Geekerella Page 18

  Just one more night, I tell myself. Just a few more hours.

  Then the lamp in my room flicks on. Startled, I glance up. My heart stops.

  Chloe is sitting in my computer chair, legs crossed, waiting patiently. Her gaze is so sharp it could cut glass. “Oh look,” she says coolly. “You’re home.”

  “What are you doing in my room?”

  She cocks her head. “Why’re you sneaking into the house? Could it really be this late?” She mocks a look at her fake watch and tsks. “Oh my, it really is late.”

  Downstairs, the garage door opens and Catherine calls out that she’s home.

  “Mom was with a client,” Chloe says simply. Which makes sense—the only explanation why Chloe would be home when Catherine isn’t. “But it seems you made it just in time.”

  I don’t understand. “In time for what?”

  She leans forward. “I know what you’re trying to do, geek,” she snaps. “You think you were so smart, going behind my back. How do you think Mom’ll react when she finds out you’ve been hanging out with that freak after work? You’ve been lying to her. After all she’s done for you.”

  My mouth goes dry. “But you already knew that, and I said I wouldn’t say anything if you didn’t, and—”

  “Stop screwing with me!” she cries, slamming her hands on the chair’s armrests. “Where is it?”

  I get to my feet, dumbfounded. “Where’s what?”

  “You know exactly what!” she snaps. “You took it. You know you did. So where is it?”

  “Where’s what?”

  “Don’t play stupid!” She leaps out of the chair.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “The dress,” she hisses. I’ve never seen her so angry in my entire life. “Where did you put it? What, you think you can wear it? Don’t make me laugh.” Then her eyes settle on the duffel bag slung by the bed. She leaps for it, and I quickly grab for the strap, not wanting to let it go, but she’s too fast.

  “What’s in here?” she cries triumphantly.

  “Stop it! It’s not in there!” I lunge for the bag but she jerks away, unzipping it. She grabs a fistful of cloth and yanks it out.

  I stand, horrified. Oh, oh god. She knows. Now she knows.

  Her surprise quickly morphs into some sort of anger as she turns the fabric over in her hands. “Oh my god.” Her eyes cut back to me. “You were going to enter?”

  “I—I don’t—” My throat constricts.

  “You were! You were going to enter! And you took the other dress so we wouldn’t win! A loser like you. God, you really are pathetic.”

  Something in me snaps. Maybe it was her calling me pathetic for wanting to enter. Or that her claws clutch my father’s jacket like it’s a cheap Halloween costume. Or maybe it’s her look of mockery, reminding me of that day last summer when I finally realized that people weren’t nice. That no one was nice. That everyone lied, and that my heart was just a token, and this universe was the one in the Black Nebula. The hopeless, terrible universe. The one no one wants to be in.

  I rush toward her, grabbing the collar of the jacket. “Give it back! It’s not yours!”

  “It’s not yours either!” Chloe replies, darting away from me. The collar slips from my grasp. “This was in our house, so it’s ours!”

  “Yours?” I cry. “None of this was ever yours!”

  I grab hold of a sleeve and tug on it. Chloe repels against me, trying to wrench away, but something tears and comes off in my grip. At the sound, I drop the sleeve as if burned and stare down at it.

  No—no no no no no no—

  “Ugh,” Chloe mutters, dropping the jacket. “Cheap garbage.”

  I gather it up and press it against my chest. Willing it back together.

  “Wait a second.” She spins around. “If you were going to the contest, that means you have a pass, don’t you?”

  My blood goes cold. I’m shaking.

  “Of course you do.” She tears a poster off the wall and it comes down in scraps. “Oops, not there. Or there,” she adds as she knocks a frame off the hook and opens my drawers, dumping clothes onto the floor. I watch her, still shaking, still with my arms around myself because I don’t want to let go of the jacket. My dad’s beautiful, ruined jacket.

  “Hmm, now where would you put it?” Chloe turns full circle and then pauses on a poster. She glances at me as I pale, then back at the poster, and tears it off the wall. Behind it, tucked into the frame, are my con passes.

  I jump to my feet. “Give those back!” I snap.

  “Or you’ll do what? Run and tell Mom?” she mocks. Just then she sees the worst of it: my savings, balled up in a rubber band, and the bus tickets to Atlanta.

  “What’s this?” Chloe sounds practically gleeful as she scoops up the tickets. “Greyhound tickets? Gross. Oh no—oops.”

  With one swift motion, she rips them in half. And then in half again, and again and again until the tickets—the nonrefundable cash-fare tickets that Sage and I were going to use tomorrow morning at 6:30 a.m.—are a pile of confetti.

  “This should do nicely.” She takes the roll of bills and pockets it. “We can just buy a better costume. Thanks.”

  “You can’t.” My voice cracks. “You can’t or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll what?” Chloe sneers.

  “Or—or I’ll tell Catherine you’re going to the con! She won’t let you. I’ll make sure she doesn’t.” I grip my dad’s jacket tightly. “I’ll—I’ll—”

  I’ve never stood up to Chloe. I’ve never threatened her. Never in my life. And for a moment she’s shocked that I am, but then she blinks and her face falls into the dead-eyed look I know so well. How she looked last summer when she asked me why I thought James could ever like me. When she asked how I could have misinterpreted his kindness. When she made me out to be the freak, when the answers were always on the tip of my tongue.

  But that’s peanuts compared to this. That was the appetizer. Now she has my con passes, my savings, my mom’s dress—she has to have mom’s dress, who else would?—Chloe has everything. She has everything I ever wanted.

  “You’ll do what?” she says, stepping over the piles of clothes strewn across the floor. “If you tell Mom, then so will I. How do you think she’d like hearing that her stepdaughter is hanging out with a druggie?”

  “Sage isn’t—”

  “Or that she’s been skipping work?”

  “I haven’t!”

  “And who would believe you? You’re nothing, Danielle. You’re nobody. You never will be. No stupid dress can change that. You’ll always be the friendless weirdo whose daddy died.”

  She shoves her free hand into my shoulder. I stumble backward, unable to catch my balance, and tumble onto my duffel bag. My duffel bag, where nothing is left but the beautiful crown Sage made me.

  There is a loud solid crack, and my heart stops.

  “Chloe?” Catherine calls up from the front door. “Calliope? I’m home!”

  Chloe smirks. “Coming!” she replies, flipping her hair behind her shoulder, and leaves my room.

  Slowly, I pick myself up, but the damage is done. I don’t need to open the bag to know what I’ll find. I do anyway—the crown that Sage spent hours crafting lies in pieces at the bottom. I pick up a few and they crumble between my fingers.

  Bile rises in my throat.

  Outside my door, there’s a padding sound of footsteps. I look up just as Cal peeks in.

  “Elle?” she asks timidly—and then gasps. “Oh my god—what happened?”

  I curl into myself. I wish the Black Nebula would eat me whole. I wish it would take me away. Hot tears burn as I squeeze my eyes closed and then they gush down my cheeks. I just want to go away. I don’t want to exist anymore.

  “Elle…?”

  “Get out,” I tell her, my voice wavering. “Get out of my room, Cal.”

  For a moment she doesn’t move, wanting to stay. To, what, watch as I break down? Do
es she get a kick out of it, like her sister? But then she sinks away.

  It’s all ruined. Everything is ruined. Just once I thought I could have something for me. Just once I thought…

  But I guess this universe doesn’t have happily ever afters. I was stupid to think it could.

  I find myself reaching into my back pocket, taking out my phone. I close my eyes, holding it against my chest, afraid it’ll be taken away too. Everything’s taken away.

  Everything always is.

  Even Carmindor.

  It’s past midnight. He might be asleep. I remember the way his voice sounded. Deep but young. Weightless. Sweet. I wonder what it would sound like if he ever called me ah’blena aloud.

  That thought is what makes me tap the phone icon beside his number, put it to my ear as my heart races faster and faster, as the signal pings off a satellite far into space and sends my call back down to earth to the exact spot I wish I could be.

  His phone rings once, twice, a mayday out into this impossible universe. And then it goes to voicemail. A generic one without his voice, so it could be anyone’s. He must be busy. Or asleep.

  I hang up and press the back of my head against the door, blinking back the tears to try to stop crying.

  We don’t look up often, I remember texting. Maybe we should start.

  Only glow-in-the-dark stars whisper down to me, an imaginary constellation. It took Dad and me an entire weekend to hang them. Afterward, we stretched out on the floor and stared up at the ceiling and he asked me, “Where do you want to go? Pick a star, any star. Then set your course. Aim.” He pointed at a star, one eye closed, and pulled his thumb down as though he was firing a stargun.

  I stretch my hand to my destination, aiming with one hand, and falter.

  “Ignite!” I hear my father say, even though he’s not here and never will be again. Because this is the impossible universe. And there is no Carmindor, there is no Prospero, or Euci, or the Federation, or observation decks. There’s just me, stranded on the wrong side of everything that I love.

  Like Princess Amara, lost in the Black Nebula.

  “NOW GIRLS, I WANT YOU TO text me the moment you get to your tennis tournament.” Catherine smiles over the breakfast—eggs with spinach—that I made. I stand at the counter, sipping my coffee. I barely slept last night, and I’m not particularly hungry, either.

  “Oh, of course,” Chloe says pleasantly. She throws me a look, as if to warn me to stay quiet. But the truth is, I’ve never been quieter. What’s the use of ratting her out, anyway? “And isn’t Elle going to clean the carpets today?”

  “Oh, that’s right!” My stepmother claps and turns to me. “Now you know what to do, right? You won’t leave the carpet sudsy like last time?”

  “No,” I reply, staring down into my cup.

  Chloe checks her phone. “Cal, we’d better hurry or we’ll miss our ride. James’ll be here any minute.”

  Cal, who hasn’t said a word all morning, hesitates. “I don’t…”

  Catherine’s tweezed brows pucker. “Are you feeling well, darling? You look a little pale.”

  “She’s fine,” Chloe answers, and prods Cal up out of her seat. “She’s just nervous is all. Aren’t you, Cal?”

  Cal steals a glance at me. Then back down at her untouched plate of spinach and eggs. “Yeah.”

  I can’t stand it anymore. I excuse myself to my room. A few minutes later, I watch James’s car pulls into the driveway and the twins hop in, taking my savings with them. My stepmother doesn’t come to check on me; she just yells up to tell me the steam cleaner is in the garage and she’ll see me tonight. Then the front door closes and the steady hum of the Miata turns out of the driveway and down the street.

  After who knows how many minutes of lying on my bed, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.

  Sage 7:03 AM

  —Hey! Where are u?

  —I’ve been calling ALL MORNING

  7:04 AM

  —I’m not going. I’m sorry.

  Sword points begin to sting in my eyes. I blink back hot tears.

  The first ExcelsiCon I remember was the year I turned seven. Dad had been going crazy planning it for the last nine months of our lives. He spent so many sleepless nights arranging the panels, guest appearances, security detail, talking about the con in circles until I was so sick of hearing about ExcelsiCon that I didn’t even want to go when it opened.

  That morning, I woke up to the sound of Dad playing the Starfield theme at full speaker volume. So loud it rattled the stuffed animals off my shelves. He swooped into my room in his starched coat and his crown and took me up in his arms, singing with tone-deaf accuracy.

  “DUN DUN-DUN-DUN DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUN-DUN,” he howled, waltzing me around my room in my moon-and-stars pajamas, and it was the beginning of the best day of my life. When I got my stargun signed by Mr. Singh. When I first thought I could be Carmindor. When Dad told me, “Starlight, star bright, you can be anyone you want to be tonight.”

  Tears flood down before I can stop them. I wipe them away as quickly as they come with the back of my hand, but there’s more. They won’t stop. I’m crying so hard I can barely suck in a lungful of breath.

  Outside, something rumbles.

  Wiping my eyes, I stumble to the window. Out on the street, a large orange truck takes the corner tighter than Spider-Man’s leotard, barreling down the one-lane road, a green-haired maniac at the wheel.

  Oh, no.

  When Sage bangs open the front door and stomps up to my bedroom, she finds me kneeling on the ground, my face in the crook of my arm because I don’t want her to see me crying. I don’t like anyone to see me cry. Not since Dad’s death.

  Crying doesn’t fix things. It doesn’t bring anyone back.

  “Elle—it’s okay. It’s all okay. This’ll be okay—”

  I shove away from her. “No it w-w-won’t!” I take one look at the crumpled crown and the torn jacket and start crying harder. “They th-thought I stole the dress—my own mother’s d-d-dress. So they t-took my money and r-ruined my…our…”

  Sage falls to her knees and tries to hug me, but I push her away.

  “Don’t,” I say. “Get away from m-me. I’m weird and h-h-horrible and—and—and I r-r-ruin e-e-everything. C-Catherine’s life. The t-t-twins’. I’ll ruin y-your life too. I haven’t yet, but you j-j-just wait.”

  She scoffs. “Elle, you can’t ruin someone else’s life. Are you nuts? They’re the ones who wrecked your stuff.” Sage studies me for a long moment, rocking back on her heels. “Why would you ever think you’re the one who ruins things?”

  I laugh a small, thin laugh. “Because I’m just a b-burden. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be a part of this. I’m not Carmindor, Sage,” I admit, hiccupping. “I c-c-couldn’t be. I’m the Black Nebula, I’m Princess Amara—and I destroy ev-ev-everything I touch.”

  She sits back. “Okay, then.”

  “Okay what?” She sounds way too calm. “Don’t you get it? This is it, Sage. This is the end of it. I don’t get good things in this life. None of it.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Sage stands up and reaches out to help me up too. “C’mon.”

  Her hand hovers, outstretched, waiting for me to take it. I hesitate, looking up at it, wondering what she sees in me as a friend, why she doesn’t get it. Can’t she understand?

  “Why?” I say at last.

  “Because you’re right; you aren’t Carmindor. You’re Amara. And you know why you are? Because you’ve taken a crappy subplot and managed to live through it, and you are selfless and you’re brave.” She squats and takes me by the shoulders. “Elle, when I watched the last episode I didn’t think Amara destroyed anything. She saved the universe.”

  “Carmindor saved the universe! All she did was die!”

  “I thought you said there was another universe on the other side?”

  “Does it matter?” I snap back. “I couldn’t be Amara if I wanted to. The twins l
ost Mom’s dress and—and—” A lump forms in my throat.

  Sage rubs the back of her neck. “Well, they didn’t exactly lose it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Elle, I…have a confession to make,” Sage says slowly. “I took the dress.”

  “You?” The realization begins to dawn on me. “You took it?”

  “Yeah. When I said I was taking Franco out to pee that day.” She looks ashamed and proud at the same time. “I didn’t think your stepsisters would wig out like that! I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I just…I couldn’t stand the thought of those snotty girls wearing your mother’s things. I couldn’t do it. And I’ll understand if you hate me for life because of it and—”

  I sling my arms around her and bury my face into her shoulder. “Thank you,” I sob. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “You aren’t mad?”

  “I wanted to steal it myself but I couldn’t! I didn’t know how. I—I was furious. But I couldn’t do anything.”

  “But Chloe took your tickets. She took your savings because I took the dress.”

  I nod. “She would’ve taken those anyway. I know she would’ve.”

  “Okay.” She laughs nervously and stands, outstretching her hand. I take it and she pulls me to my feet.

  She squeezes my hand. “Now let’s get to that con, yeah? We’re burning daylight just standing around.”

  “But how are we getting there? The bus left and—”

  “We’ll take the Pumpkin.”

  I gape. “Are you serious? We can’t take the Pumpkin. Your mom would flip. One more parking ticket and—”

  “Desperate times, girlfriend. Desperate measures. I’ll deal with her once I get home. Now get your things. We’re going on a road trip.”

  “But we don’t have money. Or passes.”

  “We’ll figure it out as we go. C’mon Bilbo, where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “You’re crazy.”