Imogen crosses her arms over her chest and studies me, as if I’m some plot twist in a story she hadn’t expected to like, and then she leans in and asks, “Do you like her?”

“W-what?” I sputter, and a blush spreads across my face. I grab the receipt and hurry to the cash register, and she follows me like a Baskerville hound.

“You do!”

The cashier rings up the order. I dig around in my purse for exact change and hand it to her, my cheeks so hot they’re searing. “I—it’s—”

“Then you don’t like Ethan?”

I nab my receipt and whirl around. “Ethan? Oh God no. Wait—” I narrow my eyes, cross my arms, and imitate the same scrutiny she gave me, which causes her to lean backward a little. I don’t even have to ask the question before her ears begin turning pink and she whirls to hurry out of the diner.

“You like him!” I accuse, following close on her heels. “Rule six! It was a rule for a reason!”

She shoves open the door and steps out into the muggy Atlanta afternoon. This is the photo I promised the paparazza, and I put on a smile as she snaps pictures while Imogen and I make our way down the street. Imogen is so flustered and lost in her own head that she doesn’t even notice. “I thought you made the rule because, well, you liked him.”

“I definitely do not. I just didn’t want to see him getting hurt, especially since you’re so cute in all the ways I’m not—and in all the ways he likes.” Her ears are growing redder and redder, and she can feel it too; she quickly arranges her hair over them. I catch up to her as we cross the street, leaving the paparazza behind. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“Not on purpose! And you hurt Harper!”

“I didn’t mean to!” I say defensively. “But I want to apologize. I screwed up.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Ahead of us in the streets is a parade—all types of people dressed in cosplay sashay down the avenue to the tune of every fantasy and sci-fi theme the marching band behind them can play. There are Vulcans and mechas and Jedis and Labyrinth goblins, anime demons and zombie pirates and dragonborns and sailor scouts and dark elves—heroes and villains and everyone in between. Whatever apologies we were about to make to each other for messing up our friendships fall away as we’re caught up in the magic. I’m filled with the memories of stargazing on hotel rooftops and singing the Starfield theme off-key with a bunch of strangers I didn’t know but understood and seeing all of those radiant Amaras through the viewfinder of a camera—

And all of the stories I want to tell.