Geekerella

Sage rubs the back of her neck. “Well, they didn’t exactly lose it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Elle, I…have a confession to make,” Sage says slowly. “I took the dress.”

“You?” The realization begins to dawn on me. “You took it?”

“Yeah. When I said I was taking Franco out to pee that day.” She looks ashamed and proud at the same time. “I didn’t think your stepsisters would wig out like that! I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I just…I couldn’t stand the thought of those snotty girls wearing your mother’s things. I couldn’t do it. And I’ll understand if you hate me for life because of it and—”

I sling my arms around her and bury my face into her shoulder. “Thank you,” I sob. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“I wanted to steal it myself but I couldn’t! I didn’t know how. I—I was furious. But I couldn’t do anything.”

“But Chloe took your tickets. She took your savings because I took the dress.”

I nod. “She would’ve taken those anyway. I know she would’ve.”

“Okay.” She laughs nervously and stands, outstretching her hand. I take it and she pulls me to my feet.

She squeezes my hand. “Now let’s get to that con, yeah? We’re burning daylight just standing around.”

“But how are we getting there? The bus left and—”

“We’ll take the Pumpkin.”

I gape. “Are you serious? We can’t take the Pumpkin. Your mom would flip. One more parking ticket and—”

“Desperate times, girlfriend. Desperate measures. I’ll deal with her once I get home. Now get your things. We’re going on a road trip.”

“But we don’t have money. Or passes.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go. C’mon Bilbo, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You’re crazy.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “I know.”

Drying my eyes, I gather my costume into my duffel bag, leaving the broken crown abandoned in the middle of my room, and hurry down the stairs. Sage throws open the back hatch of the truck and there, hanging from the roof, is Mom’s dress. I stare with unabashed awe.

“Okay,” she says. “If you want me to fix this up for you to wear it, you’re gonna have to drive.” She tosses me the keys and digs out a small sewing set from her satchel.

“Wait—what?” I catch the keys.

“You,” she replies, closing the truck doors, and rounds to the passenger side. “Driving. You know how to get to Atlanta, right?”

“Me?” I sprint around to the other side and take a running leap into the truck, half-expecting Catherine’s Miata to come rolling down the street. I buckle up, inserting the key into the ignition. The speedometer and all the little buttons and dials loom in front of me like a complicated control panel. “I barely know how to drive!”

“You said you had a license.”

“That doesn’t mean I practice!”

“Then you can learn,” she replies, taking my bag. “We got four hours, half a tank of gas, and a contest to slay. So tell me: are you ready to hijack the Pumpkin, Princess?”

Sage grins her wild grin and there’s no way I can say no. I just can’t. “Aye, copilot.”

She grins bigger and flips down her Ray-Bans. I follow suit, positioning my cheap aviator knock-offs to hide my red-rimmed eyes. I give the key a turn in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life like a beast waking from hibernation and the Pumpkin coasts out of the driveway and down the road, black smoke belching from the tailpipe.

“IT’LL NEVER BE THE RIGHT BLUE,” I mutter to myself, straightening the collar. The uniform is hanging on a peg in a closed-off room at the convention center. I thought that after twenty-three days of filming in it, I would be utterly sick of this costume, but it feels wrong not wearing it now. Like a second skin.

I run my fingers along the brass buttons and polished starwings. Gail had the tails starched this morning as I nursed a cup of coffee. I can’t remember how late I stayed up, but it was well after I dragged my costars’ drunk, happy asses back to the hotel.

“You’re such a good catch,” Jess had slurred in the back of Lonny’s black car. As it turns out, having a bodyguard does come with perks, and those perks involve having on-call limo service all the time. Lonny was not happy. “That girl’s crazy to not see it.”

“What girl?” Calvin asked, lying facedown across the other seat.

“The one Darien’s in love with.”

“I’m not—” I argued, but Jess pressed a drunk finger against my lips.

“Shhhhhh,” she commanded, and promptly puked on my shoes. I threw them away in the lobby, trying to avoid Lonny’s death stare for the rest of the evening as we corralled costars back to their rooms.

There’s a knock on the door a moment before Gail lets herself inside. “You ready, Dare?”

I run a hand nervously through my hair. “Sure thing. Any sign of my phone?”

She shakes her head. As soon as I got back to my room—well, as soon as I’d gotten back and wiped the remains of Jess’s barf off me—Gail had broken the bad news: my phone was missing.

“I have no idea where I could’ve put it,” she gushes for the millionth time. “I even tried calling the number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I’m sorry, I know you said—”

“We’ll find it,” I tell her with more certainty than I feel.

“Right, we will.”

She takes me by the elbow, knowing I won’t move until I’m prompted to, and leads me down the hallway and past the green room, the only place where the con’s guests can sit around without being constantly asked for autographs or selfies. Even veterans sit in there more often than not. No one goes out onto the con floor. It’s an aquarium full of piranhas. It’s the epicenter of this universe’s Black Nebula.

As the green room door disappears behind us, I give it one last forlorn glance when a guy with thick brown hair and an even browner coat catches my eye.

“Gail!” I skid to a stop. “I think I see Nathan F—”

Gail yanks me toward her like a yo-yo. “You can get him to sign your first-edition Firefly comic later. After your panel and your, ah, your signing.”

I dig my heels into the carpet. “Signing?”

Gail cringes and tugs at her ponytail. “It was, um, it was Mark’s orders.”

“Mark’s…,” I strangle his name out. “My dad said I had to?”

“He insists. He says it’ll be good publicity. He says you need it. I tried to argue with him but—”

“What if that blogger’s here? The one who left the messages?”

“We don’t know if it’s the same person,” she points out.

“Oh, so what if they’re both here? Either of them could have a ticket for my line!”

“I—I’m sorry,” Gail repeats, and instantly my fear turns to regret and my shoulders slump. The brown coat in the green room is gone. Another missed opportunity.

I shake my head. “No, no, it’s not your fault. You can’t go against Mark. Maybe the con office can do something. I’ll handle it.”

“But Dare—”

“I’ll handle it.”

At the end of the hallway, I throw open the doors and make my way through the crowded con, Gail clawing through the sea of people behind me. I refuse to pause for selfies or autographs or anything because I’m on a mission.

First Mark makes me do the con. Then he blames me for all the weird leaks that have been happening. And now he won’t let me cancel a signing? And no Orange Crush soda. I’ve had it up to my eyebrows with things out of my control.

Mark can kiss it.

I am not going to sign.

THE ATLANTA CONVENTION CENTER IS HUGE.

Sage lets me off at the front to go find us badges while she finds out where to park the Pumpkin. It sputters away as I gape at all the people. There are so many people. Not just people but Vulcans and Nox and Turians and Sith Lords. Groots, X-Men, Jon Snows, Marty McFlys, Disney princesses. Nathaniel Drakes and Indiana Joneses, DOTA 2 avatars beside League of Legends characters, Browncoats and hero capes and Hogwarts cloaks. Sailor Moons and sailors of stars and Trekkies and swarming among them all, in coats the perfect navy blue, the sign of the esteemed Federation, are the Stargunners.

The impossible world. And—even better—no sign of the twins.

12:22 PM

—You would NOT guess where I am right now, ah’blen.

—[1 photo attachment]

I wait for him to respond because I think he’s here too—probably talking on one of the cosplay panels—but he doesn’t respond. At least not at first. He will when he sees it. But will he want to meet up? Do I want to?

I…I think I do.

Determined, I hike my duffel bag higher onto my shoulder and embark on my quest to commandeer a ticket. A bored-looking guy is the only one left at the ticket table, a fat red sign reading SATURDAY PASSES SOLD OUT hanging overhead. I take a deep breath and march right up.