Page 45 of The Fangirl Project
I’ve spilled all (well,most) of what happened on the weekend to them in person now as well as in the group chat, avoiding any mention ofOWAR.Their reaction to Comic Con was exactly what I’d been afraid of, so Ican’tlet them find out about the fandom thing. I’d be totally ostracized. It’s not worth it.
Besides, I’m only doing it for Jake.
Mostly. Sort of. Anyway.
Nikita suggests confronting Max. “He sounds rude as hell, too. I’d call him out.”
“Maybe you can tell Jake?” is Evie’s advice. “He’s super sweet, I bet he’d understand if you told him this other guy is being a pain in the butt. You can always call it a ‘personality clash’ or something.”
“But what if he chooseshimover me?” I say, and she grimaces, not having an answer to that.
“Doesn’t this Max guy have other friends?” Daphne says, and I admit that I don’t know. Even if he does, it’s clear that he and Jake have become best friends and near inseparable these days. Like we used to be.
It’s Chloe in the end who says offhandedly, “Maybeheneeds a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend! Maybe it’s not about spendinglesstime with this guy so much as inviting him to more things and trying to set him up with someone, or finding out if there’s anyone he’s got a crush on that you can help him with?”
I snort. “I don’t think I’m very well equipped to help anyone else with romance when I’m failing so spectacularly with Jake.”
“You’re not failing!” Daphne cries, reaching to give my hand a squeeze. Her brown eyes are wide and earnest; the damp weather has made her usually pristine dark hair frizz in a halo around her head. “He’s definitely into you. Thekiss on the cheek? Hello? Are we forgetting that? And he made that really cute Instagram post of the two of you!Plus,you spent the whole day at Comic Con with him, and I don’t know many people who’d put up with a hall full of obsessive nerds just for someone else’s sake.”
The others laugh, but I find myself biting down a comment about how, actually, I’d…kind of enjoyed it, up until we reunited with Max and I felt so pushed aside.
But Daphne’s got a point. Saturday wasn’t a complete failure; and maybe Chloe’s right, too, although where I’d evenbeginto set Max up with someone is beyond me…
—
Friday, our art lesson runsinto lunchtime. The classrooms are always open during breaks for anybody wanting to come and work on their projects and portfolios and, today, I decide to stick around.
Evie packs her things up and comes over to the easel I’m working at, in the corner. And while I can hardly hide my coursework piece, a surge of panic rises up from the pit of my stomach, remembering how the girls reacted to Comic Con.
But when she gets close she gasps, and says in a tone of quiet awe, “Omigosh, Cerys! The way you’ve captured the light…it’s like it’sactuallysparkling. How’d you do that?”
The comment makesmefeel like I’m sparkling, too, positively glowing with pride. Having moved on from my sketch, I’m focusing on the acrylic backdrop to my next Téiglin-inspired piece, and have spent most of the last week adjusting the sunlight streaking through the glade in my painting, trying to capture the magic ofOWAR.
Or I guess, since it’s OWAR, themagick.
Suddenly, I don’t even mind that I’ve become the kind of person who actively thinks things like that.
“Alotof patience” is my only real explanation, and Evie laughs.
“You’re going to have to help me when I get around to mine. Ihateworking with acrylics, but apparently I have to ‘expand my artistic horizons’ if I’m serious about getting into a good university course…” She casts a glare over her shoulder at our teacher, but grins, relaxing, when I promise I’ll help her if she can give me some tips on working with pastels, which is her strength.
Evie looks at the paints still spread around me. “Aren’t you coming for lunch? Nikita’s driving us to the retail park, remember?”
“Oh, um…I actually want to try and finish some stuff on this. It’s nearly there, you know? You guys have fun, though!”
A tiny panic siren sets off in my mind, one that screams FOMO. Like if I say no to things they’ll stop inviting me altogether, and I’ll lose the group just when I feel like I’ve found my place with them.
But it’s only this once, and my agitation to get back to my painting wins out. I haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and for once I don’t feel like I’m finishing pieces for the sake of a good grade in class, or losing steam and abandoning them before they’recomplete. I keep finding my mind drifting to them, my fingers itching to reach for a pencil or paintbrush. It’s like a fire in my veins, energizing me.
I’m worried if I don’t take advantage of it, it might disappear entirely.
Evie only shrugs, though, and says, “That’s cool. See you later,yeah?”
Once she leaves, I slip my earphones in and get back to work. I’m trying out the firstOf Wrath and Runeaudiobook, and even though I’m not giving it my full attention I’m sure something will sink in. Plus, the narrator’s voice is really soothing, so it’s at least nice background noise.
Right now, conveniently, he is narrating a very long-winded passage about the Gilded Glade, where Téiglin and so many other creatures have taken refuge since the Eldritch King went missing decades ago, and one of the few places where magick is kept sacred. The book describes it just like it was in the show: shafts of golden light filtering through great oak trees and majestic pines, casting dappled shades of emerald and amber on the forest floor; a place where the world seems to almost stand still but for the rustle of leaves and lilting birdsong. Fresh brown earth and vibrant purple mushrooms and crawling vines of ivy, clusters of pure white daisies and swaying dandelions with their puff caught in the breeze—“as if the glade itself were making a wish.”
The sudden mention of a dandelion has me gritting my teeth. I’d daubed a couple in, but now it only makes me think of thatJust Dandymug, and Max.
