The Princess and the Fangirl (Once Upon a Con #2)(79)

Ridiculously, wonderfully happy.

In front of the truck, a familiar redheaded girl heaves herself onto the hood, followed by Sage. She motions to the megaphone. “May I?”

“Oh, sure,” I say, and I hand it off.

Elle tests the trigger and then raises it to her mouth. “Attention, my favorite weirdos and nerds, thanks to an anonymous donor, each one of you now has a ticket to ExcelsiCon’s notorious ball in the Grand Ballroom. Please check your lightsabers, spears, bows, and warhammers at the door. Now let’s go party!”

The crowd erupts into another cheer and turns in the direction of the con.

Elle giddily turns back to me. “I’ve always wanted to use one of those!”

I laugh. “I take it Dare’s the anonymous donor?”

Her grin widens. “Actually, it was Natalia Ford.” The surprise must show on my face because Elle adds, “She was at the panel, and she told me to tell you that she has an offer for you. She said to call her later.”

“And,” Dare adds, coming up beside her, “Amon is on the phone with the executive producers right now.” He’s looking very intently at his nails. “They’re having quite a discussion—”

“Jess!” someone shouts.

I quickly turn toward the sound of my name. Harper is waving from the entrance of the hotel. Jess.

She called my name—mine!

I hurry to the front of the food truck, where Sage helps me onto the hood and her girlfriend Cal helps me to the ground. Their chubby wiener dog sits in the front seat of the truck, pink tongue dangling, and howls at all the noise.

The crowd parts like a Rebel ship colliding with a Death Cruiser at lightspeed, and on the other side is an impossible moment. A girl with lightning-flecked brown eyes and a warm smile, wearing a sequined dress decorated with the Starfield logo, and I didn’t think I could like her more.

Somewhere in the middle, Harper and I meet, and though I had words with the megaphone, they’re all lost on me now and I don’t know what to say. What can I say? How do I start?

So I do the only thing I can think of.

I give her the Starfield salute—You and I are made of stars—and I hope that’s enough. She smiles and presses her hands to mine in the same pose, and then slowly, finger by finger, they fall together—

And she kisses me.

She kisses me and the world is too small and my skin is too tight and the universe is impossible and Harper Hart is kissing me. She tastes like cherry soda and maroon lipstick and stardust, and I lean into her like a sunflower to the sun. I want to memorize the shape of her mouth and the softness of her lips and the sound of the crowd humming Amara’s Waltz from the movie.

And it is perfect.

And I am happy.

And I am enough.

Then she smiles and squeezes my hand. “Let’s go dance our tiaras off, ah’blena,” she says. And as Harper pulls me into the crowd of people I’ll never know, geeks and fangirls and nerds and friends, I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d rather be.





DAY FOUR


SUNDAY




* * *





“What a strange life we lead, ah’blen. I can’t say I’d change it for all the stars in the sky.”

—Princess Amara, Episode 41, “Worse Than Death”





I SCOOP THE REST OF MY #SAVEAMARA PINS into the cardboard box and close the lid. Slowly but steadily, the showroom is shutting down. In thirty minutes, the con will be empty, and everyone will wander back to their hotels, or to farewell parties, or home. My moms and I won’t leave until tomorrow, when we pack up the U-Haul with all the figurines and hit the road back to Asheville, and by then all of this will have been a dream.

A pretty frakkin’ sweet dream.

Every time I close my eyes, I remember the ExcelsiCon Ball—the colorful lights spiraling down onto the cosplays and nerd shirts, the music, the conga line that Milo and Bran started around the entire dance floor. The spectacle of Darien and Elle dancing, like legends returning from the depths of Reddit threads and Tumblr rumors, the Starfield waltz that followed. The moments Ethan glanced over at me, and took me by the hand, and spun me around to “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin, laughing because I can’t dance and neither can he, this strange tension radiating off us like Super Saiyan energy. It made my skin feel tingly and my heart flutter.

And then I blink and I’m on the couch in Jess’s hotel room, with Ethan and Harper, sharing midnight pizza and watching the best Amara episodes of Starfield. I barely paid attention to the episodes at all—even my favorite ones!—because when Ethan shifted on the couch beside me all I could feel was the warmth of his elbow against mine and the way he slowly began to slouch until he fell asleep on my shoulder.

I quickly slide my box of pins off the table, trying not to let my embarrassment get to me.

This is the worst feeling ever. Knowing that Ethan and I wouldn’t work—we’re like a PS4 console and a Nintendo Switch controller. Incompatible.

Which is why I haven’t seen him all day. I mean, we don’t even have each other’s numbers. I wish I hadn’t given him the number for my favorite pizza joint instead of my real one. Stupid me.

But then, I guess it would hurt a whole lot more if I waited for him to text me and he never did. I don’t think I could go through that again.