Page 87 of Do You Ship It

She gives us a little rendition, cracking everyone up, but soon enough the attention turns back to me. Daphne gives me a look that I can only describe as ‘mumsy’ – gentle but firm, and full of concern.

‘Come on,gumball,’ she says. ‘She’s right; even after we patched things up, you’ve been really quiet lately and not like yourself.’

‘I –’

Crap. First Max, then Jake, and even Anissa had me rumbled with why I’d wanted to invite her to the Bonfire Night party. And now this! I need to take acting classes, or something. Practise my expressions in front of the mirror.

Right now, it’s New Year’s Eve, it’s eight o’clock, and we’re all piled into Chloe’s bedroom for a much more low-key affair than Raf’s house party. We’re armed with a good playlist, Buck’s Fizz that’s more orange juice than alcohol, and they’re all looking at me like this is a very nice, obviously premeditated, interrogation.

Then Daphne raises her eyebrows and jokes, ‘Not to keep rehashing the shitty boy drama, but … is it about Jake? You haven’t mentioned him at all lately. Did something happen?’

And that’s the bit that finally makes me dissolve into tears. Daphne cries out wordlessly while Nikita says, ‘Oh, babe, no! What is it?’ and Chloe, next to me, pulls me into such a big hug thatshespills half my Buck’s Fizz over her lap.

It all comes pouring out of me in huge, gasping sobs. I work my way through half a dozen tissues before I have enough breath in my lungs to tell them the whole story.

And this time, I don’t hold back.

I tell them about The Plan, about the convention in September and Max showing up in cosplay, and the OWAR watch-parties he crashed and how, actually, I’d come to reallylikethe show, Anissa, and all the friends I’ve made on Discord, but I’ve ruined everything.

I tell them about my parents dragging a divorce out for ages and how I’m sick to the back teeth of it.

And now I’ve lost JakeandMaxandit almost cost me my friendship with Daphne after the party, and it’s –

Nikita whistles, long and low. ‘You’re right, babe, that is alot.’

Daphne smacks her on the arm.

‘Oi! It is! That’s not a bad thing to say, is it?’

‘You should’ve just talked to us,’ Evie tells me. ‘Especially to me. You know my mam and dad split ages ago, after he ran off with his mistress from theManchester office. I’ve done the whole “family falling apart” thing –ow, Daphne! Stop hitting us!’

I sniffle; I’d forgotten that whole drama around Evie when we were in Year 9, but now I remember some boys teasing her about it and how she’d show up to school with bloodshot, puffy eyes. She’s right, I could’ve talked to her about it – she probably would’ve understood.

‘I never thought about it,’ I admit.

‘So all those times you’ve been busyworking on your art coursework,’ Nikita asks, ‘you were ditching us to hang out with Anissa?’

‘I haven’t beenditchingyou …’ Hmm. ‘Okay, maybe I was a little bit. But wewereworking on our coursework, too. It’s just, you know, Anissa isn’t … exactly …’

‘Normal?’ Nikita snorts.

‘That’s mean, Nik,’ Chloe tells her, but Nikita only shrugs.

‘I was going to say “your kind of person”. And –’ Something bubbles up in my chest, and I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘And Chloe’s right, thatwasmean. Anissa’s great. She’s funny, and kind … She’s just shy, that’s all.’

‘And a totalweirdo,’ Nikita presses.

‘Why? Because she likes different stuff to you?’ Mycheeks feel warm, and Nikita does a double-take, but none of the girls are looking atmelike I’m in the wrong for calling her out, and I remember my conversation with Max through the bathroom door. ‘Why does it matter to you if she likes different stuff? It’s not hurting anyone. It makes her happy. Why is that such a problem?’

You could hear a pin drop, and I’m surprised to realize that the others are all waiting for Nikita to answer.

‘I – I don’t … Well, I just …’ She blinks a few times before saying, ‘Yeah. Okay.’

I blink back at her. We are in a blinking match of epic proportions. I have no idea who’s winning.

‘Okay?’

‘Okay,’ she repeats. ‘Yeah, you’re right. It … shouldn’t matter? I was mean?’ Even though she phrases them as questions, she looks sincere; just awkward.

---