I wonder, in Elle’s possible universe, who I would’ve become without them. Maybe in that universe I’d still have a father, and maybe I wouldn’t have blamed Brian.

Maybe I’d be no one at all.

“Hello?” Mark grumbles.

“Hey, old man,” I say brightly.

“Darien? What are you—what time is it?” I hear him shuffle around, and then he groans. “Darien, it’s late over there. Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight?”

“Supposed to,” I say. “It’s probably taking off. I don’t know.”

There’s an edge to his voice. “You don’t know?”

I swallow the knot in my throat and concentrate on my polished leather boots. They’re Carmindor’s boots, actually. I haven’t changed out of them yet. I’m fooling myself into thinking that maybe if I’m dressed like a hero, I can still act like one, holding on to the last ragged shred of courage left in me.

Lonny, sitting in a cushy hotel-room armchair, quietly sips a glass of sparkling water. Gail, in the chair beside him, scrolls through her phone. They’re both listening, and I don’t care. When I asked if they could stay in the room when I called Mark, they agreed without hesitation. It’s a comfort. I guess because they’re the closest thing I have to friends. Or parents.

“How do you not know? You are getting on that plane. You are coming home. Do you realize how much money those tickets are—”

“Did you leak those photos?” I blurt out. “The ones Brian took? From the yacht?” Gail looks up from her phone, her face pale with surprise. Mark stays quiet for a long moment.

“I realized that you needed to pick your friends carefully,” he replies slowly, choosing his words carefully, just like he wants to pick my friends. My career. My girlfriends. And everything else. My entire life. “When I saw he had those photos, I had to do something. So I did. That way we stayed ahead of the news.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed and stare at the beige carpet. “So you sacrificed my pride and privacy for a little fame.”

“Those headlines got you Carmindor, Darien.”

They got me Carmindor.

The words feel like a knife twisting in my gut; I remember the weeks after the headlines broke. Staying in my apartment, locking the doors, feeling the walls closing in around me. Then outside, wearing sunglasses and a hat everywhere, trying not to scroll through the headlines but reading them anyway. Feeling the shame solidify inside me, becoming hard, forming a wall.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Darien, it’s compli—”

“Were you?”

“Darien, I wanted what was in your best interest.”

“And the pictures from the shoot? Was that you too? Or did Brian leak those on his own?”

“Don’t be naive. All leaks are fake,” Mark scoffs. I can practically see him drawing the air quotes as he says the word leaks. “Brian was hard up for cash, so I found him a PA gig on set. Told him to keep his head down and maybe snap a few things. Spy on your phone, if he could get it.”

“You lied to me. You let me get slandered. Again. For what? A few minutes of fame?”

“To keep you relevant,” my father says.

“Congrats,” I reply bitterly, “it worked.”

There’s a long pause. “I know you probably hate me,” Mark says. “You have every right to. But I’m not the bad guy here, I swear. I never wanted to be. The leaks, the attention, you and Jess—we’re better because of it, yeah? It worked out perfectly. We survived.”

“I guess,” I say. He’s right: I did survive. The film’s in the can. I’m going to be a star. But Elle, losing Elle. That’s the aftermath.

“Now,” Mark continues, “I’m going to book you another flight. You’ve got a photo shoot in the morning, then a sit-down with a few press junkets and—”

“No.”

“No?”

I take a deep breath, screwing my courage to the sticking place. “Rebook the shoot. Tell them something came up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got contracts to uphold for this movie. There’s money on the line—”

“Dad, I don’t want to be Carmindor for the money.”

“Darien, this is a job.”

I clench my jaw. “It’s not about the money. Or the contracts. Or the photo shoots. Or the headlines. Or the notoriety. Or my insured abs—why the hell insure my abs, anyway? It’s like Taylor Swift insuring her legs. It’s ridiculous.”

“Every precaution,” he says. “It’s just—”

But I cut him off. “Headlines or no headlines, I took the gig because of Carmindor. Because of Starfield. Because we used to sit down and watch the reruns together. Remember?”

“That was a long time ago, Darien.”

Maybe. But sometimes it still feels like yesterday, when he was still my dad. “To me it’s about the characters. It’s about the story. The fans. It’s about—” The words catch in my throat as I remember the conversations Elle and I had, about the Black Nebula, about the world, about the what-ifs.

“—it’s about the impossible universe,” I finish.

“What are you talking about?”

For once I manage to swallow my anger. “I want to be part of my own story again, and I—”

I realize that I can’t stay in this limbo anymore. Between not having a father and having one. Unlike Elle, who would do anything to get her father back, I still have one.

“I want a new manager,” I say at last. “I want my dad back.”

“Are you…firing me?”

“Yeah. I am. I love you, Dad, but I am.”

His voice turns hard. “Darien, listen to yourself. Your career. You can’t just—”

“I am,” I reply, and then I hang up.

Gail begins to collect her things from around the room. From the look on her face, she thinks she’s fired too. “I’ll be out of here soon. Mark said I’m supposed to—”

“Forget Mark,” I tell her. “You are officially promoted, effective immediately.” Her eyebrows shoot up. I toss her my phone, and she fumbles to catch it.

Gail’s jaw goes slack. “You mean…”

“I mean I’m probably going to need you to go to L.A. and make some apologies at that photo shoot tomorrow,” I say. “You can still catch a flight if you—”

“But I’m horrible at apologies!” She could not turn any paler. In fact, I think she’s actually turning green. “What happened to Mark? Why can’t—”

I grab her by the shoulders and turn her to face me. We lock eyes. “Gee, you’re my number one. Always have been. You’re the only person I trust. Now, if you don’t want to, I understand, but I want to ask you anyway. We’re a team, and always will be. Will you be my manager?”

“I…” Her mouth works silently, and then she closes her eyes and breathes deep. Some of the color returns to her cheeks. Finally, she opens her eyes and nods curtly. “You bet, Dare.”

I grin, squeezing her shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Miss the Best to you,” she replies, returning my grin—but just as suddenly she drops it. “Oh, the flight—I have to catch that flight!” Spinning out of my grip, she grabs her purse from the floor and darts for the door. She pauses and turns back to me. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

And then she’s gone, the door slamming behind her.

Lonny finishes his drink and stands. “So what’s our plan?”

“You don’t have to go,” I tell him, shrugging out of Carmindor’s jacket. “I’m sort of going AWOL, so it’s not in your contract.”

“Then as far as I’m concerned, I’m off the clock,” he says, straightening his suit. “I can do whatever I want with my time, and I want to help you out. So what’s the plan?”

“First,” I say, “to the vending machines. With all this good luck, they gotta have an Orange Crush.”

And holy gods of soda, Batman, by the glowing light of the great vending machines on the third floor, I spot a beautiful Orange Crush button, and when I push it an orange bottle rolls out. I crack the seal and drink to the sweet, sweet taste of victory.

“That’s your plan?” Lonny says. “To drink a soda?”

I cap the bottle and shake my head, a half-crazy idea now fully formed in my head.

“I’m going to do what Carmindor should’ve done in the last episode of Starfield,” I tell him. “I’m going after the girl.”

THERE HAVE BEEN ONLY THREE INSTANCES in my life that I thought I’d never get through. The first was when Mom died. I was too young to remember much, except the memory of Dad hugging me on a cold September morning and the smell of sterilized hospital rooms.

The second was that moment before Catherine came outside, while I sat on the porch waiting for Dad to come home. The air was humid and sticky, and I couldn’t wait to show him the story I’d written about Carmindor and the Nox King. It was the best one yet. I was so happy.