Before we met up with Jules, Oscar took a quick shower and emerged clean and calm. He still had to sneak a few deep breaths before picking up his phone.

“I’m glad you’re doing this.” I lingered by the door. “Do you want privacy?”

“No.” His eyes darted up to mine. “Just . . .”

“Silent moral support?”

“That. Yes.”

I mimed buttoning my lips. He dialed.

The room was silent for a good three seconds, then, “Hey! Moms. Hi. Ha-ha. All done, yep. I don’t know about lit, but . . .”

His knee was juddering up and down. I sat next to him, hips touching.

“Um, yeah so, as you know, I . . . have a little bit of a situation here.” Oscar glanced at me and his leg relaxed. “There might be a way to fix it.”

•   •   •

Jules held the door for Oscar to walk into El Pueblo ahead of us so she could hang back and tease me, squealing in an undertone, “Oh my God, was that Oscar Bell?! Do you think he’d sign an autograph?”

Still, she looked surprised as I pulled her arm, drawing her farther away.

“I need you to do me a favor tomorrow night.”

She nodded.

“Two favors, actually. First—will you dress me for Oscar’s premiere?”

Her eyes went saucer wide.

“Yes! I mean . . . obviously, duh.” She couldn’t hide her delight. “What do you want? Society princess or—?”

“Evil queen.”

“Nice.” She looked up at the skyline, brainstorming. “Second favor?”

“I need a plus one.”

Now her mouth dropped open.

I shot her a wicked smile as I strode into the restaurant and took my place by Oscar’s side.

I may not have had talent. But I had incredible friends, more courage than sense, a name that people recognized, and over fifty thousand dollars in a never-touched trust fund.

The pieces were falling into place.

•   •   •

Maybe it was the modern cut of the dress, the half-pinned curls in my hair, the soft evening light streaming through the window, or the fact that I never wore white—but I looked like someone else.

Not a random someone. A specific one. Everybody was right. It was uncanny.

Dad kept her picture in his office at Amberley, as if nothing had changed. Mom, early twenties, right after they met, sundrenched in a cotton dress, black hair spilling around her shoulders. Relaxed, self-possessed, forever halfway out the door.

I blinked at myself and Mom blinked back, beautiful and aloof.

This still wasn’t who I was. It would serve me well tonight.

Behind me, Jules was squinting through the mirror like she couldn’t decipher my reaction.

“I know it’s not the typical color you’d think of for an evil queen—but I wanted something striking. Different enough to be intimidating. Snow queen, I guess. Anyway . . .” She let out a nervous breath. “Do you like it?”