Page 30 of The Fangirl Project
“I really don’t know.”
“So, how’s school with yoooou?” he asks then, drawing the word out brightly. It annoyingly interrupts the intensity of the moment we just had going on, but I suppose being hauled in for an impassioned kiss across the kitchen counteristoo much to hope for.
I give him a more detailed answer than he offered me, although I suppose I am already fully up to date on his soccer drama, and Jake’s always preferred chatting about his friends and his hobbies than his classes anyway. “It’s pretty good. My lessons are all okay—history’s a slog, but that’s mainly because we get so much homework.AndI think I’m officially part of the group now.”
“With Evie from school and whatsherface, theBridgertongirl?”
I giggle. “Daphne.Yes, that lot. We have Thursday morning debriefs now.”
It’s only after I blurt it out that I realize what I’ve said, and blush. Jake is too busy carefully layering slices of cheese to notice, at least, so he just asks, “Debriefs? That sounds very intense. What about?”
“Oh, um. Just. You know, how classes are going and stuff.”
Mostly stuff.
Mostlyhim.
“This sounds like when my mom puts a ‘weekly audit’ meeting on her work calendar, but she’s actually at spin class.” He glances up at me with twinkling eyes. “Dad’s been making fun of her since she let that slip. She asked him to take the garbage out the other night and he said, ‘Sorry, I’m currently busy with my weekly audit’—you can imagine she wasnotimpressed, so obviously we’ve all started doing it now.”
Even though I laugh, the story leaves my chest feeling tight.
“I wish my parents would joke around like that instead of…whatever the hell it is they’re doing these days,” I confess. The kitchen is quiet but for the bubbling of the kettle, almost finished, and the scrape of the butter knife in Jake’s hand.
He pauses, not quite meeting my eye before he says, “Maybe you should sign them up to clown school for their Christmas present. Nothing says ‘shut up’ like a mouth full of colored cloths that just won’t stop coming!”
My laugh is hollow, but we both pretend not to notice. And I try not to miss the Jake who talked to me more openly, more deeply, in the Discord on Sunday night. But that’s okay, I tell myself; I know he cares, and now that I know heiscapable of that sort of heart-to-heart, however awkward he might find it in person, it only makes him more endearing.
The kettle finishes boiling and I find the mugs. I pull down theJust Dandymug and my mood shifts instantly, like it’s a cursed object.
I could take it back. It’s petty, maybe, but it’ll be a victory. I’ll be making apoint.
But Max is Jake’s new friend, close enough that Jake wants to include him in our weekly hangouts, so I suck it up to prove that I am a good person, a compassionate future girlfriend, and I switch it for Ginny’s swearing pug mug.
Look at me, taking the moral high ground.
I am—and I’m sure Jake will see it any day now—sucha catch.
—
This week, I sit fartherup on the bed, closer to Jake but not quitenextto him, and not near enough to the headboard that I might be tempted to relax into it; lying down on his bed with him feels a littletoonerve-racking, even if we didn’t have our third wheel to deal with. Instead, I sit with my skirt arranged prettily around me and my legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle, and prop myself back on my hand.
It’s not very comfortable, admittedly, but that’s beside the point.
Luckily, I don’t have to exchange much small talk with Max beyond a hello because Jake immediately queues up the next episode for us all to start watching, and the show takes over. I can’t believe how into it they both are—Jake is bright-eyed and smiling as he watches, even mouthing along to parts of the show, and Max leans forward intently, his eyes focused entirely on the screen. They both cry out at some apparent betrayal, both cheer at the appearance of a ragged, withered-looking man with stringy red hair turning gray and a broken pair of glasses, and they both wait for my reactions to certain moments with bated breath.
Mostly, it’s whenever Lady diSilver and her guard are onscreen, though they aren’t doing very much. For a good chunk of oneepisode, all they do is ride horseback down a road and discuss politics, which is nowhere near as entrancing as the scene in the bedroom—even if theyaresharing a horse, and cozied up together.
Actually, most of the two episodes is politics and characters swapping ancient myths and legends about the long-lost Eldritch King who will bring the realm back to rights, and it’s lots of dark, moody scenes in taverns and dramatic, foreboding one-liners that make the boys positively vibrate with excitement but go right over my head.
By the end of it, when Jake sits up to pause before episode seven—the season finale—plays, I flop back on the bed with a groan of despair, throwing my arm over my head.
“I thought you said there would be lots of characters to love this week,” I grumble.
Max laughs, which makes me scowl. I drag my head up enough to shoot him a glower from beneath my arm, but he cracks a smirk to himself and shakes his head. I lie back down, but keep scowling.
Jake pats my arm. “Guess you’ll just have to keep watching to get that sweet, sweet Silversmith content. Even if they’renotendgame.”
“Says you,” Max argues, but it’s playful, and sounds like a debate they’ve hashed out plenty of times before.
