Page 35 of Do You Ship It

Feeling like I may have gone abitfar, I offer a truce. ‘This stuff isn’t too bad, though. They sound good.’

‘Argonauta. It’s these three sisters from Leeds. All their songs have some kind of reference to Greek myths – mostly the tragedies, I think.’

I repress a sigh; just when I thought we might have found some common ground thatisn’tMax having a nerdy, niche interest … But this time when we lapse into quiet it’s to listen to the music, and nothing jumps out at me as being the story of the Trojan Horse or Medusa or anything like that. It’s just a catchy song about revenge after a breakup, with gorgeously layered vocals and a violin blended with otherwise modern sounds in a way that’s kind of entrancing.

‘What’s this one about?’

‘Clytemnestra.’ He says the name carefully, like he’s trying to remember each syllable correctly. ‘I forget the details, but I think her husband was awful, so she ended up cheating on him, stealing his throne, and killing him?’

I’m momentarily speechless, but recover enough to say, ‘Well, if this song is any reflection of the story, I think I want to say “good for her”.’

Max laughs, and at once the mood shifts, eases, lightens. He relaxes a bit, shoulders shuffling against the back of his seat, his fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel in time to the song. ‘Why does that sound rich, coming from someone who obviously loves a romance?’

I shrug, not knowing how to reply to that. It’s jarring that he knows that about me, even if I guess I have made it obvious; and I think it only feels so weird because I know so little about him, outside of the context of him as Jake’s new fandom/football/college buddy.

Maybe he wouldn’t besobad if I tried to get to know him?

But then he says, ‘They’re coming to Cardiff next month. Me and Jake have got tickets. I don’t know if there’ll be any left …’

It’s half an invitation, but not really, and soundsalmost reluctant. And it twists a knife in my gut, reminding me exactly why I don’t like Max just on principle. Jake never mentioned he liked this band to me, has never said anything about listening to this sort of music, but suddenly he’s enough of a fan to go to their concert with Max?

I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘I’m sure that’ll be great fun for you guys.’

We’re quiet another few minutes while Max concentrates on driving. The next Argonauta song starts, but I decide not to ask him what this one’s about. The vibe and lyrics are packed full of sorrow and longing, something about unrequited love, and that hits a little too close to home for me right now.

Instead, I think of a hundred questions I suddenly want to ask Max, but they’re all so invasive – borderline judgemental – that I don’t dare open my mouth. I don’t need to stoop to his level.

But doesn’t hecarehow he comes across? Doesn’t it bother him that he’s gone so far into this fandom and other non-mainstream things that he’s alienating himself from those of us in the real world?

Does he think I should give the audiobooks a go, instead of trying to tackle the paperback?

Finally, we turn on to the main road that leads to my estate. It’s pitch-dark, the lengthy, dusky summernights that lingered having vanished all at once, and I’m glad I didn’t have to get the bus this late.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘For the lift home. I know Jake put you up to it and that must’ve made it a bit awkward to say no, but …’

‘It’s alright. You’re not very far out of my way.’

‘Well, thanks,’ I say again, and even though I mean it, it comes out sounding so stilted that I wince. Max, noticing, smirks, and it makes irritation prickle beneath my skin just enough that it feels more normal between us.

‘By the way, I don’t know if Jake got around to mentioning it yet, but Cardiff Comic Con’s in two weeks. We booked it back at the start of the summer – they’d announced the guest list and a couple of OWAR actors are going to be there. There’s definitely still tickets available for that one. We were planning to go on the Saturday. You work then, right?’

Is this another non-invite? I can’t work it out.

Hedging my bets, I say, ‘I could probably try to swap my shift.’

‘Cool.’

My nose wrinkles before I can stop myself. ‘Are you going in cosplay again? IsJake?’ Is that why he hadn’t told me – was he embarrassed? Or is it because he’d booked it so long ago he forgot and didn’t know if I’dbe engaged enough with the fandom to want to go? That sounds more likely.

Max’s mouth cracks into a crooked grin. ‘Obviously I am. Don’t know about Jake. He was toying with it, but I don’t know how committed he was to actually making the costume. You know what he’s like,’ he adds with an affectionate chuckle that rubs me the wrong way. ‘Lady di Silver would be pretty easy to cosplay. I’ve got some spare elf ears you could borrow.’

Oh my God.

Is this truly what my life’s come to? Second-hand elf ears from a boy who’s practically my arch-nemesis in my quest to prove myself to Jake?

Using words like ‘arch-nemesis’ and ‘quest’ like they’re part of any halfway reasonable person’s daily vocabulary?

‘I’ll think about it,’ I mumble, which feels like the most polite reply I can muster. I’m not even sure I’ll wear the T-shirt Jake bought me at the last con; I don’t know how Max can expect me to get on public transport in full cosplay. Just becausehedoesn’t care what he looks like …

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