Page 2 of Do You Ship It

I’m buffeted across the back of the head and the blow trips me forward. Looking over my shoulder, I see a woman in a giant set of painted cardboard wings, one now slightly askew. She straightens it, not seeming to notice our collision. Her friends are busy laughing about something, and then shout in unison, ‘For glory and destiny! For wrath! For ruin!’

I fix my ponytail, heart thudding hard.

I don’t know what I was thinking – I don’t belong here! Everyone here can see it, and I bet they’re all thinking it. My throat feels tight and my mouth bone-dry; a familiar, creeping dread that I’m intruding and not wanted. Except, this time, it’s not people in theschool yard at breaktime, or my parents shouting at each other at home, and there’s no Jake to rescue and reassure me. It’s –

‘Cerys! You made it!’

I turn in the direction of my best friend’s voice, immediately breathing a little easier for hearing it, and find Jake striding through a gap in the crowds and right towards me. My heart does a little somersault. I know I only saw him two weeks ago just before college started, but I drink in the sight of him, some paranoid little part of me trying to work out if he’s already turned into someone else.

But he looks just the same as always: short, sandy-blonde hair styled in that way that looks effortless but I know takes him a solid twenty minutes every morning; tall, lanky frame and bright blue eyes that crinkle behind his glasses; and that huge, lovely smile that makes you feel like the centre of the whole universe, it’s so big.

Have I changed? Will he notice all the extra freckles on my skin brought out by a late burst of summer sun, the extra care I put into styling my pale blonde hair today? The fact that I’m wearing my good bra (the one that actually gives me some cleavage)?

Jake envelops me in a bear hug, crushing me against him, which, in turn, serves as a crushing reminder thatmycrush is very much unrequited. This definitely isn’t how you hug a girl you see as a romantic prospect; I’ve seen enough romcoms to know. His hand is meant to linger on the small of my back, atleast.

He draws away, and I see he’s wearing one of those T-shirts like most everyone else. It’s a deep forest green, with a large circular emblem that looks sort of ancient Roman-inspired, and a sharp, blocky text is splashed across it, reading ‘BE YE A RASCAL, ROACH?’

Note to self: look up ‘Roach’, confirm if it’s a character name or a literal cockroach.

Actually, the T-shirt doesn’t looksobad … It’s a flattering cut on Jake, and the shimmer of the circle-thing is really pretty. I should get one, if I’m going to be part of this.

AmI going to be part of this? I’m still not sure.

‘I’m so glad you’re here! You missed the panel about the special effects, which sucks because I think you’d have loved that. And OMG, I totally beat the rush for getting a photo with the guy who plays Daxys, and he wassoawesome. Why do they say never meet your heroes? I swear, it wasthecoolest three minutes of my life,’ Jake is gushing, and I realize I haven’t even said hello yet, but that’s so normal that I relax even more. What’s ‘hello’ in the face of five years of friendship?

We only got friendly because we were in the sameform in Year 7; what if he’s only stayed friends with me because it was convenient? What if we’re the sort of people who drift apart the second they’re not forced to spend time in the same building five days a week? Or he makes all new friends – likeMax– and I get pushed out? I actually don’t know what I’d do without Jake in my life.

He’s my only constant; I can’t lose him.

‘So?’ he says now, waving his hands out, his smile growing even wider. There’s a flush on his cheeks; he’s so clearly in his element. ‘I know you’re a total newbie to the fandom, but is this the most awesome thing you’ve ever seen, or what?’

‘Er …’

Oh God, come on, Cerys, think! There’s got to be something good you can say!But the more I look around, the more overwhelmed I feel – everything about it is making my brain scream that this is a place packed with people with a shared passion that borders on obsessive, and my total apathy is not the vibe.

‘It’s … huge!’ I say at last. ‘There’s so many people here!’

Neither statement is probably the enthused awe that Jake is hoping for, but his eyes still brighten. ‘Right? It’s, like, a total coup. I can’t believe it’s basically on our doorstep! Apparently one of the showrunners iskind of local – well, she’s from Pontypool, so close enough – and once they got her on board …’

‘So cool,’ I agree. I swing my ponytail over my shoulder to twirl a piece of hair around my finger, trying to rearrange my pose into something that says ‘flirty’. Jake’s trusty denim jacket is hooked carelessly through the strap of his backpack, and I’m already formulating a romantic plan for later. While Jake might be the master of all knowledge when it comes toOf Wrath and Rune,myencyclopedic strength lies in every romcom movie trick since the eighties. He’d give the jacket to me to wear if I asked, but that’s not the point. I need to get him tonoticeI’m cold, and offer it to me.

But he’s too busy checking his phone to be distracted by my hair-flicking or my jacket-burgling-plan and just says absently, ‘The panel with the cast starts in about forty minutes, so we’ll have to get in line soon if we want to get seats. And OMG, Cer!’ Jake grabs both my shoulders in excitement. ‘I forgot the best part. You’ve got to meet him. Where’s –?’

The next part all seems to happen in horrible slow motion, like I’ve gotten stuck in an actual nightmare. A cluster of convention-goers parts almost cinematically as a figure all in black strides through the middle of them, eyes focused and forward. He’s wearing leather armguards and a long, heavy cloak with more piecesof armour accented around the shoulders, and some intimidating-looking piece of what I can only describe as a harness-slash-holster over his torso. The old-fashioned linen shirt he’s wearing is loose around the neck to show off a necklace on a rope chain, and his long, white-blonde wig is tucked back behind a pair of pointed ears.

‘Here he is!’ Jake lets go of me to grab this stranger by the arm, and says the very words I’ve been dreading ever since he told me he wasn’t going to the same sixth form college as me.

‘Cerys,’ he tells me, beaming. ‘This is my new best friend, Max.’

CHAPTER 2

When Jake and his family were packing up their old house at the beginning of summer, I tried to stay out of their way, I really did.

But one morning there were boxes and suitcases being packed up atmyhouse too, so I snatched up a roll of brown tape and left for Jake’s. I was smiling when he opened the door, and waved the tape in his face, saying, ‘Honorary member of the Team Wandsworth house-move, reporting for duty!’

Jake took one look at my red-rimmed eyes and pulled me into a hug. When he let me go, it was to grab his shoes from the rack next to the door. He called over his shoulder to his mum that we were going out.

‘Won’t you get in trouble? I thought you had to help …’

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