Page 5 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

Plus, she’s determined to make her own way in the world after spending years depending on that bitch of an ex-friend Madison, who used her and tossed her out likeyesterday’s trash. Pressley doesn’t want to rely on anyone besides herself. And she absolutely refuses to fall into old patterns.

I shake my shoulders in a physical attempt to release the emotions weighing me down. I’m still angry with Pressley. What she is or isn’t going through is none of my concern.

And maybe if I keep telling myself that, it’ll be true.

It’s not easy, being mad at her. She’s so fucking sweet and generous, and Iknowshe thought she was helping when she uploaded that video to her BingBang account. But I specifically told her I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be internet famous.

My music is for me. It’s for my friends. It’s deeply personal, and was never meant for public consumption.

But Pressley thought she knew best, and that if I’d just take a chance and let her upload a snippet of my talent, I could go places. But she failed to understand that I never wanted to goanywhere. I love my life.

Just the way it is.

Pressley filmed me playing one night, and without my knowledge or permission, uploaded the video to her account. Since she’s officially an influencer, and all of her videos go viral, this one did, too. Of course, it did.

And since I had my own BingBang account––one I never posted on, but used to kill time watching others’ videos––the internet did its thing and found me. I started receiving so many followers and direct messages, I had to delete the app from my phone. The notifications were driving me mad.

But that didn’t end the annoyance. Evening Shade isa tourist town, after all, so loads of strangers flow through here every weekend. And a good portion of them visit Wolfsbane Tavern. It’s an iconic site from the movies, after all.

And since BingBang is so popular, it never fails…

I get recognized and gushed over regularly. It’s so fucking annoying.

I didn’t choose this for myself. Pressley chose for me, and I haven’t been able to get over it or forgive her, yet.

As if he’s read my mind, Trace asks, “Are you still mad at Pressley over the whole video thing? She really thought she was helping you.”

“I didn’t ask for her God damn help,” I snap. Trace lifts his palms in supplication, and I heave a sigh. “Sorry, man.”

My, how the roles have reversed. Trace and I have been best friends for what feels like forever, and I have always been the level-headed one to his fly-off-the-handle, town grump persona. I’m the voice of reason. I’m the one who talkshimdown from the ledge.

But now? He’s the one trying to make me see reason and be a little more levelheaded.

I know Trace thinks I’m blowing all of this out of proportion, and that’s just fucking hilarious. He’s spent the last decade blowing up at tourists for recognizing him and disrupting his peaceful life. And they weren’t even recognizinghim. He bears a striking resemblance to Joseph Lumin from the Cursed movies, also known as “Wolf Daddy,” and tourists never fail to scream the moniker or howl in his presence.

If anyone could understand what I’m going through, it should be him.

But ever since he got together with Keegan, whom he hated at first for that very reason––she’s practically the president of the Cursed fan club––Trace has mellowed. He doesn’t get angry with tourists anymore, and I know for a fact he actually likes it when Keegan calls him “Wolf Daddy.”

I’m happy for him and his newfound peace, joy, and love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to be angry over what Pressley did.

She messed up.

“She apologized, didn’t she?” Trace asks, breaking me out of my dark thoughts.

“Yes, but that doesn’t change what happened.”

“She’s human. Humans make mistakes,” he says before taking another drink of his beer.

“When did you become so wise and enlightened?” I quip, but the joke falls flat.

“Listen, Bram,” he says, leaning forward over the bar. “I have your back. Always. And it’s because I have your back that I’m going to say this once, and only once.”

“What?” I ask when he pauses.

“Pull your head out of your ass, man. Accept her apology and move on before you lose a really fucking good thing.”

I rear back in shock, but Trace just smiles and turns his attention back to his beer. I stare at nothing as my mind whirls, considering his advice. Then I shake my head and move toward the customer waiting at the other end of the bar.

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