“Check ’em!” the other voice calls back. “You know fans manage to get on the lot all the time!”
And then there’s the sound of footsteps getting closer . . .
“Shit!” Joanna yelps. “Come on.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the trailer door. For some reason, I don’t let go of the dress. I can’t let go of the dress. I don’t know why, but there is no way I’m leaving this dress behind.
Joanna pulls me down the stairs of the trailer, then plasters herself against the side and looks around, trying to figure out where the voices are coming from.
“Oh, it’s security,” she whispers, jerking her head toward the opposite end of the row. I whip around and see two men in security-type uniforms, frowning and inspecting one of the other trailers. I turn back to Joanna, prepared to mimic her oh-so-stealthy movements. Unfortunately, the gigantic dress I’ve suddenly decided to steal gets caught on the trailer steps. I instinctively yank on it, trying to get it free . . . and then it makes a big RIIIIIPPPPPPP, and then the security guards are yelling and Joanna is grabbing my free hand and telling me to run.
I bolt away from the trailers, following her back to the fake cobblestone path, and we clatter away as fast as our legs can carry us.
I risk a glance over my shoulder and see the security guards yelling after us, telling us to come back, telling me to drop the dress.
Exhilaration thrums through my bloodstream, syncing with the jackhammer beating of my heart. I pick up the pace, sling the dress over my shoulder, don’t think about anything except getting away.
We zigzag through another bank of trailers, dart through a narrow alleyway between two massive soundstages. Sweat beads my brow, and my heart beats even faster . . . and honestly, it feels good. It feels like relief, my tears clearing and my body responding to all this exertion like a happy puppy.
It’s just like when I am fully enveloped in an intense judo session—I don’t have to think.
We finally reach the entrance of the studio again—the arch, the fountain—and Joanna slows her pace, looking over her shoulder.
“Oh god,” she wheezes, coming to a stop. “Okay.” She doubles over in front of the fountain, hands on her knees. “You are in much better shape than I am.”
“Where’d they go?” I say, looking around frantically for the security guards. “Did we lose them? Are they making a report about us right now?”
“I doubt it,” Joanna says, finally catching her breath and standing up straight. “They mostly just wanted to get us out of that area, and they did. If we cause any trouble on another area of this lot, it’s another security team’s problem. That said . . .” She grins and casts a pointed look at my stolen dress. “I’d suggest you get out of here as quickly as you can. Just in case they tell the other teams to be on the lookout for a girl running around with a gigantic Cinderella dress.”
I laugh, the weirdness that engulfed me just moments ago melting away. It’s not gone, but at least our impromptu chase took me out of the existential crisis I was about to settle into.
“Here.” Joanna rummages around in her pocket, pulling out a business card and passing it to me. “Take my number. Call or text me anytime.”
My instinct is to push the card back at her. We barely know each other—why would I want her number? But instead I take it. Yet another thing I can’t really explain to myself.
Except . . . I can’t deny that there’s something about her that makes me feel instantly comfortable. And I’m used to feeling pretty much the opposite at all times.
“You remind me a lot of, well, me,” Joanna says with a chuckle. “If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, anything at all, please let me know. I’m always here.”
“I . . . thank you,” I murmur, tucking the card into my pocket. I know I need to get out of here before security comes crashing down on me, but I suddenly don’t want to leave her. “Hey, Joanna. Thank you. For, um, helping me possibly commit an actual crime.” I brandish the dress.
“I think that dress is yours,” she says, running her fingers over the sparkles. “I could tell you didn’t want to let it go.”
“It’s so not what I’d usually wear,” I say ruefully. “I’ll probably never even put it on.”
Joanna’s gaze turns introspective as she lets go of the dress, still studying all those sparkles. “You will,” she says—and the certainty in her voice gives me chills.
“How do you know?” I can’t help asking.
“I just do.” She looks up from the dress and gives me a sly grin. “Maybe I’m your fairy godmother.”
SEVENTEEN
Henry’s waiting for me when I hustle back to the car.
“I was about to send out a search party,” he says, flashing me an easy grin. “Or, you know, a text.” His gaze lands on the dress clutched in my arms and his brow furrows. “Did you go shopping?”
“Not exactly,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. Quickly.”
We get into the car, and I shove the dress in the back seat and attempt to hide it under Henry’s jacket. Just in case the security guard at the front booth is checking cars for clearly stolen contraband or something. Henry raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything further.
Luckily the security guard barely looks at us, just waves us through and goes back to tapping away on his phone. I let out a long, slow exhale of relief as Henry pilots us back onto the streets of Hollywood.
As we drive for a few blocks in silence, I text Joanna so she’ll have my number. Now Henry’s being suspiciously quiet. I give him a sidelong glance, trying to work out if he’s, like, peaceful or if
