Annie grabbed Jo’s hand, bouncing up and down as she tugged her through the door. “We have to go! After the boring talkingthing—”
“The panel,” Jo said, tapping Gideon on the arm in thanks as they passed.
“We don’t even have to get ice cream. Unless you want to. Then I would be okay with getting ice cream. And maybe the ghost will be there!”
“Maybe they will be.”
Letting her hope only put off the inevitable, but Jo was pretty sure that with enough ice cream and sugary toppings, Annie wouldn’t be able to stay disappointed for too long.
“You have an eyelash on your cheek,” Annie said, pointing at Jo’s cheek.
“Will you get it?” Jo knelt down beside the little girl.
“Make a wish.” Annie held the eyelash out to Jo, balanced on the tip of her finger.
“I’m all out of wishes, kid. Why don’t you make one for me?”
Annie bit her lip and scrunched her eyes closed tight. “I wish we would find a ghost so I can prove to Lainey McKenna that they’re real.” She drew in a deep breath and blew, the eyelash swirling out of sight.
“That was an excellent wish,” Jo said, standing back up. “But who cares if Lainey McKenna believes you or not? It’s about what you believe.”
“You believe in ghosts, don’t you, Jo?”
“I'm not sure,” Jo said honestly.
“Then I extra hope we find one,” Annie said.
Through another guarded door, Jo and Annie found themselves in the wings of the stage that had been erected inthe events center for NostalgiCon’s much-anticipated panels. On stage, the members of Midnight Storm sat in emerald green club chairs opposite a reporter fromSuperfan Magazinewith short black hair and an even shorter skirt.
Behind the curtain, just offstage, Kat turned and waved Jo and Annie closer. “Hey, they’re almost done. Only a few more questions to go.”
“How are they doing?” Jo pulled out her phone, framing up a shot of the band with some stage rigging visible at the edge.
“So far so good. No curveballs, only one question about Beckett’s injury—which he sidestepped beautifully—and Jackson’s mostly keeping quiet.”
“Why does Jackson need to keep quiet?” Annie asked a little too loudly.
“He wants to give the other guys a chance to talk,” Jo bluffed.
Annie nodded sagely. “Like Nico.”
Jo stifled her laugh. She snapped a series of pictures, selected the best one, and posted it to the band’s socials. “I’m going to try to get a better shot from the back,” she whispered, pointing upstage.
“Do your thing. Annie can stay with me, right?” Kat asked, taking Annie’s hand.
Annie smiled. “Right. Do your thing, Jo.”
Jo wound between stagehands and security guards in the overcrowded wing until she found a spot far upstage between the two backmost curtains. From there, she could not only capture the profile of the band, but also the sea of adoring fansin the audience, many of whom wore Midnight Storm t-shirts or carried signs calling out to their favorite band member. She switched her phone to video mode and aimed it at the audience, taking a slow pan of the crowd. As she swung back around to the stage, she swept past Derek in the wings on the opposite side of the stage. He leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, scowl firmly in place. He looked so much like he had the first time she’d seen him, complete with the starchy, white button-down with sleeves rolled up.
Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, she pulled a still from the video, cropping it to focus in on Derek. Before she could think better of it, she attached it to a text and fired off a message. On the other side of the stage, Derek dug into his pocket and retrieved his phone. As he read the message, his stern expression faltered, his lip twitching. It was so subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Jo did.
Jo:What’s the matter, daddy fox?
Derek:You’re supposed to be photographing the band, not me.
Jo:I’m ALSO photographing the band.
She attached several photos, including one of Zach mid-laugh and another of Beckett blushing, a sign demanding he put on his “slutty little glasses” caught in the background.