Geekerella (Starfield #1)(44)

I mouth, Mark knows about the texts.

Paling, Gail shakes her head. Wasn’t me, she says. I know it wasn’t. I have dirt on her now too, thanks Gaffer Dude. Lonny, then? No, he strikes me as a man of his word.

“There’s no one,” I say. “It’s just rumors, you know?”

“Rumors,” Mark echoes. “Then why are multiple sources saying you can’t get your nose out of your phone?”

I brace for impact, like he’s going to order Gail to take away my phone; the thought of not texting Elle leaves me with a panicky hollowness.

But then he laughs, as if trying to diffuse the situation. “You have to be careful, kiddo. You’re the face of Starfield. It’ll look bad if you’re dating your costar and getting a little something on the side. You know what you should do?” He’s going to tell me anyway, even though I don’t want to know. “You should put whoever’s on the other end of that phone on hold. Have some good times with Jess. I just talked with her manager and we’re setting up a nice date for you two, okay? Tonight after the shoot. You can do that, yeah?”

I’m quiet for a moment, looking down at my phone in my lap. Not talk to Elle? For, what, the week left until we wrap up? Until ExcelsiCon? A week doesn’t seem that long, and the moment after wrap-up Jess and I will end our “relationship” and go our separate ways but…

As if Elle knows we’re talking about her, my phone blips with a message. Her name.


8:47 AM

—Oh no, Car.

—Oh no.

—There’s a dog next door and I went out to feed him because he barks and

—Car, it’s so bad. I hate my stepmom.

—I hate her so much.

—The neighbor’s taking him to the pound.

—THE POUND.

I tap out of my call with Mark to answer her.


8:49 AM

—O, shit. I’m so sorry.


Elle 8:49 AM

—I just don’t know what to do Car

—This isn’t Frank the Tank’s fault

—She always wins. She ALWAYS does.

—I’m powerless. I’m always so powerless.

Powerless. I know a thing or two about that. I feel useless, half-thinking that I’m actually going to sit here and let Mark tell me whom I can and can’t talk to. But he’s my dad, and shouldn’t dads know best? Don’t they know best?

“Darien? Are you still there?” My phone speaker crackles with Mark’s voice. “Did I drop you? Did you hear me? Stupid phone…”

“I get it, Mark,” I reply, picking up my phone again.

“I knew you’d come around!” He cheers as though this is some breakthrough in our relationship. “Now don’t forget that date tonight. Be on your best. Shine like you always do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I grind out, and hang up with a look at Gail. “Next time he calls, I’m busy.”

Gail frowns. “Darien, maybe he’s right. It’s just a week…” She looks down at her phone hesitantly. “I mean, just listen to him for a week—”

My phone vibrates again.


Elle 8:52 AM

—I don’t know what to do.

I glance back to Gail, who simply puts up her hands and returns to the couch to watch the morning news. “I don’t see anything.”


8:52 AM

—It’s okay. Let’s think.

—Do you have anywhere to put him? Take care of him for a while?


Elle 8:52 AM

—Nowhere.

—I can’t do anything.


8:52 AM

—How about your friend? The one you’re showing Starfield to?


Elle 8:53 AM

—Are you saying that I STEAL Frank??


8:53 AM

—I’m saying let’s stop being powerless.

—Sometimes we shouldn’t be Carmindor.

—Sometimes we should be Amara.





AT LEAST FRANK LIKES THE FOOD truck. He’s tucked in the one cool place by the refrigerator, which we lovingly (okay, well lovingly on my part; Sage was very begrudging) gave up for him. On hot summer days, Charleston is a cesspool of sweat and gnats, and being locked in a tin can is downright stifling. Not only stifling—it’s hot as balls.

I fan myself with a spatula, pressing a cheek against the cool countertop, and I’m literally about to pass out from the heat when I remember something. I snap to attention and check my phone for the date, but I have it right. With expedited shipping, today’s the day.

“Frank the Tank is getting more attention than our food,” Sage mutters, glaring at the dog as another heart-eyed tourist walks away, cooing about Frank’s pudginess.

He looks at her with big brown eyes, tongue lolling out of his mouth. She scowls.

I pet Franco on the head. “Sorry boy, but your charms won’t work on her.”

“I can’t believe you stole him right out of his yard. We’re probably violating a billion health codes right now.”

“A billion and one,” I add, snagging a hot sweet-potato fry from the fryer. I pop it into my mouth and quickly realize my mistake, fanning my tongue. “Hot, hot, hot!”

“Serves you right,” Sage crows. Her bright hair is pulled back into a bandana, her mouth working a Dubble Bubble she’s been chewing on for the better part of the afternoon.