Page 45 of Do You Ship It

CHAPTER 17

Jake isn’t very talkative in the days following Comic Con, and the Discord chat goes quiet too, only solidifying the need for my recent adjustment to The Plan – an additional, slightly sideways step that involves pushing Max totally out of the picture.

I try stalking his social media to find some bad takes – something that would prove Max isn’t such a great person after all – but there’snothing. His Instagram looks inactive, and I can’t find a trace of him anywhere else – no Facebook or Snapchat or TikTok, and he’s not even on the Discord channel thathefirst mentioned to me. He must have some cryptic username keeping him anonymous – but there are so many Moonwalker/Sir Grayson-related names in the forum I don’t know where to start looking for him.

After school on Wednesday, I’m hanging out with the girls in a field near college. It’s cold, and the weatherswitches between light drizzle and a loitering mist every few minutes, but there are some guys playing rugby there, including one Daphne is sort-of talking to, so we sit huddled on a picnic bench pretending not to look like we’re watching – or shivering.

I’ve spilled all (well,most) of what happened on the weekend to them in person now as well as in the group chat, avoiding any mention of OWAR. Their reaction to Comic Con was exactly what I’d been afraid of, so Ican’tlet them find out about the fandom thing. I’d be totally ostracized. It’s not worth it.

Besides, I’m only doing it for Jake.

Mostly. Sort of. Anyway.

Nikita suggests confronting Max. ‘He sounds rude as hell, too. I’d call him out.’

‘Maybe you can tell Jake?’ is Evie’s advice. ‘He’s super sweet, I bet he’d understand if you told him this other guy is being a pain in the butt. You can always call it a “personality clash” or something.’

‘But what if he chooseshimover me?’ I say, and she grimaces, not having an answer to that.

‘Doesn’t this Max guy have other friends?’ Daphne says, and I admit that I don’t know. Even if he does, it’s clear that he and Jake have become best friends and near-inseparable these days. Likeweused to be.

It’s Chloe in the end who says offhandedly, ‘Maybeheneeds a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend! Maybe it’s not about spendinglesstime with this guy so much as inviting him to more things and trying to set him up with someone, or finding out if there’s anyone he’s got a crush on that you can help him with?’

I snort. ‘I don’t think I’m very well equipped to help anyone else with romance when I’m failing so spectacularly with Jake.’

‘You’re not failing!’ Daphne cries, reaching to give my hand a squeeze. Her brown eyes are wide and earnest; the damp weather has made her usually pristine dark hair frizz in a halo around her head. ‘He’s definitely into you. Thekiss on the cheek? Hello? Are we forgetting that? And he made that really cute Instagram post of the two of you!Plus, you spent the whole day at Comic Con with him, and I don’t know many people who’d put up with a hall full of obsessive nerds just for someone else’s sake.’

The others laugh, but I find myself biting down a comment about how, actually, I’d … kind of enjoyed it, up until we reunited with Max and I felt so pushed aside.

But Daphne’s got a point. Saturday wasn’t a complete failure; and maybe Chloe’s right, too, although whereI’d evenbeginto set Max up with someone is beyond me …

Friday, our art lesson runs into lunchtime. The classrooms are always open during breaks for anybody wanting to come and work on their projects and portfolios and, today, I decide to stick around.

Evie packs her things up and comes over to the easel I’m working at, in the corner. And while I can hardly hide my coursework piece, a surge of panic rises up from the pit of my stomach, remembering how the girls reacted to Comic Con.

But when she gets close she gasps, and says in a tone of quiet awe, ‘Ohmigosh, Cerys! The way you’ve captured the light … It’s like it’sactuallysparkling. How’d you do that?’

The comment makesmefeel like I’m sparkling, too, positively glowing with pride. Having moved on from my sketch, I’m focusing on the acrylic backdrop to my next Téiglin-inspired piece, and have spent most of the last week adjusting the sunlight streaking through the glade in my painting, trying to capture the magic of OWAR.

Or I guess, since it’s OWAR, themagick.

Suddenly, I don’t even mind that I’ve become the kind of person that actively thinks things like that.

‘Alotof patience,’ is my only real explanation, and Evie laughs.

‘You’re going to have to help me when I get round to mine. Ihateworking with acrylics, but apparently I have to “expand my artistic horizons” if I’m serious about getting on to a good uni course …’ She casts a glare over her shoulder at our teacher, but grins, relaxing, when I promise I’ll help her if she can give me some tips on working with pastels, which is her strength.

Evie looks at the paints still spread around me. ‘Aren’t you coming for lunch? Nikita’s driving us to the retail park, remember?’

‘Oh, um … I actually want to try and finish some stuff on this. It’s nearly there, you know? You guys have fun, though!’

A tiny panic siren sets off in my mind, one that screams FOMO. Like if I say no to things they’ll stop inviting me altogether, and I’ll lose the group just when I feel like I’ve found my place with them.

But it’s only this once, and my agitation to get back to my painting wins out. I haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and for once I don’t feel like I’m finishing pieces for the sake of a good grade in class, or losing steam and abandoning them before they’re complete. I keep finding my mind drifting to them, my fingersitching to reach for a pencil or a paintbrush. It’s like a fire in my veins, energizing me.

I’m worried if I don’t take advantage of it, it might disappear entirely.

Evie only shrugs though, and says, ‘That’s cool. See you later, yeah?’

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