The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(29)

“Oh no, I haven’t watched it,” I quickly lie. “I read the Wikipedia.”

“Ah.”

Calvin slaps him on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking one for the team, buddy!”

Our moderator—a chipper older woman with pastel rainbow hair—calls us over, telling us that we can make our way onto the stage. Calvin goes first, and I begin to follow, but then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I jump.

It’s Amon Wilkins.

He grins, all Hollywood-white teeth and dashing surfer-bro swagger, looking like he could be in the next remake of Point Break. “So, how’re you enjoying the con so far?” he asks, putting his phone into his back pocket. The moment he does, it dings with a notification.

Then again, and again—and a shadow of annoyance crosses his eyes, until he decides to ignore it. His gaze settles on me, prompting me to answer.

I snap out of my stupor. “Um—yeah—great! Much great. Very fine. Wow.”

Oh, starflame, I’m supposed to be acting like Jessica Stone, not Doge.

Amon laughs and squeezes my shoulder, and a weird feeling reverberates through me as his phone lets out another series of dings. He is going to silence that before the panel, right? No one likes those people. “Hope the reading material was to your liking. I have a feeling today is going to be great. I’ve got a killer surprise,” he adds, and follows Calvin up the stairs to the stage.

Reading material? Was Jess—I mean me—supposed to read something for this panel?

Darien lingers on the steps, waiting for me. I quickly put my hands on my hips, elbows out, praying that he doesn’t notice how badly I’m sweating and that this is just…a pose I struck. Just to strike it. Because Jessica Stone doesn’t sweat. She barely breathes.

Oh starflame. My cover is so blown.

But as I make my way up the stairs, he does the weirdest thing—Darien Freeman loops his arm through one of mine. “You’ll be fine,” he whispers, and leads me onto the stage like…

Like we’re friends.

I know a lot about Darien Freeman and Jessica Stone and Calvin Rolfe. I follow the gossip blogs and watch TMZ. But somehow it never crossed my mind that Darien and Jessica could be friends. Well, that anyone could be Jessica’s friend. Not because she’s mean or curt or aloof (though she is kind of all of those things, but who can blame her?) but because…

I don’t know.

Of course they’d be friends.

And for a moment I feel like an imposter again—someone who’s stepped into someone else’s life undeserving.

Why am I so nervous?

I wasn’t nervous yesterday, when I was pretending to be a girl I only knew from interviews and rumors on Twitter and Insta comments. But now I’m supposed to be her—not a caricature— only better. The Jessica that everyone wants Jessica to be.

The one who would sign the #SaveAmara petition.

Remember your goal.

I have a job to do, and a career to save, and a princess to rescue. Or, at least, an argument to make for the princess to rescue herself.

I might not know who I am sometimes, but I know who everyone wants Jessica Stone to be. I know who I want Jessica Stone to be. Someone in whom every girl can see herself.

I am Jessica Stone.

The din of the room just a few moments ago goes deathly quiet as we all take the stage. Darien lets go of my arm as we reach our seats. I take the chair between Darien and Calvin—the one with Jessica Stone’s name card in front of it—and sit down, brushing my fake brown hair behind my shoulder in what I hope is a cool, aloof Jessica Stone way.

I breathe deeply and raise my eyes to the crowd. Three thousand pairs stare back, the stage lights almost blinding me as they rise to illuminate us.

The moderator introduces herself as Laurel Brinkley, a columnist for a sci-fi magazine, and asks us to introduce ourselves and name our favorite villains.

Amon leans into the microphone, mulling over the question with a dramatic pause. “That’s a tough one. Oh! By the way, I’m Amon Wilkins, the director of Starfield and the upcoming untitled sequel. I want to say I’m my favorite villain because who on earth would do what I did to poor Amara?” He winks at me, and I am really regretting my decision to like him. “But I digress. My favorite’s the Nox King. Robert sends his regards, by the way. He’s sorry he couldn’t make it.”

The crowd cheers, and he gives them a quick wave.

“You took mine,” complains Calvin. “So I guess probably Darth Vader if we’re sticking old-school. He’s super scary. I’m Calvin Rolfe, also known as Euci. Hi everyone, thanks for coming!”

There’s a steady cheer from the crowd.

And then it’s Darien’s turn. A chorus of squeals erupts and outlasts all the other welcoming applause. He waves, disarming the screams of lust with a dashing smile, and the audience quickly quiets down. “I’m Darien Freeman, and I’d probably have to be the odd fish out and say the xenomorphs from Alien. They are terrifying.”

“That they are,” agrees the moderator, and then all four of them look down the panel to hear my answer.

Well.

I squint through the glare of the lights to the front row. To Jessica’s assistant, who crosses his arms and shifts in his seat like a bored four-year-old at a movie, as if he’s already predicted exactly what I will do.