Allison Silverlake is Dad’s assistant, spy, and latest hookup. Like it’s not even a secret; he literally moved her into the Connecticut house with him. When my mom heard the news, she just raised an eyebrow and said, “Really, Mark,” mildly exasperated, like he had called to tell her he got a speeding ticket or forgot the milk or something. I assumed finding out your husband of twenty years was shacking up with his mistress in your old family home would warrant a bigger reaction, but nah. That’s not how my supremely fucked-up family rolls.

I squeeze the feather tighter between my fingers and start to head inside, but the bouncer, a big burly guy with a shaved head, puts his leg out, blocking me from getting in. “You got a ticket, kid?”

I reach into my pocket to pull out my lanyard, which says THE GEEKERY STAFF, EVENT SPONSOR in big block letters, but before I can show him, my sister reaches across his leg and grabs my arm.

“He’s with me, Jake.”

The bouncer drops his leg with a big smile because Gray always has that effect on people. “You all have a good night,” he calls after us.

“Doubtful,” I grumble, which makes her punch me in the shoulder as she pulls me through the crowd. Everybody thinks Gray is this perfect lady, but for the record, she is not. I mean, around other people, sure, but I’ve wrestled her over a slice of pizza before and that girl leaves bruises.

“Hey, Bats,” someone calls out, and I whip my head around just in time to see the girl in the peacock dress walk by with her friend.

I want to say hi back, but hi seems too simple now that she’s upped the ante by assigning a nickname.

thinkthinkthinkthinkthink

Calling her Mora like the character seems so formal. But what do I say? “Hey, bird girl”? Nope. “Hey, Peacock . . . Lady”? Nah. “Hey—” But the moment’s passed, and she’s still walking, and the tightness is back in my chest, and my sister is holding my wrist, which helps, but it also probably looks like she’s my date. I shake my hand free, even though the loss makes my heart rate spike back up.

“Who was that?” Gray asks, stepping behind a long table. She shoves an armful of T-shirts and glow sticks at me, all adorned with THE GEEKERY in big letters, as if she expects me to go through the crowd like a proper host and hand them out. I raise my eyebrows right as the music kicks up a notch, the DJ jumping around to try to get the crowd pumped up. I can’t believe how many kids are here, 150 at least, and this room isn’t even that big.

Gray flashes me an apologetic look. “You’re probably not up to handing those out, right? You doing okay, though?”