Geekerella (Starfield #1)(51)

But when we reach Rainbow Row, he’s gone. My chest constricts. “Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.”

“Hey mutt! Fleabag!” Sage adds. “Rolly-Polly Olley! Fatso!”

“That’s not helping,” I hiss.

She shrugs. “He came when I called him Frankzilla last night—oh! There!” She nudges her head toward a side street and what might be Franco’s chubbiness rounding the corner. At least we hope it is. How can a fat dog run so fast? She grabs my arm and pulls me into a gallop again, but she trips on a stroller, stumbling. I pull ahead and turn into the cobblestoned alley—and suddenly my worst nightmare is realized.

Franco is sitting, tail wagging happily, as his ears are scratched by none other than Calliope Wittimer. And she has my dad’s jacket in her grip.

“Oh!” She glances up through her loosely braided hair and quickly stands. “Elle.”

“Cal? What are you…” I chance a look at my jacket, which she knows is mine. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the country club? For lessons?”

“I skipped today. Sometimes I do that. Chloe doesn’t tell as long as I don’t tell Mom what she does behind the pool house with that linebacker from school.” She pets Franco’s little head. “I was wondering where this little guy went, you know, when he disappeared.”

“Here.” I hurry over and scoop up Franco, hugging him tight, eyeing the jacket, wondering if I should go for it too. Calliope frowns, looking hurt. I shouldn’t care. But I can’t get the image of her in my mom’s dress out of my head, and now she has my dad’s jacket?

I shift from one foot to the other. Maybe I can fake her out—toss Franco at her as a distraction. He’ll come at her, claws bared, and kung-fu her while I wrestle the jacket out of her grip and then—

Frank whines, wiggling in my grasp as Sage rounds into the side street beside me.

“Case solved, I guess,” Calliope says. The buttons on the jacket glint in the sunlight. She glances over at Sage. “Um, hi. I’m—”

“Calliope,” Sage replies for her.

“Cal. Elle’s stepsister.”

Sage glances between us and I can see the thought crossing her face. Cal really doesn’t look evil or conniving, with her purple glasses and braided hair. But evil rarely looks like evil should.

Hesitantly, Cal holds out the jacket to us. “Is this yours too?”

Sage takes it. “Yeah, mine. The mutt got away with it.”

“It’s the jacket, isn’t it? Carmindor’s?”

“Don’t say a word,” I say stonily. “Don’t say a word, Cal.”

Her face fractures a little. “Elle, about that dress—”

“It’s fine,” I force out, my voice tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But…”

“It’s fine. Thanks for catching him,” I add, heaving Frankendog higher, and turn to go. “We should get back to work. Sage?” I say when she doesn’t follow me out of the alley.

She hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of her head. “It was nice meeting you,” she murmurs to Cal, then turns and follows me out. She doesn’t catch up until we’re halfway down Rainbow Row. “Hey—hey wait a second. Do you think maybe you’re wrong about her?”

“No. She’s going to tell Chloe. I know she will. Usually they’re conjoined at the hip.”

“Maybe she isn’t as bad as you think.”

I snort. “Yeah, and Darien Freeman can act. Which reminds me that I have to write a new blog post.”

“About Darien’s acting skills?”

“His inability to stay out of trouble,” I reply. “He and Frank have that in common. You move your fat butt from that cushion ever again and you’re going in a fritter, you hear me, Frank? A fritter.”

“That wouldn’t be very vegan,” Sage mutters, but then she flashes a grin. “Hey, maybe you should text that guy your blog.”

“Dream on!” I’ve had that blog since practically before I knew how to spell. The very thought of Car reading it is mortifying. “Besides, he works so much, he doesn’t have time to read my silly little blog.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sage sweeps the jacket over her shoulders to wear like a cape. “Whatever you say, Captain.”





“YOU’RE RIGHT. WHOEVER’S WRITING THOSE BLOG posts has a serious crush on you.” Jess hands me back my phone as we pull into the hotel. Three scheduled “dates”—i.e., us eating food in the same restaurant to the soundtrack of camera flashes—down, one more to go.

I ease us into the carport. “I think you mean has a serious vendetta against me.”

Jess makes a tsking sound. “No one is that vicious without some feeling behind it,” she says. “And I think she has some fair points. I mean, it’s not like she’s one of those white dudes saying you just got cast because you’re not white.”

“One, that’s ridiculous. And two, if they even watched the show, they’d know that—wait, how do you know it’s a she?”

Jess arches an eyebrow. “Seriously? Read it again. I’m totally right.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But no one should be that vicious, period. She’s like a Dalek with a blacklist. Absolutely relentless.”