Page 34 of The Fangirl Project
But there’s Max, making a racket as he takes his car keys out of his pocket and asks for my address so he can plug it into the maps app on his phone, robbing us of the moment.
Regretful, I peel away from Jake, but after he walks us to the door I throw my arms around him for a quick hug.
“See you soon?” I ask, hopeful, terrified, remembering how he didn’t care if he didn’t see the group from school.
“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Cer.”
Oh, I hope not. I really, really hope not.
I linger just a beat longer, before I have to turn and go afterMax.
14
Max’s car is so clean,I’m almost terrified to put my feet on the floor mat in case some dirt comes off my shoes. I hug my bag on my lap, sitting bolt upright and tense, not sure whether that has more to do with the pristine car or him.
Who am I kidding?
It’s at least ninety-five percent to do with him.
I’m fully prepared to eke out the silence for as long as we can get away with, if only to stretch out the snatches of stilted small talk I fully anticipate. I’m even already considering which directions I can mention as he drives, just for something else to talk about.
But as soon as Max turns on the engine his phone connects automatically and a voice begins droning out of the speakers:“…phantom pain lanced through his damaged wings, once more magnificent than any of his Greater Fae brethren’s. Daxys thought again of the friends he had left behind in the palace, the brothers-in-arms who had turned their backs on him…”
An incredulous bark of laughter bursts out of me, even as Maxis already reaching to turn down the volume and fumbling with his phone to find something else to play.
“Is that theOWARaudiobook?” I say, even though I already know. Daxys is Jake’s favorite character—a huge, buff, winged warrior, played by an actor that Jake’s described as “a real teddy bear with golden retriever energy.” I raise an eyebrow at Max. “How many times have you read these books?”
“This is only the second time,” he says, looking awkward. “It took me a year to work through them, but they’ve just released the complete audiobook series, and I’m finding those way easier to get through. It’s nice to experience them again and find all the details I missed the first time around, now that I’m more comfortable with the whole worldbuilding side of things and know the ins and outs of most of the series.”
“Er…right.”
There’s a beat of silence—awkward and stilted and oppressive—before Max asks, with an almost deliberate politeness, “How’s your foray into the books going?”
I readjust my bag on my lap. My copy hasn’t left the bottom of it in about a week and, despite being pretty battered at this point, is largely unread.
“It’s not,” I admit, and Max lets out a short, sharp laugh. I scowl. “Hey, you can’t judge me whenyou’reso much of a die-hard fan you go out in cosplay and—”
“I’m not judging you,” he says, and I scoff becauseyeah, right.“I’m just not surprised.”
“That kinda sounds like you’re judging me.”
“Hmm.” He clears his throat then, and when he starts anotherplaylist I see on his phone screen it’s the soundtrack fromThe Witcher.He skips it, and something that I can only describe as a jaunty folk tune on a lyre starts up. I raise my eyebrows; I didn’t ever imagine anyone listened to this sort of stuff. Max skips through a few more weird-sounding songs and finally settles on an album from a moody indie punk rock band. That must be about as mainstream as he can think of, and I don’t feel like I can really question or insult his music tastes further when he’s doing me a favor and driving me home.
But I can’t help asking, “Is this the sort of stuff you normally listen to?”
“What doyounormally listen to?”
It sounds so accusatory, I question if my own tone was that sharp, but I’m sure it wasn’t. It’s just Max being his usual difficult, prickly self.
I flounder for an answer to him, confused because I thought my music taste was fairly normal—Sabrina Carpenter and Olivia Rodrigo and a lot of Taylor Swift. Finally I say, “Notthat.”
“See, now it sounds likeyou’rethe one judgingme,Cerys.”
Max gives me an arch look, then puts the car in gear and pulls off, with me sufficiently chastised. I bite the inside of my cheek, the lack of conversation between us stewing, thickening, like some physical thing in the car with us. I’m glad for the music, even if it doesn’t provide much of a buffer.
Feeling like I may have gone a bittoofar, I offer a truce. “This stuff isn’t too bad, though. They sound good.”
“Argonauta. It’s these three sisters from Leeds. All their songs have some kind of reference to Greek myths—mostly the tragedies, I think.”
