Geekerella (Starfield #1)(7)

The camera pans wide to a water-filled booth with a bull’s-eye on the side. The camera cuts back to Darien, looking—well, faking—a shocked expression. “Oh man! Really?”

“Of course!” Then the cohost reaches behind her chair and pulls out a water gun. “Let’s see how well you can school us in Starfield! Every time you get an answer wrong, I get to take a shot at you.”

Oh, I think. This’ll be good. There’s no way he knows anything about the series beyond its name.

The crowd begins to chant in a loud, raucous voice. “Dunk tank! Dunk tank! Dunk tank!”

Darien throws his arms out to the crowd dramatically. “Really? Really? You want to see me get dunked?”

“Dunk tank! Dunk tank!” the crowd chants, and I have to agree.

“What do you say, Darien?” the woman host asks, grinning.

He sighs, hanging his head—acting all oh, fine, let’s get this over with. Then he slaps his hands on the side of the armchair and stands, shrugging out of his expensive-looking blazer. “All right! You’re on.”

Oh yeah? Let’s see what you’ll get wrong, Darien Freeman. I fold my arms and settle back in my chair. Onscreen, Darien climbs up onto the dunk tank, securing goggles around his eyes, and gives the thumbs-up.

The woman cocks her water gun and looks at a card in her hand. “Question one! What is the name of the government that Carmindor is a part of?”

“Seriously? Too easy!” Darien shouts back at her. “The Federation!”

A buzzer dings, signaling the right answer, and the audience boos, shouting to dunk him already. Something goes flying past Darien’s head—I think it’s underwear. He doesn’t look fazed in the least, grinning from ear to ear, swinging his feet underneath the plank he’s sitting on.

“Fine, we’ll get a little tougher!” the big-chin cohost shouts. He reads the next question. “Who is Carmindor’s best friend?”

“Euci! A little harder than that!” Darien eggs them on.

“How about what Euci does on the ship? Or in which episode does he betray Carmindor to the Nox to save his colony? Or which episode does that colony blow up anyway?” I mutter. “How about that question, pretty boy?”

The crowd chants louder. “Dunk tank, dunk tank, dunk tank!”

“What’s the name of the ship?”

“Prospero!”

“What is the Federation salute called?”

“The promise-sworn!”

The female cohost grins and whips out the final card, clearly about to go in for the kill. I edge to the front of my seat.

“What does Carmindor call his love interest in the final episode of the series?” she asks.

Darien hesitates on that one. He looks around, out at the crowd.

“No cheating!” the cohost cries. “Are you stumped? Ten, nine…”

Up on the plank, Darien chews on his cheek, rocking back and forth. I snort. Of course he doesn’t know this one. He’s never watched an episode of Starfield in his life.

“Five! Four! Three!” The crowd begins to count along. The cohost spreads her feet apart and aims with one hand—very dramatically, which is not at all a good way to aim a water gun—as Darien scrubs the back of his neck, looking puzzled.

“Two…ONE!” The crowd cheers.

The female cohost fires her shot and it hits the bull’s-eye directly. A siren wails and a flashing light spins above Darien Freeman’s perfectly groomed head, and the plank slips out from beneath him. He goes tumbling into the water, and the crowd goes wild. They’re loving it.

Strangely, though, I’m not.

“It’s ah’blena,” I mutter, even though he’s underwater. Even though I’m seeing him through a TV. Even though he definitely can’t hear me and I’m just talking to a plasma flat screen. Still. If he’s going to be Carmindor, it’s something he should know. Dunk tank or no dunk tank. “Ah’blena is what he calls her.”

Onscreen, Darien emerges from the tank soaking wet and flips his wet hair out to the crowd, and they scream, reaching up their hands. He grins at them.

I scowl. At this point, the only way the movie can salvage itself is by announcing the perfect villain. Obviously, it should be the Nox King, because how cool would that be? The Nox are the natural enemies of the Federation, but unfortunately the early-’90s SFX in the original series didn’t do so hot with their giant ears. A reboot could make them look way better. Plus—let’s be honest—think of the slash fiction potential. I glance at my phone, just to check the time, but I’ve still got a good twenty minutes before I’m on Pumpkin duty.

Onscreen, Darien takes a towel handed to him by a PA and begins to dry off. But then someone yells at him to take his shirt off. He pauses, turning back to the crowd.

“Really?” he asks them.

They scream in reply.

The screams get louder as he reaches for the bottom of his soaked shirt. I can already see the definition of his chest through the fabric. Everyone can. I groan. Why can’t life have a fast-forward button?

Unlike the twins, I’m not a Darien Freeman fangirl. And I’m definitely not a fan of that teenage wet dream of a show Seaside Cove.

But then Darien Freeman peels off his shirt, and my mouth falls open. His abs and chest beam across Catherine’s plasma TV, piercing through my sleepy brain like a ray of hope in this godless universe.