Page 62 of Do You Ship It

I think of Max, so confident in his cosplay out in public, and every time I’ve fussed and fidgeted with my carefully curatedordinaryoutfits. It’s inconceivable,but … I could kind of do with a little of his confidence right now, or Anissa’s.

Nikita’s dress fits me mostly okay; it’s a bit big in the boobs, and a bit shorter than I was expecting, but I’m determined to wear it. Short-sleeved and bright red, Chloe called it a ‘showstopper’.

(Evie joked that I wasn’t going onBake Off, and Daphne did a whole bit pretending to be Paul Hollywood and shake my hand, which makes me want to laugh again just thinking about it.)

I tug at the dress in front of the mirror, trying to make it sit right.

It makes my boobs look even smaller than normal, despite the fact I’m wearing my best bra; and it gapes open a bit much around the neck, but Jake won’t notice something like that. And it’s the perfect colour – passionate, romantic, sexy. That’s what’s important.

‘Wow,’ Anissa says, glancing over from where she’s doing her eyeliner. ‘You look fab.’

‘D’you think so? It’s not …?’

I turn this way and that, scrutinizing my reflection, but Anissa shakes her head vehemently. ‘Definitely not!’

I breathe a sigh of relief; even if we have quite (okay,very) different taste in partywear, the reassurance is a big help. I sit down on the floor, pulling my make-up bag to me, rooting through for my lipgloss.

As I pull it out, I remember Daphne painting my lips for me in the college bathroom and how it didn’t feel like me, more like I was putting on a mask, and I say to Anissa, ‘Do you really think I’m intimidating?’

‘Maybe that came out a bit wrong,’ she replies softly, and lowers her own hands from doing her make-up. ‘It’s more like … you seem so sure of yourself. Who you are, where you belong. Does that make sense?’

Again, bizarrely, I think of Max.

And I tell Anissa honestly, ‘I always thoughtyouseemed like that.’

‘What?Yeah, pull the other one, Cerys.’

‘No, I mean it. You never seemed to care if you were on your own or … or if people were bitching about your dodgy haircut in Costa when you could hear.’

We lock eyes in the mirror.

‘Itwaspretty dodgy,’ she admits, and cracks a smile that takes a weight off my shoulders.

‘I’m … not, for the record. Sure of myself, I mean. And I definitely don’t feel like I always say or wear or do all the right things. Itryto, because I want to fit in, rather than –’

Be like you.

I catch myself before I say it out loud, but Anissa seems to hear it anyway. She fidgets with her eyeliner.

‘I don’t blame you,’ she says. ‘Sometimes I think I’d rather fit in than just be myself, too.’

‘No, that’s not –’

It’s … not what I’m doing. Is it?

I’m not trying to pretend to be someone else. I mean, everyone knows you have to get the right school bag or water bottle and follow the right influencers and style your clothes just so, and show up at a coffee shop at the right time before college starts so you’re not left behind. But that’s not changing who youare, it’s not …

It’s not like delving deep into a fandom you don’t care about, just so a boy will like you.

Just because I want to fit in, or fit a mould (like ‘perfect future girlfriend right here, Jake, hello!’), doesn’t mean I’m not beingmyselfthough. I’m myself on Discord – there’s a safety and comfort in being on the other side of the screen where nobody is being judgemental. And I’m myself with Jake. Sort of. Mostly. Iusedto be, anyway.

But …

I guess I don’t feel very much like me when I’m walking on eggshells around Mum and Dad at home; and sometimes, at college, it feels like I’m reading off a script. Holding pieces of myself back because they don’t fit the part. Like the outfits I wear – after consultingOOTD posts on the girls’ Instagram Stories – are the cosplay I’ve picked out for the day.

But – everyonedoes that.

Don’t they?

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