Page 7 of The Fangirl Project
And I always had Jake.
So I never really felt like I was missing out on something better when I’d see the cool girls at school. But everything is differentnow—and I’d be lying if I said I’d never been at least alittlein awe of them.
Girls like Evie Price. Pretty and smiley and polished, not the kind of Regina George “cool” that involves snide put-downs and catty smirks.
Evie was never really my friend at my old school, but I’ve seen her around St.David’s and she’s in my art class. She’s got in with a group of girls who are always giggling and gossiping together, linking arms in the corridors and swapping sticks of cream blush and coursework notes.
Everything always looks so effortless and easy for girls like them. Not just when it comes to things like boys and clothes, but…allof it. Friendships, homework, liquid eyeliner, sports, music…
I bet their home lives are a lot less stressful, too.
I bet it’s all so much easier, when you’re above it.
God, I would love to be one ofthosegirls if I could, and now feels like the perfect time to reinvent myself. And why can’t I? It’s just…refining how I present myself, until I believe it, too.
I open Instagram and see Evie’s new group—they’ve already uploaded Stories with their outfits of the day, causing me to promptly scrap both the yellow and lilac tops and pick out a tan turtleneck instead. It’s too warm for it, really, and I’m sweating as soon as I put it on, my hair a static mess of flyaways, but according to these girls’ social media it’s pumpkin spice latte season, global warming be damned.
I swap my sneakers for a chunky pair of boots, and grab a jacket on my way out. Step one: complete.
Getting in with the girls at school isn’t that much different from immersing myself in theOWARfandom for Jake. A few small changes here and there, and voilà, everything will fall into place exactly the way it should.
As I make my way downstairs, I hear Mom shouting in the kitchen, “Itoldyou I had a meeting to dial into this morning before we speak to the lawyers—”
And Dad snaps, “What, and I’m supposed to starve just because you’re in a meeting? I’m only here becauseyouneeded a lift into town while your car’s in the garage. So much for doing you a favor! Why can’t you just wear your bloody headphones?”
“Because they can hear that stupid blender of yours down the street!” Mom yells back. “As if someheadphoneswould make a difference—”
I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, hand gripping the banister so tight it hurts. I’m holding my breath, too, and hear the thudding of my own pulse hard and loud in my ears while Mom and Dad carry on bickering. There’s a clatter of Mom gathering up her stuff and then Dad saying, “Well, what’s the point in that? I’m done, I’m already leaving—”
She hisses back, “Yes,you are,” with such venom that I flinch.
I nab my keys off the hook by the door, and slip out in silence.
—
There’s a Costa coffee shopon the way to school, if I get off the bus a stop early, and this morning I do. It’s part of The Fangirl Project.
Well. TheOtherFangirl Project. Not to be confused withTheFangirl Project of becoming a fangirl to get Jake to fall in love with me. This one is less monumental and life-changing, but it’s still important. I refuse to get stuck being some weird loner girl on the outskirts for the rest of the school year—or worse still, for theentirerest of high school—so it’s time to change things up.
I’ve learned—mainly through a few overheard conversations, but partly through social media posts—that Evie’s group go to Costa every morning on their way to class. I’m too embarrassed to ask outright if I can sit with them at lunchtime or something, but we can totally strike up conversation on more neutral territory, I’m sure of it. It’ll be like a rom-com meet-cute, only with less romance and hopefully no spilling an entire coffee over someone’s whiteshirt.
I run the risk of being late for my media class, but when I get there and see some of the girls chatting near the end of the counter, most of them with cups in hand already, I know I’m making the right decision. After all, what’s five minutes and a disappointed look from a teacher compared to two entire years of loneliness?
Evie isn’t there, though, and she was going to be my way in. Even if we weren’t friends at our old school, we were friendly enough. What am I going to do now? I feel too far in to bail.
My palms are clammy and my chest feels tight, but there’s no Jake to save me now, with all his exuberance and openness and charm so I can follow his lead. I’m going to have to do this for myself.
Hell, if I can go to anOWARconvention, I can do this—right?
I join the queue, trying to look casual even though my eyes dart in their direction every few seconds. I’m sure they must be able to hear my heart thundering from all the way over there, and I fightto keep from readjusting my stance to appear my most cool and carefree, while feeling anything but.
Finally, though, I get a bite.
One of the girls glances my way as she talks, and we make eye contact.
Even though that was always my intention, I flush, feeling caught out.
She lifts a hand to wave, and smiles. “Hey! Carys, right?”
