The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(6)
He adjusts his cuffs. “This is my first time out in the wild as your assistant, so I have to look nice.”
That makes me laugh. “Really?”
He nods seriously. “Plus it’s part of my Angus cosplay.”
“Ugh, nerd.” I punch him in the shoulder, and he grins in delight.
Ethan Tanaka and I have been best friends since he was born, two years and three days after me. We went to the same middle school and kept in touch after I left for dramatic arts high school. Even as I became famous, our friendship just seemed to stick, although we couldn’t have been more different. He wanted to go and do nerd things like write for video games, and I was, well, by then I was Jessica Stone. Then a few months ago, as I was complaining about my last assistant, who stole my expensive eyeshadow palette, Ethan—fresh out of high school and taking a year off before college—suddenly asked, “Is the pay good?”
“For what?”
“To be your assistant.”
And that was it.
Ethan’s the only person in the world who knows everything about me: that I’m deathly afraid of being forgotten; that every morning for at least three hours I comb through my Instagram profile, deleting the unsavory messages, only to have more pop up moments later; that I hate the mole on the side of my face that my agent, Diana, says is too iconic to get rid of; that I eat raw instant ramen straight out of the package when I’m stressed; that I’m not really twenty-three, but nineteen; and that I lied to a casting director to get a starring role in the indie film that got me an Oscar nod. I was fourteen at the time, but I told them I was almost eighteen.
We’d stuck with the lie ever since.
Ethan knows I’ll do anything to keep my career. Even endure the trash in Starfield.
I know everything about him, too. That his favorite color is that god-awful yellow everyone hates, and his favorite band is some obscure indie-rock group that broke up eons ago, and he always selects Kirby in Super Smash Bros., and he takes his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without the crust, thank you very much. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend. He’s like a brother to me.
It’s just a bonus he gets paid for putting up with my drama.
I keep waiting for him to figure out that he is way too smart, and way too nice, and way too talented to be my assistant.
I take a long breath. “If this is the extent of the fallout, I’m okay with it. Are you sure she was fine up there on the panel? Nothing’ll come of it?”
“I don’t know, Jess, but I didn’t think it was that awful.”
“Right.”
His smartwatch beeps and he checks it. “Ah, crap, you need to be at an interview in three minutes. We better hurry.”
“No rest for the wicked,” I say, and follow him down the hallway. I trust Ethan knows where he’s going. He has the nerd sense, or whatever it is, and can navigate ExcelsiCon despite never having been here before. I trail him like his shadow. I don’t even try to remember where we are, what hotel we’re in or what part of the convention center we’re wandering through. It all looks the same. Bland hallways and people dressed up as characters and long lines and meet-and-greets.
We take an elevator up a few floors and step out into another long empty hallway. At the end, waiting patiently, is Dare. He’s snacking on some sort of protein bar. Since filming for the sequel starts next month, he’s back on his dreaded diet, which means he’s just a little bit cranky and scowling at salads most of the time.
He sees us and waves.
“So, you get that whole thing sorted out?” he asks, inhaling the rest of his protein bar and tossing the wrapper in a trash can.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Thanks for distracting Calvin and Felix.”
“I figured it hadn’t been planned. She looked scared to death up there. Who was she?”
“I think she’s an exhibitor—at least, judging by her badge,” Ethan says.
I roll my eyes. “She didn’t look very scared when she went on that whole Amara tirade.”
Dare shrugs. “She’s probably part of the Save Amara initiative.”
“Ugh, they’re everywhere.” I scowl.
The double doors swing open, and a woman in a Captain Marvel T-shirt greets us with a wide, plastic smile. “Oh, good! Darien, Jess, my name’s Heather.” She extends a hand for us to shake. “Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedules. I’ll be interviewing you for the next thirty minutes. Shall we?” She gestures back into the room, where I see a makeshift interview set, complete with photo lights, a green-screen backdrop, an ExcelsiCon banner, and three chairs. An expensive-looking camera on a tripod is off to the side, a cameraman in black standing behind it.
Ethan pulls out his phone and says, “I’ll be out here catching Pokémon,” and then wanders toward the elevators.
Nerd.
* * *
* * *
AFTER THE INTERVIEW, AS I FOLLOW con security across the skybridge to my hotel, I realize I’m still holding the package from Amon as I enter the hotel. Our secret, he called it. Must be the contract for the next movie, where I’ll be relegated to melodramatic flashbacks. Or maybe it’s panel questions for tomorrow, because that girl royally screwed me with her surprise performance.