Geekerella

And then my stepmother came outside, with the phone pressed to her shoulder, and said, “Come inside, Danielle. Robin isn’t coming home.”

I can’t remember where I put that story. I stopped writing after that. I guess the blog came out of that hole—a little good in the impossible. And those two moments, I made it past eventually. But the third…

I’m not sure I’m going to make it through this one.

Because I lost my mother’s shoe, I’m late for curfew, and as Sage turns onto my street I see my house, my parents’ house, with the ugly FOR SALE BY OWNER sign that Catherine put up. All the lights are on and Catherine’s Miata is in the driveway. On the porch, my stepmother stands with her arms crossed, hands cupping elbows, her face a stony unreadable expression. And on the Pumpkin’s dashboard, the clock reads 2:05 a.m.

I am Princess Amara, and this is my Black Nebula.

Cal leans forward. She’s pale and clearly nervous, wringing her hands. I don’t want her to get in trouble at my expense—but I don’t know what else to do. She seems adamant about going in with me, even though I told her she can sneak in through my window. There’s no reason for both of us to get punished.

“You don’t have to go.” Sage slows down but doesn’t stop entirely. She’s being a good friend. She’s the best friend. I’m glad I got to know her. “Or I can go with you.”

But she can’t go with us. I thought I’d be panicking more; that it would be clawing up my throat, stinging my insides like jellyfish kisses. But I’m surprisingly…calm. A few moments stranded in the eye of the hurricane.

Cal squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be right here too.”

“Cal, you don’t have to—”

“Stop trying to take all the blame,” she interrupts. “I’m not my sister, and I’m not my mom. I’m sick of being put in this box. I’m not a box person. It’s time Chloe and Mom learned that.”

The Pumpkin comes to a full stop.

“God, she looks like a wet cat,” Sage mutters.

“That’s her normal look,” I tell her.

Sage leans over and hugs me hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work?”

“Yeah,” I croak. “I mean, maybe.” I hug her back and open the truck door, but Cal lingers for a moment, unsure how to say goodbye to Sage. I quickly avert my eyes. It’s not my business, and it feels private.

As I step out onto the lawn, Catherine narrows her eyes at me. But then Cal follows me out of the truck, and Catherine’s face morphs into anger—like a firework exploding. Just me is one thing, but me and Cal? Dread curls in my stomach like snakes. She can’t do anything, I tell myself. Don’t be scared of her.

But I am. I’m scared of her like Carmindor is scared of the Nox King, like Amara is scared of the Black Nebula. Before I found my parents’ costumes and met Sage and found some kind of happiness, I didn’t think Catherine could possibly take anything away that hasn’t already been taken. But standing here, wearing my parents’ things, the taste of watermelon punch on my tongue and David Bowie crooning “Zig-gy Stardust” through the Pumpkin’s speakers…I realize she can take away a whole lot more than I realized. I have a life now. I have things that matter.

I pull my dad’s jacket over my shoulder. It smells more like Darien than me, like cinnamon and starch and sweat and a night I won’t ever forget. Behind us, Sage forces the Pumpkin’s into gear and, with a loud belch of black smoke, coasts down the road.

“Calliope…” Catherine looks down at her daughter from underneath her lashes. “I believe we need to talk. Chloe told me everything. I am very, very disappointed.”

“Mom, I can explain,” she says, but her mother cuts her off.

“Inside, please, before we make more of a scene.”

Cal ducks her head and hurries into the house. Catherine’s lips curl in disgust as I quietly follow. She slams the door shut, and Cal whirls around.

“Mom, I can explain. It’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh I know what it looks like. I just didn’t think you would lie to me so blatantly, darling,” Catherine replies, her voice eerily cool. “Sneaking out of your tennis tournament? To go hang around with some druggie and your stepsister? Don’t you want this varsity position? A future? Chloe seems to be the only one who does.”

It clicks then, in an instant. Chloe arrived home before us and told Catherine the exact lie that would throw Calliope under the bus with me. I can’t believe it for a second, because why would Chloe do that? They’ve been inseparable ever since I can remember.

Cal seems just as shocked. “But—that’s not—Chloe—”

“Told me everything,” Catherine finishes. “Upstairs. Now.”

“But Mom—”

“Now!” Catherine snaps.

For a moment, I don’t think Cal’s going to go, but then she disappears, hurrying up the stairs. When the door to the twins’ room slams, Catherine turns her gaze on me, sharp and hard.

“Where did you get those clothes?” Her voice is like knives. I stop in the foyer to wipe my bare feet, Mom’s shoe—the one shoe I have left—is in my hand, and Catherine looks at me with disgust. Glitter is falling off around me, stuck in the folds of my dress, pasted to my skin as though I am part stardust too.

“They’re mine,” I say. “My parents’.”

“And you had the audacity to drag Calliope into your nonsense?”

“It wasn’t nonsense, it was a convention. We entered a contest.”

“A contest?”

“A cosplay contest. Remember ExcelsiCon? Dad’s dream? I wanted to be a part of—”

“I don’t care what you want, you little brat!” Catherine exhales so hard it sounds like a hiss. “You knew Calliope was impressionable. You knew you could get her to go along with your schemes. This all started when you started working at that filthy food truck.”

“It’s not filthy!”

“The girls at the country club told me I had you on too loose a leash to let you work there, but I trusted you.” She draws herself up full height, her silk robe gleaming. “You will never see that girl again, Danielle.”

“Sage?” My heart plummets. “But it’s not Sage’s fault!”

“I will nip this in the bud before you disgrace all of us,” she continues, raising her voice to drown mine out. “You will never, ever see her again. Do you hear me?”

The word hits me like a punch to the stomach. Never see Sage again? Ever?

“And you will quit that job,” she adds, “effective immediately. You’ll work somewhere respectable, where I can keep an eye on you.”

“But—but it’s my job!” I try to argue, my voice cracking. Quit the Magic Pumpkin? It’s one of the only things I ever fought to have. One of the only things I got by myself—one of the only things I could get by myself. “I earned it! I like that job!”

“I can’t trust you, Danielle,” my stepmother says, “and if I can’t trust you, you don’t deserve what I give you.”

“All I did was go to the convention my dad built!” I blink back the tears burning at the edge of my eyes. “And it’s my con too! I went because he’s my father! He’s mine! I finally I felt like he’d be proud of me—why can’t you?”

Catherine crosses her arms. “I can’t be proud of a daughter who lies to me.”

“Daughter? You never let me do anything! You’ve punished me for—for I don’t know what! For years!” Tears burn my cheeks. “Why do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” She blinks slowly, as if it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “Danielle, I don’t hate you.”

I clench my jaw. “You sure haven’t acted like it. All I ever wanted from you was one thing—just one. I wanted you to be proud of me. Like you’re proud of Cal and Chloe. I just…” I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to stop the tears. I hate crying, but I can’t stop. “I just wanted—wanted you to love me, too.”

I put my face into the crook of my elbow, stifling my sobs. The mascara and glitter and all the good things from the con rub off onto my skin, leaving wet streaks.

When I finally manage to look up, Catherine’s blue eyes are glittering in the foyer light. She doesn’t respond for a long moment.

Finally, she tilts her head, smiling like she’s trying to be gentle. “I’ve tried to love you, sweetie, but you make it so hard.”

My sobs catch in my throat.

“Your obsession isn’t healthy,” she says briskly. “It wasn’t healthy for your father either, living in a world of make-believe. That’s all he ever did. That’s all he ever was. It was only ever you, and him, and Starfield. And I hate how much you are like him.”

My arm drops away and I stare at her, trying to see the lie behind the cream makeup and dark mascara, but her lips are set in a thin line and her eyes are dark, and I don’t think she’s lying.

“There were just so many things I wanted to change about him,” she says. “And you.”