“But what does Jessica Stone need to protect herself from?”
At that, she quickly glances away. “Rule three—”
This is too much. I can’t think straight. “STOP!” I yell, forming my arms into an X. “Pause. Back up. Why are you here, Miss…?” It feels weird calling her Miss Stone, and she scowls at the title, too.
“Call me Jess, please,” she says, turning back to me. “And I’m here because I need your help. Look, I fail at being me. Especially in this…environment. But you? You’re perfect at it, and I need to appease the masses. So. You do still want to be me, don’t you?”
This feels like a trap.
“Who doesn’t want to be Jessica Stone?” I say hesitantly.
She spreads her arms wide. “Then here’s your golden opportunity! Let’s trade lives!”
She can’t be serious. I wait a heartbeat, then another, expecting her to cave and expose this elaborate joke, after which a cameraman busts out of the closet and surprise! I’ve been punk’d!
And yet…
I don’t think she’s joking.
Everything about Jessica Stone is perfect, from her manicured nails to her artfully messy topknot. Even in an unassuming blazer she looks like a movie star. It’s weird how some people just shine.
Is it really that easy? Can I just step into her shoes and become her? I’ve seen people don cosplays all my life, becoming space princesses and starship captains and robot mercenaries and Vulcan Jedis. Assume other lives, other names…
And here is Jessica Stone offering up her name to me. Does she know what I could do with it?
I narrow my eyes. “What’s the catch?”
She falters. “Catch?”
“Yeah. Why would you let me be you? What’s so bad about being you that even you don’t want to be you anymore?” By the tightening of her lips I know I’ve struck a chord.
Why would someone like Jessica Stone want to trade places with a nobody like me?
Her blue eyes slide to her assistant, and a silent conversation passes between them, like two best friends who don’t need words to communicate. I feel my stomach drop, as if I’m watching something intimate, and avert my eyes.
Finally, Jessica replies, choosing her words slowly and carefully, like she’s stepping on slippery rocks across a river. “Because I need to be someone else for a little while, and I figured I’d ask you. It’s the chance of a lifetime, right? To be Jessica Stone.”
Not only to be Jessica Stone, but to be a Jessica Stone who cares about Starfield. Maybe I can use this opportunity to my advantage. Do I feel horrible scheming about this?
Sure.
But sometimes you need to think outside the box to accomplish your goals, and thanks to the thousands of signatures on my petition—and the reaction at the panel—I know I have a community of fans who’ll back me up.
I just need the actress who plays Amara to be one of them.
I clear my throat, not wanting to sound overly eager. “It sounds too good to be true, being you.”
“I promise it isn’t. No strings attached. Oh, and rule three: don’t talk about Amara. About her death. Wanting her to live. Whatever. That thing you did on the panel, you can’t do it again.”
My face pinches. “Why don’t you want to save Amara—your job?”
Jessica waves her hand dismissively. “It’s none of your business.”
Ugh. I chew on the inside of my cheek. I’m not going to stop just because she can’t see a good thing right in front of her. Amara deserves to be saved—and what Jess doesn’t know while she’s off being me won’t hurt her. Besides, she’ll thank me later. I’m sure of it.
“Fine,” I lie, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I won’t.”
She lets out a sigh of relief. “Perfect. Besides, Ethan will be with you the whole time.”
The nerfherder and I give each other the same look—a glower that could cut straight to the soul. I really, really dislike him. Like to a degree I don’t think I’ve ever disliked anyone.
“And that brings me to the fourth rule,” Jessica says, looking between the two of us. “Don’t flirt with anyone.”
My cheeks redden. “I—what?”
“Don’t flirt. With anyone.”
“Why would you—but I wouldn’t—”
She levels a look at me. “And you won’t. Understand?”
“Fine! I don’t know who I’d flirt with anyway.”
“Darien,” she says, “Calvin, the volunteers, Ethan—”
“I would never flirt with him,” I say at the same time as he says, “I’d never flirt with your two-bit clone.”
“Clone? Well that’s rude,” I say.
He clicks his tongue admonishingly. “And I want to keep my job.”
Jessica snaps her fingers to draw our attention back to her. “Children, children. I need you two to play nice. Rule five, be nice to Ethan.”
I jab a finger at him. Again. “He started it!”
“Rule six”—she holds up six fingers, as though I need a visual aid—“you will wear contacts at all times.”
I laugh. “Sorry. I don’t do contacts.”
“My eyes are blue, so now you will,” she says matter-of-factly. “Rule seven, you will be nice to my fans but you will not take selfies with them outside of photo ops. Rule eight,” she brings up the finger count again, “no interviews without my consent, no signing things, no nothing. Rule nine is no soda. I don’t drink sodas.”
“They’re gross; I agree.”
She looks happy at that and holds up all ten fingers. “Rule ten: you are only allowed to be me at this convention. And only for this weekend. We’ll swap back on Saturday evening. No going out after the panels, no dinners with costars, no nothing. And you’ll never speak of this again.”
“That’s hardly fair—what if someone invites me out?”
“No. It’s my image, not yours.”
“And what about my image?”
She gives me a once-over as if I’m barely worth her time, and I feel very affronted. “I’m sure your image will be just fine.”
“But I have con obligations, too.”
“So is that a no, then?” She cocks her head. “I didn’t figure you as someone to refuse something like this.”
Oh, she has me pegged. I huff, folding my arms over my chest. “You aren’t…wrong,” I say.
“All right then.” She smiles and outstretches one of her manicured hands for me to shake. This is a bad idea. I can think of ten ways to Sunday why this would never work in real life. Only in K-dramas. Only in animes. Only in YA novels. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life, and it most certainly doesn’t happen to me.
And yet…
And yet here is Jessica freakin’ Stone on my bed, stretching her perfectly manicured hand toward me.
What are the odds?
Almost impossible.
“What do you say?” she asks. “Will you be me, Imogen Love-true?”
What other choice does my Gryffindor heart have? Who boldly goes? Who leaps before she thinks? Who rushes in? Me. Because I can still feel the shadow of everything that I’m not looming over me, and I can still hear Jasper laughing when I told him I wanted to save Amara. And here is Jessica Stone, unwittingly giving me the chance to do exactly that. To change the course of my community, of my fandom, of Princess Amara.