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.

Of me.

And when I meet Jasper Sunday at 5 o’clock, I’ll enjoy seeing his face once he realizes I did the impossible. I hashtag saved Amara.

“It’s Lovelace,” I correct, looking down at her hand. “But you can call me Mo. And even though I’m not important like you, I also have responsibilities. So if we’re trading places, you have to pretend to be me, too. I’m sharing a booth with a friend in Artists’ Alley, and I promised I’d be there.”

Jessica pulls her hand away. “I don’t agree to that. I don’t have time to sit in some booth.”

So she is hiding something.