The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(44)

“Because their anniversary is tomorrow,” the green-haired girl says, “and you really did my costume design justice. You have no idea how many times I pricked my finger sewing that dress together on the way here last year. Elle might be a lot of things, but a good driver she is not.”

The girl holding the dog agrees. “Elle failed her driver’s test twice.”

“How do you know Elle?” I ask.

“Oh! Sorry,” Harper says. “I forgot to introduce you.” She points to the green-haired girl. “This is Sage. She sells custom nerdy T-shirts.”

“We are right beside the huge Nox King statue this year,” Sage says, grinning. “Imogen, your parents are so cool.”

“They’re pretty rad,” Harper agrees. I just nod because I guess they are. Next, Harper stretches her hand to the blond-haired girl holding the dog. “And this is Sage’s girlfriend, Calliope. Cal is Elle’s stepsister, right?”

“Yeah, married in. I’m a twin, so I’m not the one from all the Geekerella drama last year.” She pushes her purple glasses up again, adding, “I’m the good stepsister.”

“I wouldn’t want to meet the bad one,” I say with a laugh because I’ve heard the stories from Dare.

Apparently she’s a monster—and not in the Imogen sort of way.

“Trust me, she’s sworn off cons for the rest of her life after what happened last year,” Cal assures. She lifts the fat wiener dog just enough for him to look at me with his pitiful beady black eyes. “And this sir here is Mr. Frank. He’s our model.”

Frank shakes his head, ears slapping the sides of his face, and sticks out a pink tongue. He tries to nose into Cal’s drink again, so she sighs and excuses herself, saying that he must be thirsty. “It was nice to meet you, Imogen.”

I smile and reply, “You, too.”

“Swing by our booth and we’ll give you a shirt. Oh, and honey?” She gently touches Sage on the shoulder. “Stay as long as you want, but I’m going to take this boy and retire to our room. This music’s too loud for both of us, I think.” Cal stretches up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on Sage’s mouth.

I don’t mean to stare but their kiss is so simple and easy, like saying see you later, that I don’t think any thought was put into it.

I wish I knew what that was like.

We spend a few more minutes talking with Sage about her first year in college and her big plan for a clothing line—geeky with a dash of the eccentric. I’ve heard Dare talk about her a few times, but I never paid attention. Maybe I should have.

I never paid attention to a lot of things. It wasn’t part of Jessica Stone’s image.

I try to picture Harper in one of my settings, gilded parties and stuffy cocktails, but the image is blurry, like a camera lens that doesn’t want to focus. Meanwhile, I feel like a weed in a flowerbed, somewhere I don’t belong, afraid I’ll be found out and plucked away. Harper…she looks happy.

Happy.

I look away, remembering Ethan’s question.

Sage and Harper are gossiping about some YouTuber they both know, someone who is bad news, but I can’t get a read on why before Bran calls Harper’s name over the karaoke speaker. The entire room quiets, and she turns expectantly toward the stage.

Bran jabs his finger at her. “I challenge you!”

Harper puts her hands on her hips. “To what?”

He extends the mic and wiggles his eyebrows. “To a duet-off.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t handle my talent, Bran.”

“Chicken!”

“You know that’s a lie. I’ve already beaten you three times.”

Bran gives an aggravated sigh. “Then duet-off with your friend!”

This time Harper barks a laugh. “No way, she wouldn’t—”

“I’ll do it.”

Her eyebrows shoot up.

I’m not this bold, am I? No—yes. Maybe. Once upon a time. Before I had to fold myself into Jessica Stone. And now that I’m not, my bent edges are beginning to unfurl as slow and steady as a butterfly’s wings.

The view seen through the lens of Elle’s camera haunts me.

Are you happy? Ethan’s question reverberates in my head.

I want to find the answer.

I take Harper by the hand and pull her across the room to the karaoke corner, between a throng of cosplayers dressed as gender-bent Disney princes and princesses (Elsa is among them). Bran hands us two microphones.

“Are you sure about this?” Harper asks, hesitant. Her eyes dart around the room.

“Are you scared?” I challenge, and moment by moment, Jessica Stone unravels like a piece of yarn caught on a snag. The room is loud and I can hear all of the songs in my head— No. One song.

Bran hands me an iPad; I quickly select the tune and hand it back.

Harper eyes me curiously. “What did you pick?”

I smile at her. “You’ll see.”

The sweet trill of a violin rushes over the karaoke speakers. The view through the camera lens sharpens. I’m not supposed to really know this song. I’m not supposed to care. I don’t, do I?

Her eyes glitter. “I knew you’d pick this.”

I want to believe it’s true as the words to a song filled with perfect notes begin to spin over the TV screen. I don’t need to look at the lyrics. They’re as familiar as the fit of Amara’s corset, and the pinch of her heels, and the heavy tiara in her hair.