Page 53 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
“What else?” I ask.
“She likes listening to funny podcasts.Lit Loversis one of her faves.”
I sigh. I don’t have to do everything Kenna would do, do I? “Is there a bookstore around here?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think there’s one in the mall a couple of exits away.” Georgia finishes wrestling the octopus she’s stripping and hands him to me. “Just curious. What made you think cat clothes would look good on an octopus exactly?”
“It’s whimsical!” I say. “And octopi are very intelligent creatures.” I decide right then and there that I’m keeping Olly, too. Olly and Wally. They’ll make great travel pillows.
“So what happened last night? Have you gotten back to Kenna yet?”
“I’ll get back to her before I go to the bookstore. She needs to chill.”
A short, older lady bursts into the shop. She is wearing a hot-pink sweatshirt with pawprints all over it. She’s holding the ugliest one-eyed dog I’ve ever seen. Its one eye does the Mona Lisa thing. It seems to be following you, no matter where you or the dog are located in the shop.
“Georgia! Did you hear? Xander is headed to Rafe Barzilay’s house to work with Princess! Can you believe our humble Princess has been adopted by such Hollywood royalty? Who knew?”
“I knew,” I sigh, stuffing Wally and Olly in my bag. The one-eyed dog growls at them.
Georgia wide-eyes me, and I realize that I probably should be a little more careful talking to this woman. Who is she again? Angie? Pet shelter employee? It’s only been a couple of days, but I’ve met so many new people.
“How did you find out, Kenna dear?”
“Kenna is doing the cast photos forAMidsummer Night’s Dreamand stopped by Rafe Barzilay’s rental to scout some locations there.” Georgia fills Angie in quickly.
“Right,” I continue, “and I saw the mutt, I mean, Princess, while I was there.”
“Oh my!” Angie beams. “Did she look happy? Does she have enough treats? I could run a care package by there—”
“She seemed just fine,” I say. “Except for the bad behavior thing.”
“Well, I’m sure Xander will have good advice,” Angie says. “Life here in Ephron sure has gotten exciting lately!”
“You betcha!” I say, unconsciously reciting another one of my signature lines fromMoxie. Why is it that whenever I try to do Kenna, it comes out like a half-baked version of my childhood role?
“You know what I just noticed?” Angie whistles. “You look just like that actress Lorelei Dupont. But not the grown-up version. What was that kid detective show she was in?”
“Moxie McAllister,” Georgia says.
“That’s it! You look just like Moxie, dear! All grown up, but same freckles.”
* * *
The Barnes and Noble in the strip mall two towns over isn’t the indie bookshop of my dreams, but it’s still a little slice of heaven. All the necessary ingredients are here. Aisles and aisles of brand-new books just waiting to be read. I want to crack open all the spines. Breathing in the smell of so many new books makes me feel a little high. Like I’m huffing story. Inhaling info. Ink and paper, with undertones of coffee and pastries wafting in from the café. Hunchbacked and Gollum-like, I haul my bounty to a café table, a mere twenty-two titles split into three stacks.
They really should offer shopping carts.
But the best part of this whole experience is that I’m not wearing a costume of any sort.
Normally, I’d be sitting here in my wig, itching and twitching, afraid of being recognized as myself and equally afraid of being unmasked as a wig-wearing fraud. Not today.
Today, I am sitting at a table … alone. Gloriously alone, in public. My hair—my real hair—is piled on top of my head in a messy bun. I’ve got on a pair of cargo shorts and a ridiculous, faded T-shirt from some kind of rural gas station rest area in Maryland that reads, “Guns, Ammo, SnowCones” that I found among Kenna’s many tees.
I park myself and my books at a table in the café and page through the novels, setting aside the ones I want to read first. Next, I tackle the books onDungeons and DragonsI’ve selected. Mapmaking, characters, history, and lore. And there’s a collection of Anime-style comics, including several retellings of Shakespeare Classics.
“Hey Kenna, you want to introduce me to your friends?” I look up from my notes, spying the familiar trekking stick. For the first time, I notice the sticker wrapped around the sturdy pole.
“Dungeon Masters do it better.”
