Geekerella (Starfield #1)(63)
There’s a knock on the door a moment before Gail lets herself inside. “You ready, Dare?”
I run a hand nervously through my hair. “Sure thing. Any sign of my phone?”
She shakes her head. As soon as I got back to my room—well, as soon as I’d gotten back and wiped the remains of Jess’s barf off me—Gail had broken the bad news: my phone was missing.
“I have no idea where I could’ve put it,” she gushes for the millionth time. “I even tried calling the number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I’m sorry, I know you said—”
“We’ll find it,” I tell her with more certainty than I feel.
“Right, we will.”
She takes me by the elbow, knowing I won’t move until I’m prompted to, and leads me down the hallway and past the green room, the only place where the con’s guests can sit around without being constantly asked for autographs or selfies. Even veterans sit in there more often than not. No one goes out onto the con floor. It’s an aquarium full of piranhas. It’s the epicenter of this universe’s Black Nebula.
As the green room door disappears behind us, I give it one last forlorn glance when a guy with thick brown hair and an even browner coat catches my eye.
“Gail!” I skid to a stop. “I think I see Nathan F—”
Gail yanks me toward her like a yo-yo. “You can get him to sign your first-edition Firefly comic later. After your panel and your, ah, your signing.”
I dig my heels into the carpet. “Signing?”
Gail cringes and tugs at her ponytail. “It was, um, it was Mark’s orders.”
“Mark’s…,” I strangle his name out. “My dad said I had to?”
“He insists. He says it’ll be good publicity. He says you need it. I tried to argue with him but—”
“What if that blogger’s here? The one who left the messages?”
“We don’t know if it’s the same person,” she points out.
“Oh, so what if they’re both here? Either of them could have a ticket for my line!”
“I—I’m sorry,” Gail repeats, and instantly my fear turns to regret and my shoulders slump. The brown coat in the green room is gone. Another missed opportunity.
I shake my head. “No, no, it’s not your fault. You can’t go against Mark. Maybe the con office can do something. I’ll handle it.”
“But Dare—”
“I’ll handle it.”
At the end of the hallway, I throw open the doors and make my way through the crowded con, Gail clawing through the sea of people behind me. I refuse to pause for selfies or autographs or anything because I’m on a mission.
First Mark makes me do the con. Then he blames me for all the weird leaks that have been happening. And now he won’t let me cancel a signing? And no Orange Crush soda. I’ve had it up to my eyebrows with things out of my control.
Mark can kiss it.
I am not going to sign.
THE ATLANTA CONVENTION CENTER IS HUGE.
Sage lets me off at the front to go find us badges while she finds out where to park the Pumpkin. It sputters away as I gape at all the people. There are so many people. Not just people but Vulcans and Nox and Turians and Sith Lords. Groots, X-Men, Jon Snows, Marty McFlys, Disney princesses. Nathaniel Drakes and Indiana Joneses, DOTA 2 avatars beside League of Legends characters, Browncoats and hero capes and Hogwarts cloaks. Sailor Moons and sailors of stars and Trekkies and swarming among them all, in coats the perfect navy blue, the sign of the esteemed Federation, are the Stargunners.
The impossible world. And—even better—no sign of the twins.
12:22 PM
—You would NOT guess where I am right now, ah’blen.
—[1 photo attachment]
I wait for him to respond because I think he’s here too—probably talking on one of the cosplay panels—but he doesn’t respond. At least not at first. He will when he sees it. But will he want to meet up? Do I want to?
I…I think I do.
Determined, I hike my duffel bag higher onto my shoulder and embark on my quest to commandeer a ticket. A bored-looking guy is the only one left at the ticket table, a fat red sign reading SATURDAY PASSES SOLD OUT hanging overhead. I take a deep breath and march right up.
“Look, I’m not trying to get a new pass, it’s just that my old ones were stolen,” I explain to the ticket guy. “All I want is to enter into the cosplay competition. I promise I won’t pass Go, collect two hundred, what-have-you—”
He points to the sign.
“No, I know what that says, I can read,” I say. “I’m just asking if I can—”
“Get special treatment?” he says, finally looking up at me. He blinks behind thick black glasses. “Maybe get tickets a little earlier next time, sweetie.”
“Don’t call me sweetie,” I snap.
“Who called you sweetie?”
Sage emerges through the crowd in the lobby, straightening her outfit, which, today, is a blue tutu dress. She looks like a deranged punkrock fairy—not that that makes her out of place at a con.
“Okay, so I couldn’t get a space in the garage because the Pumpkin wouldn’t fit under the clearance, but I found this place with a meter around the corner and raided the register for quarters. Operation Avoid a Parking Ticket is under way.”