Page 62 of The Fangirl Project
Just because I want to fit in, or fit a mold (like “perfect future girlfriend right here, Jake, hello!”), doesn’t mean I’m not beingmyself,though. I’m myself in the Discord—there’s a safety and comfort in being on the other side of the screen where nobody is being judgmental. And I’m myself with Jake. Sort of. Mostly. Iusedto be, anyway.
But…
I guess I don’t feel very much like me when I’m walking on eggshells around Mom and Dad at home; and sometimes, at school, it feels like I’m reading off a script. Holding pieces of myself backbecause they don’t fit the part. Like the outfits I wear—after consulting OOTD posts on the girls’ Instagram Stories—are the cosplay I’ve picked out for the day.
But—everyonedoes that.
Don’t they?
I’m quiet for long enough that Anissa shuffles uncomfortably, looking like she wants to apologize, even though she didn’t say anything wrong, so I do the only thing I can think of, and ask:
“Do you want me to do your lipstick for you?”
22
Dad drops us off atthe party and I promise, for the umpteenth time, that I’ll see him at half-past midnight, and yes, I’ll call if we want to come home earlier.
The party is in a detached house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The blinds and curtains are all open, the lights all on, and Anissa and I hurry to the door, shivering without coats in the frigid evening air.
I knock, but the door’s already cracked open, so we step inside and find the party in full swing. Charli XCX blasts out of a speaker somewhere, and there’s the stench of beer in the air. There’s a living room off to the left and I spot a couple of boys from Jake’s new soccer team in there, playing on the Xbox. Three girls are huddled on the staircase in front of us, the one in the middle crying, her friends alternating between soothing her and hyping her up—“He didn’t bloody deserve you anyway!”
“Shall we, er…,” Anissa wavers. “Find the kitchen?”
“Good idea.”
There’s a lot of noise coming from the end of the hall; on the right is a dining room and sunroom filled with people. On the left, the kitchen looks quieter, with only three guys and a girl standing around with drinks in hand.
They glance over at us, and one of the boys frowns, confused, not recognizing us, and I feel like we might as well have flashing neon signs over our heads saying WE DON’T GO TO YOUR SCHOOL. He says, “Uh, hi?”
Anissa shrinks behind me.
Guess it’s up to me to take the lead. Intimidating, cool, knows-what-she’s-doing me.
Apparently.
“Hi,” I reply. “We’re friends with Jake…Jake Wandsworth? He invited us.”
“Oh!” The boy clicks his tongue, grinning now. “Wandy, yeah! He mentioned a couple of girls from St.David’s were coming. I’mRaf.”
“Hi,” I say again, assuming this is his house and his party, and deciding I’ll tease Jake later about his nickname. “I’m Cerys. This is Anissa.”
She waves, still half hidden behind me.
“Think he’s out in sunroom, if you’re looking for him. He’s with that guy, uh…the one with the hair?” Raf glances at his friends, and the blank look on the girl’s face tells me that my suspicions that Max is a far cry from Mr.Popular are confirmed.
“Matt?” one of the other guys suggests.
“Do you mean Max?” I ask, and Raf snaps his fingers.
“That’s the one! Yeah, him.”
“Cool. Well, we’ll, uh…” I gesture to the bottle of lemonade Anissa’s holding, and Raf waves us in the direction of some glasses. The four of them resume their conversation, having to talk loudly to be heard over all the music and noise, which somehow helps give me and Anissa a little breathing space.
I’m glad I brought her with me; this would’ve been terrifying to walk into alone, and I can only imagine what the other girls would have to say about Max.
Anissa pours us each some of the spiked lemonade, and we cheers before taking a sip.
I pull a face, looking at her quizzically.
