Page 65 of The Fangirl Project
She was supposed to bond withMax,not Jake!
A fingertip brushes lightly under my chin, pushing my gaping mouth closed where my jaw has plummeted to the floor. I jump at the touch, mouth snapping shut, and turn to see Max smirking at me, eyes glittering.
“Think he’s found a new best friend,” he says.
“Again.”
I don’t mind that it comes out sounding sharp or bitter, and Max just inclines his head, taking the dig annoyingly gracefully.
“I take it you weren’t expecting that to happen.”
“He knew her at school! They’ve barely ever said hello! I thought they’d get on all right, but…”
Max gives a breath of laughter. “The power of fandom, huh? Cursed be ye who try to get between two nerds once they get going about their D&D campaigns.”
“Yeah, apparently.”
Brilliant.
Now I’ve losttwofriends, theonlypeople I know at this godforsaken party except for Daphne, who I need to avoid for obvious reasons, and I’m stuck. With Max.
I gulp down the rest of my lemonade, forgetting for a moment that it’s not something stronger.
He pushes away from where he’s leaning against the edge of the patio doors, casting another bemused look at Jake and Anissa before looking back to me. “Do you want to get a drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
23
Max supplies me with araspberry hard cider from a case stashed inside the washing machine.
I look around for a bottle opener, but when I don’t see one, he smoothly takes the bottle out of my hand, angles it just so against the kitchen counter, and gives the top a whack. The lid pops right off, and I’m impressed enough that I have to make an effort not to gawk as I take the bottle back.
I clear my throat, trying to shake it off. “So, um…”
Great work, Cerys. A conversational superstar.
It’s not my fault, though. Max makes it so hard to talk to him.
He’s all stoic and serious and superior and downrightannoying,and it’s not as if he’s here throwing out “Hey look at me, I’m Mr.Approachable, small talk is my forte” vibes, is he?
Thankfully—God, this is what my life has come to, that I’m stuck alone at a party with Max andgratefulwhen he has something to say—he finds something for us to talk about.
“Anissa seems cool.”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Yeah, she’s…” The exact opposite, but maybe in Max’s books she’s the height of cool? She definitely is where Jake is concerned, it seems…
“You went to the same school, right? Jake mentioned you guys were never really friends, though.”
“We weren’t.”
I don’t have much else to say—the truth is I’m still uncomfortable with being seen hanging out with Anissa in case I’m judged and exiled for it, but shedoesseem really great, and I regret not getting to know her sooner. I feel a whole mess of shame when I think about any of that, and I’m realizing it has less to do with her and alotto do with me, but that’s really scary to confront. The very last person I want to open up to about any of that isMax.
He takes my brusque response as some kind of invitation to pry, though, saying, “So what changed? Don’t tell me all it took was a mutual appreciation forOWAR.” He quirks an eyebrow, apparently skeptical as ever about my own investment in this fandom.
I bristle. Not because he’sright,but because Iaminvested. Genuinely, deeply. I’ve written fanfiction, for God’s sake! Not—NOT—that I am about to prove that to him by sending Max my lovey-dovey one-shot of a ballroom dance. I’d rather set myself onfire.
But I’m backed into a corner: I don’t want to stand here elaborating on my fangirl status to make a point, and I don’t want to reveal just how shady my motivations for inviting Anissa to the party tonight were. I don’t want that getting back to Jake—or worse, to Anissa.
