Page 86 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
“Ember!” A man with a neck tattoo lunges at me and grabs my arm. “Take a selfie with me, babe.” His cell camera is already rolling, streaming live footage to God only knows which platform.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” Rafe is on his feet for about two seconds before the man is down on the ground, clutching his kneecap. The dropped phone is still recording, but the screen is smashed. Rafe stomps his heel into it, cutting the feed.
“Dude, did you see Titanium Man take that guy out?”
“Holy shit! Is this being filmed? Like, are we in a movie right now?”
“Nah, bro, that’s not the real Rafe. Or the real Lorelei. Look at her hair.”
“Lorelei! Are you and Rafe a couple?”
Rafe puts his arm around me, protectively, and then we both look down at the empty bubble gun lying on the ground.Orly.
“Orly!” Naomi is also on her feet, screaming out her granddaughter’s name, one hand on the empty stroller, the other shielding her eyes as she frantically scans the gathering crowd.
“Orly!” Rafe bellows, dropping my hand. He jumps up on the bench in an attempt to get a better view.
“Orly!” I call out, taking the stairs up to the train platform, two at a time. I have to get up there so that I can see the whole picture.
I notice the park employees closing in, working around the edges of the crowd, containing some people and redirecting others. The Dapper Dans are gone, and assorted people with walkie-talkies are coming out of the woodwork.
So many people.
My eyes sweep back and forth, searching for a tiny, brown-skinned girl with a sparkly updo in a Rey costume. I should be able to find her.Quickly.She has to be here, somewhere. But she isn’t. She’s not in front of the firehouse, and she’s not by the bathrooms. I can’t see all the way to the front gate from here, but I am gripped by a sudden wave of nausea, considering the possibility that someone might have grabbed her and made a beeline for the exit turnstiles.
“Do you see her?” Rafe joins me on the platform, frantic.
“No, where’s your mom?”
“Speaking to security.” Rafe’s fists are clenched, and he looks like he’s about to leap over the banister parkour style and rain wrath on the crowd till they produce his daughter. “We have to find her. If anyone lays a single finger on her …”
I ignore him and focus my attention on scanning the crowd in sections, like there is an imaginary grid. I’ve cleared the three squares to the left and am almost done with the area in the center. I can see pretty far up Main Street, halfway to the castle. The street is blocked. They’re not letting anyone pass there.
I move on to the section to the right. And then I see her, over by the hat shop. Not just her. Her and the paparazzo and the other kid. The paparazzo is carrying Orly in one arm and holding the other little girl by the hand, looking around anxiously, like he’s not sure what to do.
“There! I point toward the hat shop and the paparazzo. She’s there. She’s with—”
But Rafe has already leaped over the railing. He’s halfway across the plaza before I’m even halfway down the stairs.
* * *
“I want my bubbles!” Orly, who is now safely strapped in her stroller, is crying.
We’re parked in a quiet area near the building by the front of the park, finally away from prying eyes. From what we can gather, Orly took off seconds before the man grabbed me. Her bubble gun had run out of soap, so she ran back toward the hat shop, hoping to get another one.
“It’s okay, Hamuda. Savta is going to put more bubble juice in for you, see?” Naomi is holding the bubble gun that Orly dropped in one hand, shakily pouring more soap solution in with the other. “Everything is fine. Savta has your bubbles.”
The little girl who was with the paparazzo is sitting on a bench in the shade near Naomi, eating ice cream, waiting while we get things ironed out. The man who grabbed me has been forcibly ejected from the park, and security is deciding what to do about the paparazzo.
“I’m just here for the day. It’s my granddaughter’s birthday.” The paparazzo is explaining his side of the story to the security guard. “I saw the little girl wandering away from her family through my zoom lens. I watched her take off, and then that fight broke out.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t get any shots of it. I was too busy trying to keep the kid in focus. I almost lost her. But I saw where she was headed, and she was clearly lost. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, so I followed her.”
“Thank you so much for bringing her back,” Rafe says, shaking his hand. “I cannot express how grateful I am.”
“I get it,” the paparazzo says, glancing back at his granddaughter on the bench. “I’ve been in your shoes, man. Don’t beat yourself up. Impossible to have eyes in the back of your head, you know?”
My temper flares. I can’t help but think that if the paparazzo hadn’t been stalking us in the first place, none of this would have happened.
“This doesn’t excuse why you thought it was okay to harass us,” I jump in. “Don’t you people ever give it a rest?”
