“So the blogger was right,” I mutter to myself, tapping the end of the permanent marker on the table. It’s annoying just how right she was. My time is way less important than making these people happy.

Gail hovers just out of earshot, talking animatedly on the phone, setting up meetings and photo ops and all the things I’m too busy to handle. After all this, she deserves a break. Or a promotion.

At the front of the line is Lonny, looking as stoic and badass as ever—even in a Powerpuff Girls cap he swiped from a nearby booth to make him look less suspicious. He keeps getting strange looks.

A fan slides a book toward me and I begin to say that I don’t sign other people’s work when I recognize the graphic novel.

Batman: Year One.

I grip the marker, slowly turning up my eyes to a redhead in a Kilgrave T-shirt. He’s taller than I remember—and older, obviously; his hair close-cropped, eyes dark.

My heart sinks. I sit back, capping the marker. “Brian?”

“Hey, Darien. Long time, yeah?”

I glance behind him. There are at least twenty people still waiting to get something signed. I can’t just walk out now and Gail has her back turned, so she can’t see the trouble even if I Hulked out and waved Brian over my head by his foot. I have to keep my cool. Which is hard, considering I want to punch him in the face.

Instead I nod and reply. “Long time. Do you have something for me to sign? You know I don’t sign other peoples’ work.”

He licks his lips. The start of the Empire’s insignia from Star Wars peeks up from the collar of his shirt. Of course he’d get the Empire’s. He wasn’t ever good enough for the Rebel Alliance. “I just want to talk to you—just for a minute. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I left voicemails at your hotel—”

“That was you? I thought—” I don’t finish my sentence. Because what I thought was ridiculous. Of course it would have to be Brian.

He smiles. “Did you listen to them?”

“Can’t say I had the time,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He makes an aggravated noise and squats so we’re eye level. If that’s not condescending, I don’t know what is. “Look, I didn’t know they’d try to take you down like that. I thought it’d just be a quick piece in some small tabloid. I didn’t think, like, People magazine would get a hold of it. He said I’d get to keep the money, and…I don’t know, dude, I thought you were in on it!”

“In on it?” I can’t believe this. “In on what—you selling me out?”

“It was a lot of money. You understand, right? You have to understand.”

I want to tell him off, but the frakking truth is that I do understand. I understand why he’d sell me out for paparazzi money. When someone gives you enough cash to cover a good chunk of your college tuition, you take it. And then there was me, the geeky son of self-crowned Hollywood royalty. We were outliers. So we became friends.

So yeah, of course I understand him. I understand him better than I understand myself. That’s what pisses me off the most. That he couldn’t understand me the same way. Wasn’t that what best friends were? He was like my brother. Brothers don’t rat each other out, and yet here we were.

I look down at my marker, twirling it in my fingers. “Yeah, Brian, I understand.”

His face breaks open with relief. “Oh, good! So, listen, if we’re cool and, like, friends again, I think—”

“No.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “But you just said—”

“I’m not trying to be a dick. You were my best friend. I trusted you.” The people behind him are getting restless. Gail is still yacking on the phone with whomever. It better be Mark or I’m throwing all of her underwear in my mini-freezer tonight when we get back to the hotel.

But Lonny—he’s zeroed in on us, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to give him a signal. He arches a strong black eyebrow. Do I want him to show Brian the door? Yes, yes I do.

But that’s not going to end things. I need to do that.

I push his copy of Batman: Year One back across the table. “I forgive you, Brian, but I don’t think we can be friends again.”

We both got our copies the first year we went to a con, before I ever became famous. We cosplayed as Carmindor and Euci and stood in line for two hours just to get David Singh’s autograph on our old Starfield DVDs. It was the first time we really hung out outside of school, the weekend we became friends. The kind of friends that would become shoot-the-shit, drinking beer in the back of pickups on the beach friends. The kind of friend that recorded my first audition tape that Dad—Mark—used to get me the role of Sebastian on Seaside Cove. That first con was the start of it.

Then…then my life happened. Seaside Cove. Then Starfield. Then suddenly what I thought was true wasn’t anymore, who I thought I was I wasn’t anymore. And who I was to everyone else shifted. Changed.

“Enjoy the rest of the con,” I tell Brian, motioning for the next person to step up in line.

“Are you kidding me?” Brian scoffs. “You’re going to give me that don’t have time bullshit when you’ve been texting some random girl for the last month?”

I look at him sharply, and his eyebrows jerk up. He’s surprised, caught off guard, and suddenly it clicks—all those moments during filming, all my suspicions of being watched. I wasn’t crazy.

“You,” I say quietly. “You were there. You locked me on the rooftop. You leaked those shots.” My head spins. “How did you even get on set?”

“You haven’t figured it out?” His teeth gleam. “All I had to do was drop Mark’s name and no one would mess with me. Your costume director seems terrified of him. Oh and by the way.” He holds up something—my phone. “Your handler left this behind.”

I lunge for it, but Brian yanks it away.

“Nah, not so fast. Because until like ten minutes ago, I was gonna bring it to you as a peace offering, even though you never answered my messages at the hotel.”

“Look, I was busy shooting and—” I reach for it again. “Just give it back.”

But he doesn’t. He’s looking at the screen. Reading.

“Elle’s here, you know,” he says.

My stomach plummets. It must show on my face because Brian grins.

“Don’t worry. I’ll let her know you’re too busy to connect with friends.” Before I can stop him, he types something out and drops my phone right into my lap. “You’re welcome.”

Then he raps his knuckles against the table and leaves, pushing his way through the crowd as a big guy squeezes in beside him and slides a Starfield poster onto the table for me to sign.

I look at the phone. It’s open to a text message. One sent to Elle. But I didn’t send it. I swallow the rock in my throat.

“Big fan, so excited for the movie!” gushes the guy.

I slide my phone to the side, trying to be nonchalant so Brian can’t get the benefit of rattling me, and uncap my marker. “Yeah? What’re you excited about the most?” I swoop my signature across the bottom of the poster.

“The observation deck,” he says, grinning, “is nice this time of year.”

“Only on the south side of Metron,” I reply, sliding the poster back. “Thanks for coming,” I tell him and look to the next fan. Keep looking ahead, keep looking ahead, I repeat the mantra to myself.

Don’t ever look back.

Finally, Lonny lumbers over and hovers until Brian slinks away out of the line. He stays in my peripheral vision for a while until my bodyguard cracks his knuckles. Finally Brian disappears. I hope for the last time.

Maybe that’s what fame does. It corrupts everything around you until even your best friends see you more as a name than as a person, a commodity instead of an individual. Maybe that’s just my life now.

But then what about Elle? Will the same thing happen when she finds out who I am? She already hates Darien Freeman—but will she hate me too? As I look up at the guy who used to trade Pokémon cards with me behind the cafeteria Dumpsters, I begin to wonder if I really want to take that chance again.

It’ll only end up the same way. Maybe worse now. Maybe worse because I actually have feelings for Elle—deep feelings—and I realize that’s what Gail was trying to warn me about. Not because Elle is a stranger, or because she might be a bad person, but because she’s normal. She’s like everyone else.

And like everyone else, she couldn’t possibly understand.

Gail finally gets off the phone and wanders back to me. “How’re we doing?” she asks happily.

I strain a smile. “We’re doing great.” I show her my phone. “Found it.”

The last message I sent—that Brian sent—is harsh, a hard farewell. But the thing is—and this is what kills me—it’s right. I can’t see her anymore. What did Elle say—that this was the impossible universe? I had scoffed at that, but now I’m not so sure it’s silly. My life is impossible. My luck is impossible.

And me and Elle? Together? That’s probably the most impossible thing of all.