Page 69 of Fangirl
“You’re a real ray of fucking sunshine.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder, grinning. “That’s what I’m here for, bud.”
I shake my head, muttering a curse under my breath. But as much as I want to ignore him, as much as I want to believe everything will go exactly as planned…
A nagging voice in the back of my head won’t let me shake the feeling that he might be right.
And that scares the hell out of me.
CHAPTER 12
AMY
Isaid it before, and I’ll say it again. Chronic illnesses really suck.
They always hit when it’s least convenient. Well, realistically speaking, stress increases flare-ups, and upcoming events equal stress, so it makes sense. But I don’t want it to make sense.
I did everything right to make sure I’d be at my best when I finally met Eli. I finished all my work ahead of schedule, staying late at the office more nights than I shouldhave. I traveled up north twice to help with wedding and Christmas shopping—just in case Eli and I decided to spend Christmas together somewhere, just the two of us.
And now? Now I feel like I’m coming down with the flu.
Except it’snotthe flu; I know the difference. When I flare up, everything flares up. So for the past three days, I’ve been on strict rest, rotating through my cocktail of flare-up meds: hydroxychloroquine, cyclobenzaprine, and my short course of prednisone.
Which means I’m missing Melinda James’s signing tonight.
I sigh, my gaze drifting toward the dress hanging in my wardrobe.
It’s midnight blue, shimmering under the soft glow of my bedside lamp. The sheer mesh bodice is delicate, scattered with tiny crystal stars that catch the light like a constellation stitched onto fabric. Long sleeves taper at the wrists, and a velvet band cinches the waist before the skirt spills into elegant pleats, flowing like ink down to the floor.
It’s stunning. The kind of dress that belongs in red-carpet photos and dream sequences.
Not on me.
I swallow hard. On the hanger, the dress is magic. But when I put it on… will I see myself as a fraud in someone else's fantasy? Will the cameras see the impostor I feel like?
I didn’t even know you could rent designer dresses past a size 16. I always thought those rentals were made for sample-sized women who don’t have to worry about whether their arms will fit in the sleeves or if the waist willactually sit at their waist.
But somehow, this one exists. For me.
Maya marveled over it, saying it made mybig boobieslookgood enough to eat. And despite my furious blush, I want Eli to look at me like that. Like I’m good enough to eat.
Especially since our first meeting will be on that red carpet.
It’s a rental, of course. There’s no way I’d buy a dress that costs half my rent. Even the rental price, £250 for two nights, is scandalous.
But if I’m going to stand next to Eli in front of cameras, I have to look the part.
I just hope, when the moment comes, I feel like I belong.
I already feel better—the forced house arrest worked, and I probably could have pushed myself to go to the signing. But Eli is far more important, and I wasn’t about to take any chances.
Besides, Maya is so firmly on TeamBang the Hot Nerdthat she offered to go in my place, braving what she lovingly refers to as thecrazy dorks, aka me and the other die-hardPersefiafans, to get my book signed.
She even offered to slip Melinda a little note I wrote.
Because apparently, I am that person now. The kind of person who writes heartfelt letters to their favorite author, like they’re in some kind of coming-of-age film.
But honestly? I don’t even care.
