Page 46 of Do You Ship It

Once she leaves, I slip my earphones in and get back to work. I’m trying out the firstOf Wrath and Runeaudiobook, and even though I’m not giving it my full attention I’m sure something will sink in. Plus, the narrator’s voice is really soothing, so it’s at least nice background noise.

Right now, conveniently, he is narrating a very long-winded passage about the Gilded Glade, where Téiglin and so many other creatures have taken refuge since the Eldritch King went missing decades ago, and one of the few places where magick is kept sacred. The book describes it just like it was in the show: shafts of golden light filtering through great oak trees and majestic pines, casting dappled shades of emerald and amber on the forest floor; a place where the world seems to almost stand still but for the rustle of leaves and lilting birdsong. Fresh brown earth and vibrant purple mushrooms and crawling vines of ivy, clusters of pure white daisies and swaying dandelions with their puff caught in the breeze – ‘as if the glade itself were making a wish.’

The sudden mention of a dandelion has me gritting my teeth. I’d daubed a couple in, but now it only makes me think of that ‘JUST DANDY’ mug, and Max.

I swap out my paintbrush for a finer one, meticulously dabbing in the tiny greyish-white seeds floating in the air, and make wishes of my own.I wish he wasn’t always lurking around spoiling things. I wish Jake would see me, reallysee. I wish he’d kissed me on Saturday, I wish this didn’t feel like the be-all and end-all, I wish he’d just message me back already …

Jake’s been annoyingly quiet all week. He’s replied to most of my texts, but none of it has been with his usual enthusiasm. It’s always curt, cursory, polite. When he didn’t reply to me asking if we’d be resuming our Wednesday watch-parties, I went ahead and watched a few more episodes myself … and then a few more. Even if Jake wasn’t inviting me over, I could still prove myself to him – and if I’m being totally honest with myself, Ididget a little sucked in to the show. I’m up to season three now, the action really starting to kick off, but the message I sent Jake in Discord to chat about it, thinking OWAR was some safe, neutral ground, got a similarly short response, so I didn’t bother after that.

Jake must have some stuff going on. Maybe with his family? Or college? Perhaps he’s just really busy, or notfeeling too well, and he’ll be back to normal in a few days, and it’s nothing personal.

Or maybe I did something wrong?

There has to be areason. Jake wouldn’t just … vanish. We’ve been best friends for too long for him to ghost me like this.

I’m so lost in my painting and mulling over every miniscule interaction with Jake and trying to pick apart where I’ve messed up, or not noticed something going on with him, that when the bell goes to signal the end of lunch I yelp and practically topple off my stool, knocking my bag over and dropping my paintbrush.

A couple of girls in the year above, who’ve come in to do their own work, giggle at me.

Face flaming, I pull out my earphones and set them aside, along with my palette. I pick my paintbrush up and see that practicallyeverythinghas spilled out of my bag. A loose tampon, the lipgloss Daphne used on me a few weeks ago which I bought in a different colour in the hopes it would suit me better, all my notebooks and some pens …

I’m shovelling it all back in, knowing I still need to tidy up and get to my next class, when someone steps over in a pair of lilac Converse and tights with a ladder in them, bending down to help me gather up my things.

It’s Anissa. She’s cut her hair again – shorter, matching the length of the choppy pieces that hung around the front of her face. It’s tousled, not quite straight and not quite wavy, but looks much better now. Her fringe is in her eyes, and her eyeliner is either smudged kohl or yesterday’s mascara. Her fingers glint with three different gemstone rings, and I notice a rope bracelet around her wrist with the evil eye stone braided into it, reminding me of all the silly ‘witchy’ rumours about her.

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the Biros she’s holding out. The last real interaction I had with Anissa was that Thursday morning debrief in Costa, when we thought she’d overheard us commenting about her hair. I wonder if she remembers it, too; it’d be burned into my mind, I think, if things were the other way around. As a bit of an olive branch, I tell her, ‘Your hair looks nice. That length really suits you.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘My mum didn’t give me much choice. I made a real botch job bleaching some of it a few weeks ago.’

‘Is that why you …?’ Too awkward to say ‘had those awful, uneven chunks at the front’, I mime a pair of scissors near my face instead.

‘Yeah.’ She laughs, a brash and short sound, but not unfriendly. ‘I was trying to dye them purple and afterI started thought maybe I should just do a test patch, which is just as well because I basically fried it.’

‘Oh, shit! Well … it … looks …’

Better, I don’t quite say, but she obviously knows that’s what I meant, because she holds my gaze, and there’s a little more spark to it compared to any other time I’ve seen her. This is also the longest conversation we’ve ever had, and the most I’ve heard her say in one go.

I stand up, bag haphazardly packed, and Anissa stands, too, holding something else out to me.

Of Wrath and Rune: Book 1 – The Wakening

Crap. Crap, crap, crap!

It’s mine, it’s definitely mine, with the pages crinkled, the front cover creased where it bent in half in my bag, and a make-up stain on the side where I spilled some foundation. My heart thunders in my chest. She might as well be handing me a hive of angry wasps.

I stare at the book in horror, too alarmed to even try to play it cool –oh, I’m just hanging on to it for a friend …and Anissa gives me a soft, barely-there smile.

‘I thought it looked like Téiglin that you were sketching before,’ she says. ‘And I saw that photo of you and Jake from school at Comic Con on the weekend, with the guy who plays Daxys. That was really cool.’

‘It …’ I swallow the lump in my throat. Theclassroom is empty now, but it won’t be for long. ‘Itwaspretty cool actually, yeah. He was really nice. He liked my –’No, not ‘my’ friend, Max is not ‘my’ friend by any stretch.‘He liked Jake’s friend’s cosplay.’

‘Was that the guy dressed as Sir Grayson?’

‘Yeah. Max.’

‘Ohmigod,’ she gushes, suddenly animated, her hazel eyes bright. She smiles wide enough to show a gap between her front teeth I’ve never noticed before. ‘He lookedsocool! That’s so amazing. I can’t believe you guys all got to meet Daxys like that.’ Her eyes skirt past me then, lingering on my painting. Her mouth falls open as she drinks it in. ‘Is that the Gilded Glade?’

‘Yeah.’ I point to an area of the trees. My heart is pounding, but it feels more like excitement to actuallytalkabout my piece than worry at being caught out. ‘I’ve gone for a kind of more abstract look, but if you squint you can sort of make out –’

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