Only when the parade has passed and the street clears do I turn to the girl who could have been me in another impossible universe, and I say, “I want to save Amara.”

Imogen

WHILE JESS IS GROVELING TO HER ASSISTANT, since he clearly will never want to see me ever again, I fix my pink hair—wig no longer needed—and march straight into ExcelsiCon to gather reinforcements. The moment I flash my badge, my badge, to the attendant and ride the escalator up to the showroom, I feel like myself again, and I breathe in the con stink as if it’s fresh air.

I need to find Milo and Bran. They’re the only ones who can help me with two parts of Jess’s plan, which rides a little on the side of batshit but, to be fair, some of the best ideas do.

“If we’re going to save Amara, we need to prove she exists,” Jess had told me.

I didn’t expect the plan she laid out next. It will take an impossible amount of luck to pull it off, but ExcelsiCon has always excelled at the impossible. I just hope it can work its magic one more time.

At some point I also need to text Harper and tell her the truth. I don’t know if she’ll ever want to be my friend again—especially after I purposefully hoodwinked her into hanging out with someone else—but I can’t not try. Harper and I have been internet friends for years. She’s the one person who believed in my Save Amara initiative when no one else did, and I’ve been the ultimate crappy friend to her.

I just hope Milo and Bran are at my moms’ booth and not at some movie screening. There isn’t enough time to hunt them down, and with my luck they’d be missing.

Instead, when I turn the corner, I find Harper at the booth talking to Milo. They both notice me at the same time—my pink hair does kind of stand out—and their conversation instantly dies.

Welp. There’s nothing quite as uninviting as ruining good conversation.

My moms are on the other side of the booth, by the FunkoPop throne, assisting a customer buying that gorgeous Nightwing figurine—you know, the one with the really nice butt?—and I hurry over to Milo and Harper sporting my best apologetic smile.

Harper watches me wearily as I approach. “So, you’re Imogen.”

“Hi, Harps,” I say painfully.

She doesn’t look as surprised as I thought she would. Even worse, she looks disappointed. “So the other person really was…”

“It’s a long story. I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” she interrupts with a scoff.