Page 72 of The Fangirl Project
“That’s not stupid. That’s really sweet, Max.”
It makes me wish things were different with my parents. It makes me wishIwere different—that I could have some mature, inspired, grown-up take on why they act the way they do, like Max had about his dad and those pressed pennies.
I inhale deeply through my nose, but it ends up sounding like a sniffle, and when I bring my hands up, my cheeks are wet.
I don’t even know why I’m crying. Tonight has just been alot,and it’s not even over yet.
“Cerys? You okay?”
“Yeah.” It comes out a little shaky, but I stand up, and sound steadier when I add, “I’m just gonna use the bathroom. I’ll come find you and the others downstairs in a sec, okay?”
He pauses, and I think about that arm around me after someone bumped into me, and close my eyes. As if I’m not frazzled enough right now without addingthatwhole weirdness to the mix. But Max says, “Okay,” and I hear him leave.
I dump my mostly untouched cider down the sink. I don’t need to add “drunken mess” to the state I’m in. I’ve already got the “mess” part down pat.
25
Just when I think I’vegot it together and am totally, absolutely, mostdefinitelyequipped to handle whatever the rest of the night has to throw at me, I hop down the last of the stairs and come face to face with Jake and Anissa huddled in the kitchen doorway, arms tangled together, both sipping drinks, heads bent near as they giggle about something.
It’s another gut punch. It’s worse. It’s someone spiking my heart on my favorite stiletto shoe and smiling while it bleeds out slowly.
Not that they’re kissing, or anything close to it, but—what if they did, earlier? What if they do?
It’s not like Anissa owes me anything. Sure, there’s girl code, but it’s not like I evertoldher that I liked Jake. It’s not like she knows I only brought her here to distract Max. And as for Jake—
As for Jake…
God, he really doesn’t see me that way, does he? Not if he can ditch me at a partyhe invited me to,too busy canoodling withAnissa to even know I’ve been hiding in the bathroom crying, to even care.
He’s supposed to be The One.
He’ssupposedto be my best friend.
I catch sight of Max coming through the kitchen door, and decide I really cannot deal with any of this. It’s all too much. I just want to call Dad and ask for a lift home, even if it’s too early to leave yet.
But as I whirl away I find myself caught in a sudden tide of movement, bodies pressing out of rooms in all directions and heading to the sunroom—to the back garden. I just about make out Raf calling, “Come on, gang, time for the fireworks! Ozzy, mate, you all set? Where’s Dez? Oi, Alfie, give us a hand setting these up, will you?”
Of course—the fireworks display. The reason we’re here.
I notice Jake and Anissa swept along in the crush, too—I pick out Jake’s sandy hair, slightly disheveled from its usual style, and see the flash of Anissa’s snake-cuff earring. Part of me wants to do what I thought Max had been doing to me these last few weeks: insert myself between them, be an annoying third wheel who ruins the sweet, flirty moments they’re sharing, destroy any and all hope of taking things further. And don’t Iwantto hang out with them anyway? Would it be so horrible if I pushed through the crowd until I found them, and we all watched the fireworks together? I’m sure Max would find us, too.
But I really, really don’t have the energy right now.
Let them have the fireworks, I think, dragging myself out ofthe way and latching onto a quiet corner in the sunroom where Ican stay put. Let them have a kiss if they want one. It’s too late anyway.
I’m too late.
The last stragglers pour through the sunroom doors, out into the pitch-dark night. There are phone flashlights swinging around and boys shouting instructions as all the fireworks are set up, ready to be lit. I stay inside as the frigid air rushes in, leaving me without an alcohol jacket—or a real jacket—for protection.
I draw a breath. Let it back out.
I’m too late,I think again. And maybe I never stood a chance in the first place.
“You’re not going out to see the fireworks?”
“Jesus!” I jump, clutching my chest.
“Nope, just me.”
