“I’m not. We’re entering. That’s how I’ll stop them.”
She purses her lips. “All right, fine. We’ll swing by and then head over to my house—Dog! Stop panting so loudly! Ugh. It’s slobbering everywhere.”
The edges of my lips quirk up at the scowl on her face. “It just means he loves you.”
“Mm-hm.” She gives Frank the evil eye and goes back to her magazine.
—
TO ANYONE WHO’S NEVER BEEN IN my house, it can be a little…jarring. Most houses in historic Charleston are beautiful, elegant. They think of the ones on Rainbow Row that are painted in the pastels of the season, lining the Battery like marching petit-fours. But my house is on the edge of the historical district, and though it’s old, it’s too young to qualify as “historical” and too old to be torn down. So it sort of exists in this limbo, with a leaky roof and a creaky front door.
I push open the door and hurry up the stairs. Sage marvels at the foyer, the immaculate wood finish, the chandelier, and the spotless living room. At least that’s what the twins’ friends look at when they first invite them over. They’re all astonished that everything is so tidy, so white, so…
“It’s all so soulless,” comes Sage’s voice as she follows me up the stairs.
I try to think of the best place to hide the con passes. Underwear drawer? No, I’ve already stashed the bus tickets and cash in there. “Catherine likes things clean.”
She wanders down the hallway, with Frank tucked under her arm like a furry football. If Catherine knew that a dog was in her tidy little home, she’d flip. That gives me a mote of satisfaction—she doesn’t know everything. She can’t control everything.
Sage studies the family portraits of Catherine and the twins, lingering a little longer on the ones showing the twins as kids. She cocks her head. “Where’re you?”
“I wasn’t in those,” I reply, glancing around my room. Under the mattress? No, who knows what’s under that.
“Hey, is this the twins’ room? With the two beds?”
“Yeah.” I twirl around my room, searching, searching—until my eyes settle on the framed blue prints of the Prospero. Bingo. I take the frame off the wall and tuck the con passes against the back of it.
“Hey, um, Frank needs to take a leak, so I think I’m heading out.”
“I’ll be out in a minute!”
“Don’t hurry!”
I shake the frame to make sure the passes won’t fall out and then hang it back on the wall. There’s no way they’ll find them there. I wouldn’t find them there. I close the door to my room and hurry through the hallway and down the stairs. I lock up just as Sage comes out from the back of the truck, wiping her hands on her pants.
“Did Frank do his deed?” I ask, rounding to the passenger side.
“Right on your stepmom’s petunias. As I’d hoped.” She hops into the driver’s seat and cranks it up. The engine rumbles to life. “You know, he’s not so bad.”
“Told ya he’d grow on you.”
She adjusts the rearview mirror. “Hmm? Oh, oh yeah.”
I give her a strange look as she pulls out of the driveway and starts off toward her house in North Charleston. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine. But,” she adds after a minute, “I do have a question. Those things on Carmindor’s jacket. Those two things.” She motions to her sleeve and I know exactly what she’s talking about. The Federation badges that say what class and what genetic modification you are. Starwings. “Your jacket doesn’t have them. And you don’t have the crown either.”
“Yeah, those were missing from the trunk.”
“Can we get them online?”
“The starwings, maybe. But the crown…” I shrug, trying to remember how much one goes for on Etsy. “…is the price of a small child.”
“Well my firstborn’s already taken by the Dark Lord, so how about we just make one instead?”
“Make it?” I think she’s joking until I realize that I’m the only one laughing. I clear my throat. “No, no, I don’t think so.”
She drives around a slow economy car, jostling onto the freeway. “Oh come on, I’m sewing your jacket back together. I can work miracles. Can you ask on one of your forums or whatever? Fandoms have forums, right?”
“Yeah we have forums.”
She raises a dark pierced eyebrow.
“I…can try,” I finally cave.
She punches me good-humoredly in the shoulder, making the truck swerve. “I knew you could do it!”
“Hey, eyes on the road!”
Grinning, she turns back to the wheel. I feel for my phone, even though I know Car is working. He’ll be at the con too, won’t he? He had been trying to cancel something, but maybe he never got through.
Would there be a chance of us meeting? Would he even want to meet me? I chew on my bottom lip, nervous. What if he comes to his senses once he sees me? Takes one look and runs for the closest Amara for support?
What if—if we meet—he doesn’t like the real me? It’s easier to be who you want to be when aren’t trying to be who everyone else thinks you are. But why do I care? I hate that I care. I hate that I think about Car when I should be focused on nothing but winning the contest.
I hate that I’m falling for someone I don’t even know.
“WITH THE SOLAR FLUX CAPACITOR BREACHING critical mass, I don’t—I mean, I do—shit.” Calvin/Euci shoves away from me, shark teeth glinting. “What’s my line again?”
I beat his PA to it and intone, “With the solar flux capacitor breaching critical mass, I don’t see any other way, Your Highness.”
Calvin glares at me. “I didn’t ask you. What do you want, extra credit for knowing my lines too?”
I shrug and adjust my collar as he composes himself. The ADR shakes her head, muttering something to the director. Amon nods, checking his watch, before he signals to her again.
“All right, we’ll take an hour. Dinner break!” the ADR shouts at the crew. “And we got barbecue catering tonight! Cal, can you run your lines while you’re at dinner?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and hops off the stage.
It’s unreal how fast the techs and assistants drop their work and make a beeline for the exit. I sigh, sinking down to the edge of the fake bridge, unbuttoning my jacket collar. The set empties out faster than bleachers during halftime at a high school football game.
A PA comes to take my jacket, but I tell her I can do it myself. She’s older, college age, probably interning for cheap—or no—pay. She thumbs back to the door. “Are you coming to eat at least?”
I give her a thankful smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few.”
When she’s gone, I reach into my jacket and fish out my phone. I’m getting better at hiding it. Not texting as often, doing it on breaks when no one’s watching. It sucks, and I feel like a jerk for not answering Elle quickly. But at least I answer eventually.
Elle 3:02 PM
—Day 2 of Frank the Tank at work is amazing
—He’s such a ham
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Elle 4:21 PM