“Dare!” Jess shouts again. “We won’t wait forever!”
“Seriously,” Calvin says. “Put on your big boy pants and hurry up.”
“But remember”—Gail digs into my duffel for a plain black hat and hands it to me—“if you show up on so much as a Snapchat tonight—”
“I know, I know. Mark will kill me.” I pull my hat low over my brow. “I’ll be fine, Gee. You worry too m—”
A ringtone cuts between our conversation like a knife. Gail and I exchange a look, but when she shrugs, saying it isn’t hers, I dig into my hoodie pocket. All of my phone numbers have assigned ringtones, but this one is generic. The only person whom I never assigned a tone to is—
Elle, the caller ID reads.
My heart jumps into my throat.
“C’mon, Your Highness!” Calvin shouts. “Celebration time!”
She’s probably not actually calling me. It’s probably a butt dial or something.
“You gonna answer that?” Gail asks. “Should I?”
It rings for the third time. Fourth.
“C’mooooon,” Jess echoes Calvin. “You’re only young once, Carmindor!”
I hold up a finger and slide my phone unlocked.
“Hello?”
I wait one second. Two. Three. But there’s no one there. And then the line goes dead.
“Huh.” I pull the phone from my ear. CALL ENDING.
“Nothing?” Gail asks.
“I guess not.” I hide my disappointment with a cough. “Well, I promise I won’t get into much trouble.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before.” Gail looks unconvinced, still staring at my phone. I tighten my grip on it and instantly feel stupid. Elle obviously doesn’t want to talk right now. Besides, she’ll be there tomorrow. And tonight’s the only tonight I’m going to get.
“Here.” I give the phone to Gail. “So I can’t make any underage drunk dials. Or Snapchats. Just don’t lose it. Or snoop through it,” I add. “Can I go now?”
Gail nods, looking relieved as she pockets my phone. “All right.”
I jog toward the SUV, the night air brisk and vibrant, leaving all the baggage of Starfield behind me, taking only the parts that I want to remember—the fit of a stargun in my grip, the power of standing at the helm of the Prospero, the nights talking with a girl who calls me ah’blen—and leaving the rest of it behind.
SAGE DOESN’T TURN DOWN THE ROAD to my house—the truck’s way too loud. She stops at the entrance to the neighborhood as I loop my duffel over my head. 9:31 p.m. This is going to be one hell of a sprint. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asks.
“Meet you at the bus station? Six a.m.?”
“Six it is!” She leans over and hugs me tightly. I return it.
“Wish me luck!” I cry as I roll onto the pavement.
All the houses are dark with sleep. I cut across lawns. The motion lights pop on as my feet thunder across dew-covered grass, my heart thrumming in my ears. I can’t be late. I can’t.
Turning into our driveway, I realize with a wash of relief that Catherine’s Miata isn’t there. No one is home yet. What’s today? Friday?
Wait. Friday. Shopping day. Holy sweet merciful credit cards, Batman.
I slow down and creep around to the side, hoping I won’t wake Giorgio as I climb up the creaky branches of the Bradford pear by my bedroom window. Halfway up, my foot slips. I curse, grappling onto another limb for support.
I pause, making sure no one heard me, before climbing up the rest of the way. When I slide through my window, my knees go to Jello and I sink to the ground, my heart still thundering in my ears.
I made it.
Relief wells up inside me. I curl my knees to my chest and press my forehead against them, trying to catch my breath. That was incredibly stupid—tonight of all nights. So stupid I’m shaking. Because I’m so close, so close to going to ExcelsiCon. So close to my father I can almost see him, like a figure in the distant dusk.
Just one more night, I tell myself. Just a few more hours.
Then the lamp in my room flicks on. Startled, I glance up. My heart stops.
Chloe is sitting in my computer chair, legs crossed, waiting patiently. Her gaze is so sharp it could cut glass. “Oh look,” she says coolly. “You’re home.”
“What are you doing in my room?”
She cocks her head. “Why’re you sneaking into the house? Could it really be this late?” She mocks a look at her fake watch and tsks. “Oh my, it really is late.”
Downstairs, the garage door opens and Catherine calls out that she’s home.
“Mom was with a client,” Chloe says simply. Which makes sense—the only explanation why Chloe would be home when Catherine isn’t. “But it seems you made it just in time.”
I don’t understand. “In time for what?”
She leans forward. “I know what you’re trying to do, geek,” she snaps. “You think you were so smart, going behind my back. How do you think Mom’ll react when she finds out you’ve been hanging out with that freak after work? You’ve been lying to her. After all she’s done for you.”
My mouth goes dry. “But you already knew that, and I said I wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t, and—”
“Stop screwing with me!” she cries, slamming her hands on the chair’s armrests. “Where is it?”
I get to my feet, dumbfounded. “Where’s what?”
“You know exactly what!” she snaps. “You took it. You know you did. So where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Don’t play stupid!” She leaps out of the chair.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“The dress,” she hisses. I’ve never seen her so angry in my entire life. “Where did you put it? What, you think you can wear it? Don’t make me laugh.” Then her eyes settle on the duffel bag slung by the bed. She leaps for it, and I quickly grab for the strap, not wanting to let it go, but she’s too fast.
“What’s in here?” she cries triumphantly.
“Stop it! It’s not in there!” I lunge for the bag but she jerks away, unzipping it. She grabs a fistful of cloth and yanks it out.
I stand, horrified. Oh, oh god. She knows. Now she knows.
Her surprise quickly morphs into some sort of anger as she turns the fabric over in her hands. “Oh my god.” Her eyes cut back to me. “You were going to enter?”
“I—I don’t—” My throat constricts.
“You were! You were going to enter! And you took the other dress so we wouldn’t win! A loser like you. God, you really are pathetic.”
Something in me snaps. Maybe it was her calling me pathetic for wanting to enter. Or that her claws clutch my father’s jacket like it’s a cheap Halloween costume. Or maybe it’s her look of mockery, reminding me of that day last summer when I finally realized that people weren’t nice. That no one was nice. That everyone lied, and that my heart was just a token, and this universe was the one in the Black Nebula. The hopeless, terrible universe. The one no one wants to be in.