Geekerella (Starfield #1)(30)

I wonder what Carmindor thinks I look like. Probably better than I do.


6:43 AM

—Alas! You found my secret.

—I am much too important for your trivialness!

—You shall address me as Your Supreme Intergalactic Empress.


Carmindor 6:44 AM

—So you’re a girl.

—Sorry—that came out weird.

—It’s an observation. Casual-like.

—You’re a girl.

—Argh. I’m digging myself a hole, aren’t I?


6:45 AM

—Yes, yes you are.

“Danielle!” Catherine’s voice calls up from the kitchen. I curse, stuffing the costume into a duffel bag and slinging it over my shoulder. It’s missing a few pieces. The starwings, for one, and the crown. I looked everywhere in that trunk, but they weren’t there. Catherine probably threw them away when she chucked everything up in the attic.

I start down the stairs as Carmindor sends another text.


Carmindor 6:48 AM

—I’m really good at that. Digging myself into holes.

—Making impossible promises. Groveling. Endangering my own mental sanity. More groveling. It’s part of the job.

—So: I am worms, Your Supreme Intergalactic Empress

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh, then hear Chloe in the kitchen.

“God, I know, okay?” she snaps. “I didn’t think it’d be so hard to find a stupid costume.”

“I don’t think they’re just costumes,” Calliope replies hesitantly as I enter the kitchen. “Like, there’s a whole community of people who dress up for conventions.”

“It’s called cosplay,” I say before I can stop myself.

Chloe turns her dark-eyed glare at me. “We get it, Elle. You’re a huge nerd. But guess what? Everyone likes that star show now. It’s, like, retro chic or something.” She screws up her mouth. “You probably know where to get a costume, right?”

Fear twists in my stomach. I clutch the strap of my duffel bag.

“No,” I say.

“Darlings,” Catherine says. “You don’t have to click your heels just because everyone else does. You girls like what you like. Don’t be like Danielle.”

Don’t be like Danielle.

If ever I had a cue to leave, that was it. Ducking my head, I pull my duffel bag higher and quickly escape through the front door. I hurry toward the end of the street when, with a roar, the Pumpkin skids onto the pavement and comes to an exhausted stop. Sage leans over. “Get in, loser. We’re getting the good spot today!”

I jump in and glance back at the house one last time with unease, remembering the twins’ conversation. I grip my bag tightly. It’ll be fine.

Starfield is just a phase for them. Soon it’ll disappear like Princess Amara through the Black Nebula and never be spoken of again.





“LOOK AT ME.”

I glide Jessica to a stop. We’ve been waltzing through this ballroom for two hours, a herd of PAs following to sprinkle fresh ash and dirt over the map of my failed footprints.

Focus. I cup Jessica’s cheeks and whisper, “You ignite me.”

She presses her dark-red lips against mine and the world spins.

It spins and spins and spins. I can hear the swell of music in my head, that moment in the TV show, the sweep of the wobbly camera around half-baked costumes with cardboard props. And for a moment I am Carmindor. I am—

“And done!” Amon shouts.

Reality drops on me like the Prospero out of the Mars Two skyline, straight and fast. Carmindor is ripped out of me so quickly I’m left breathless and hollow. Or as I like to call it: Darien Freeman everyday.

Jessica steps away and rubs her lipstick off my lips with a thumb. She smiles. “And where did you learn how to kiss?”

“Well, I’ve had about two hours of practice by now,” I reply—cheekily, I hope.

“With the best kisser in Hollywood.” Her mouth twitches in amusement. Dark lipstick, the same on my mouth. Cherry and whatever was left of her lunch. She taps my chin—the scar—and floats past me off the set. I follow her out to the lot, unbuttoning my sweaty jacket. I need to tell the costume person to steam clean this thing before tomorrow. It’s going to start growing trees.

“Thank god that’s over.” She unsnaps her curly hair extensions, tossing them at her assistant. “I thought my lips would—”

“DARIEN!”

Our heads turn toward the main gate. The security guard isn’t at his post, but then again it’s dinnertime and there’s a security camera. We see a whole gaggle of girls—not like I think a group of teenagers is a flock or anything, but there’s a whole…a group of them, and they’re all staring at me like they’re the ducks and I’ve got a piece of sorta moldy bread to feed them. Or I am the piece of moldy bread.

“IT’S HIM! IT’S DARIEN!” another girl screams.

They have their phones out, flashes sparking in the dusk as if they want to catch the whole moment on fire. And everyone—from the PAs to the cameramen to frakking Jessica Stone—is staring at them.

“Your adoring fans?” Jess asks.

“I…um. Yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I should get Gail on it, or my, uh, my Lonny.” I cringe again. “I mean, bodyguard.”