit in the most out-of-the-way corner with my math book open. The numbers in the problems I am trying to solve morph into monsters. I abandon the math and begin drawing monster ideas in my notebook.
    The light in the café is yellow, and I notice that everyone here is with someone else. They are with friends. I am the only one alone. I throw my Egg cloak over the empty chair at my table so it looks like someone is coming right back to sit with me. So that the chair looks occupied.
    It’s 7:37 P.M. , by the big antique clock on the wall. The café starts to fill up.
    A girl comes over to me. She is wearing nerdy cat eyeglasses with rhinestones in them. One of the rhinestones is missing. It looks like a gap tooth. She