Geekerella (Starfield #1)(89)
The café overlooks most of the greens at the country club. To the left is the pool, to the right is about a mile of shorn golfing hills. Most of the morning I’ve been serving middle-aged golfers with too much time and money on their hands, but they’re not the only ones here today. Chloe and her friends are sitting at a corner table, gossiping so loudly I know it’s on purpose. James sits right beside her, but unlike last year when it seemed she couldn’t be close enough (while he was pretending to fall in love with me), today she couldn’t be less aware of him. She’s too good for him now. Or something. Cal’s there too, in her usual chair, but she’s completely silent.
She had come up to me when I was cleaning this morning, when Catherine wasn’t looking, and held something out.
“Chloe and I found this with the dress in the trunk upstairs. Did…did you write this?”
The paper was yellowed with age, but I would remember it even if a hundred years had passed. Tears welled up in my eyes, even though I didn’t think I could cry anymore, and I took it, nodding.
“It’s—it’s a story. Fanfiction. I used to write them for Dad all the time.” I blink back the tears and sniff. “Where did you find this again?”
“In the trunk. There are a billion of them. He must’ve saved them all.”
“All of them?” I look down again at the piece of paper. “Thank you, Cal.”
She smiled, shyly, as if she shouldn’t. “It’s the least I can do.”
But now Cal is silent. And the sound of Chloe’s voice is blasting across the veranda like a foghorn.
“He was such a dream,” she gushes. “And so nice. And way sexier in person. Gives you a run for your money, James,” she adds, playfully patting his knee. “I wish y’all could’ve been there. Like, it was a blast.”
“How did you get tickets?” James asks.
“I bought them.”
“I didn’t know you liked that kind of stuff,” says Erin, the twins’ second-in-command. “You’re always picking on your sister about it.”
The pictures went viral overnight: two dancers at a cosplay ball, a movie star and a regular girl in a dress made from the night sky. “Darien Freeman, Prince Charming?” the headlines read. And the girl they’re calling Geekerella. I can’t say it isn’t catchy. You’d think everyone would be freaking out, seeing me with Darien Freeman, but the girl in those pictures? She’s wearing a mask. And Chloe, surprise, came down this morning with dyed-red hair—just like mine.
Her YouTube channel gained ten thousand followers literally overnight. Her views have skyrocketed. She’s gone from internet nothing to internet celebrity at warp speed. There’s even an online petition to get Darien to come meet Chloe again so they can have their “happily ever after,” which I wouldn’t be surprised if Chloe started herself. Honestly, I don’t know what’s funnier: Chloe pretending to be me, or that ExcelsiCon me is famous. Or as famous as internet celebrities go. The girl who danced with Darien Freeman.
Chloe waves her hand. “Stepsister. And it’s not my fault she’s weird. Speaking of my which—Elle!” She calls out, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Elle! Another latte!”
With a sigh, I dog-ear the page in my book. “Whip or no?” I ask, taking the milk out of the fridge under the counter.
“What do you think? And it better be soy.”
I fix up her drink and walk it over to her. She can’t be bothered to come get it herself.
“I had to escape out of there so fast, though.” Chloe takes the cup without even thanking me. “I didn’t even have time to give him my name! And now all these other girls are pretending they’re me. Look.” She holds out her phone, flicking through a bunch of hashtagged photos. “Posers.”
“I hear she lost a slipper,” I say. Chloe’s eyes narrow to slits but I shrug it off because what have I got to lose now? I’ve totally given up. “Maybe the real girl has the slipper?”
“You didn’t say she lost a slipper,” another friend, blond hair with purple tips, says. “Chloe, that’s it! You should totally—”
“I lost the other slipper,” Chloe grinds out. She sips her coffee, gags, and spits it out. “Ugh, I said nonfat, not soy!”
She shoves the mug back at me. Liquid sloshes over the rim, all over my apron and green polo shirt. Hot—scalding hot. I yelp, jumping backward. The latte splatters across the floor.
“Oops,” she sneers, whipping her head around to ignore me. “As I said, I lost the slipper, so the point’s moot.”
I grab a handful of napkins from a dispenser on another table and begin mopping up the coffee. James takes a few napkins too, gets out of his chair, and helps me. Chloe glances over. “James, you don’t have to do that. That’s why she’s working.”
“I know but—” James cocks his head. “Is that…thunder?”
“Of course it’s not thunder. It’s gorgeous outside.” Chloe rolls her eyes as I finish cleaning up the spill. “Honestly. Let’s just get going.”
She takes a club from her golf bag and twirls it in her hands as she heads onto the green. Then she snaps her manicured fingers for us to follow, and we do. With a sigh, I hike her golf bag onto my shoulder and set off down the grassy slope. Of all the days for Phil the Caddy to be sick, it had to be today. Or any day. And of course my boss doesn’t care if I leave my post at the café—not if Catherine’s daughter needs a caddy.