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Oh, thank God. She doesn’t think I’m a boring old prude! She just thought I was making a joke.

She thinks I’mhilarious!

I warm with pride, bottling it up to remember next time I’m not sure if I fit in with this new group of friends, and only once the bell rings and we’re out of class does Daphne carry on our conversation. She follows me to the loos, where I hoist my bag up on to the sinks to rummage through for the make-up I brought with me. I want to glam myself up a little bit in case itismore of a date, and to send the right sort of signals to Jake, but obviously can’t go overboard when we are, really, just hanging out to watch TV.

My hands brush over the T-shirt bundled up in my bag. Forest green, with a shimmery pattern and slogan printed on it. I thought the fandom T-shirt Jake gifted me would be perfect to wear tonight. He’d think it was a joke before he thought it was try-hard, but I’mreallyhoping it’ll drive home my dedication to this – tohim.

But Daphne is right there, and –

‘Ooh, is that what you’re wearing?’

She’s pulling it out of my bag before I can protest, and my cheeks burn. Her face creases in confusion as she studies the ‘BE YE A RASCAL, ROACH?’ motif, and I’m so mortified I want the ground to swallow me whole.

‘Er,’ she says, and I feel our tenuous friendship slipping away.

I blurt, ‘My friend – this guy, tonight – bought it for me. It’s, like, a gag gift, you know? Some weird in-joke …’

She gasps, enthralled. ‘Hegot it for you? Oh my gosh, youhaveto wear it! And the colour issoperfect with your eyes.’ She holds it up against me, grinning. ‘It really makes them pop! I bet he totally knew that when he bought it, too.Socute!’

She pushes me towards a toilet cubicle to go change, and I do, fussing with how the T-shirt sits as I emerge. Daphne helps direct me to tuck it in just so, giving my straight frame at least the illusion of a more defined waist. The boxy fit makes my chest look even flatter than usual, but I bite my tongue before humiliating myself further and asking Daphne if she thinks I should stuff my bra. (Are we still doing that?)

As I bundle my jumper into my bag and go back to touching up my make-up, Daphne’s already chattering away again.

‘You have to just put out the right vibes, let him know you’re available and interested, that’s all! Not –’ Daphne throws her legs wide and fans her elegant long fingers around her crotch and throws in a few thrusts for good measure, making me laugh this time. ‘You know, angle your body towards him, draw attention to your mouth or your hair, mirror his body language, try keep your hand there for him to hold butnotso it looks like that’s what you’re angling for, if he isn’t going to.’

‘Got it,’ I say, a bit relieved when these are all the sort of tips I’ve already accumulated from years of watching romcoms. It’s nothing new, outlandish, or extreme. And to hear more experienced Daphne back up my fictional education is reassuring, too.

‘Can I do your lips for you?’ she asks.

‘Do you – d’you mind?’

Excited, she nods and plonks her own bag down, rummaging through for lipliner and a thick, sticky gloss to paint my lips with.

Surely ifanythingis going to solidify a friendship, it’s this? Gossiping about maybe-dates, doing each other’s make-up. And Daphne’s make-up always looks so good.

I can’t wait for Jake to see my new-and-improved look.

‘There! OMG, you lookstunning!’ Daphne pops the lipgloss applicator back into the tube and I turn towards the mirror, bursting to see the transformation, how she’ll have accentuated my lips and made me look irresistible and …

Oh.

Hmm.

I must stare a beat too long, because I swear Daphne’s face falls a little bit in the reflection of the mirror. I say quickly, ‘I love it! Thank you! This is perfect!’

I’m not sure ‘perfect’ is really the word, though … My mouth definitely looks bigger and poutier than normal, but it also looks more like I got stung by a bee and it got infected than the dramatic, pretty look it is on Daphne. She hasn’t done anything different or wrong as far as I can tell, but the colour doesn’t seem quite right for my freckled skin and fair hair, and I’m forced to admit that my features just can’t carry off this kind of look.

I finish applying some fresh blush and highlighter, and then I’m ready to go, promising Daphne that I’ll text her as soon as I’m home later to let her know how everything went, and promising a second, in-person debrief at Costa tomorrow on the way to college.

I glance at my reflection in the bus window, and lift my chin. I can be the kind of girl who carries this look; I can be bold and pretty and confident like them.

And, well, if nothing else – it’ll definitely draw Jake’s attention and hopefully, finally, get me a kiss.

CHAPTER 7

When I step off the bus outside Jake’s house, my palms are sweating and I can’t stop fidgeting with my clothes. I’m questioning everything and I hate it.

I haven’talwaysbeen like this around Jake. Up until a few months ago, I’d rarely thought twice about what I was wearing when I saw him; sometimes I might hope he’d notice and I’d feel pleased whenever he said I looked nice, but I never picked an outfit with him in mind.