Geekerella (Starfield #1)(76)

I find a corner of the ballroom that’s dark and less populated and sit down against huge bay windows. My cheeks are hot from dancing, and I’ve been sweating in this jacket for three songs now. I tug at the collar and press the cool side of the glass against my neck, closing my eyes for one sweet second.

But then I hear footsteps. Walking toward me. I peek open an eye. Shiny black boots, embroidered at the calves with the Federation symbol. My heart’s already beginning to sink as I slowly look up. Black pants and a coat that buttons on the left side, golden knobs and shiny golden lining. Three chains draw out from one of the pockets, looping around under the left arm to the back of the shoulder, hiding under the golden epaulette.

Even in the dim lighting I can tell the coat is the wrong shade of blue, but what it lacks in color it succeeds in measurements. It hugs his slim waist and broad chest, tight across his shoulders—and he does have commanding shoulders. I’m sure even the collar would fit perfect around his neck if it wasn’t unbuttoned (which is actually a good idea; it’s way too hot for a wool jacket). The starwings clasped to the lapel glint in the city lights shining in through the window. It’s like the coat was made for him. And given that this is a cosplay ball, it probably was.

My eyes trail all the way up to his face, his brown skin and strong jawline, his piercing dark eyes beneath the black eyelet mask, and my heart sinks into my gut like a stone.

“Cheese and crackers,” I mutter. “You again.”

Darien Freeman puts his hands on his hips, cocking his head. It’s not adorable. It’s really not. “I came to ask the second-place winner for a dance, but I think I’m a little late, Princess.”

“It’s Princess Amara to you,” I snap back. “And yes, but I’m taking a moment. Alone.”

He puts up his hands. “All right.” And, miraculously, he turns to leave.

I close my eyes again, thankful for the moment of silence. Dad would love this ball. He’d love everything about it, even the crappy pop music. He would love the costumes, the intermingling of species, the heart and soul of people being something else for a little while. But I don’t feel like Amara right now. I feel exhaustedly like myself.

“Hey, that costume’s pretty amazing,” someone says.

Two minutes of peace—all I ask for is two.

“The details are so sweet. Was it expensive? Who did it?”

My eyes snap open. I glance up at whoever’s asking. He’s my age, dressed in one of the most ostentatious cosplays you could choose. Black robes, large shoulder pads, makeup that looks like scales. The ends of his adhesive ears blink purple and blue almost in time with the music. The Nox King.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, what’s the name of the guy who made it?”

“It couldn’t have been a girl?” I ask.

“You know, I didn’t think I’d seen you around a con before,” he replies, as if that’s some sort of explanation. “Darien Freeman fangirl, right?”

“What?”

He scoffs. “Come on. You’re too cute to play dumb.”

I stare at him, suddenly very aware that Darien Freeman isn’t as far away from this conversation as I’d like him to be. I set down my punch, trying to work out the right words to say.

“For your information, the costume was my dad’s before he died, and my friend and I did a few alterations to it.” I don’t include the part where it almost got destroyed. “Actually, a few other cosplayers helped too, so you could say it was a cosmic effort.”

“Knew it.” The Nox King looks way too happy. “There’s no way you could’ve made that.”

“Oh?” I cock my head. “And why’s that?”

“Chill out, I’m not trying to be offensive.” He laughs. There’s a spot of black lipstick on his teeth, but I’m not about to tell him. “You just dressed up to get some attention and hey, it worked—”

“Excuse you.” I jump to my feet. “Starfield is one of my favorite shows of all time and—”

“You don’t have to try and explain yourself to me, okay? Fake geek girls like you always win.”

He turns away but in I grab him by that stupid tattered cape—why does the Nox King have a cape, anyway? I never understood that in the show—and jerk him around. He’s surprised for a moment but quickly turns angry. I guess no one touches his costume without permission. Well no one calls me a fake, either.

“You’re right, I don’t have to explain myself anyone, but especially not to some left-testicled Nox like you. Do you think you’re funny? You couldn’t even cosplay as Euci! You’d bring shame to every slapstick secondary character in the omniverse!”

“Yeah, coming from someone who’s just here to play princess, that’s a little rich, isn’t it? What’s wrong—couldn’t think up anything more original?” He shakes his head. “Poor little fake cosplayer—”

“Excuse me.” It’s Carmindor—Darien—back in his wrong-blue uniform.

“Stay out of it,” I snap.

Darien arches an eyebrow. “Easy, Princess.” I make a hmph sound, but he keeps talking. “I was just going to ask what episode you’re from, sir?”