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Heather isn’t online and doesn’t see my message, though, so I spend a couple of minutes scrolling through the latest messages in the main chat when I notice one that’s like a punch in the gut.

It’s from Anissa, a few hours ago. I hadn’t checked the chat while I was waiting for her to arrive, and then we were too busy getting ready. There’s a reply, too. I stare at them for a while.

@ladyanissadishipper

Ooh, sounds like fun @thesebootsweremadeformoonwalking! And good luck with that birthday party from hell @fauningforhim, hope your gluten-free cupcakes turn out okay. I’m off to my first proper party tonight (erk, talk about scary!) but at least I’ll get to meet @runicrascal properly!

@runicrascal

Excited to hang out with you! Glad Cerys was able to introduce us! Been nice having another book fan to debate with haha

Have Anissa and Jake been … talking, in Discord? Privately? Have they been messaging before meeting in person today?

He wants someone to talk about the books with, which obviously isn’t me.

Ironically, The Plan has worked.

Just not for me.

A knock on the bathroom door startles me and I fumble my phone, turning off the screen even though nobody can see it – or see me spiralling.

‘Just a sec,’ I call.

‘It’s me,’ the voice on the other side replies.

Max.

Why is it Max?

Surely I’m the last person he wants to talk to? Is he here to demand an apology? It doesn’t … It doesn’tsoundlike it. I mean, it’s not as if he hammered down the door, and his ‘it’s me’ sounded quiet, not pissed off.

He must need the loo. It’s the only explanation.

But as I start to drag myself to my feet, there’s a sound on the other side of the door like he’s … sitting down. The light spilling in beneath the door is sliced with a shadow, and I realize hehassat down. We’re back to back, with just the door in between us.

The noise of the party is muted, up here.

‘I’m sorry,’ Max says. ‘I thought I was helping you out.’

‘You did,’ I mumble. It’s a little easier to admit that in the dark, without himright there. It’s a little like talking to Jake over Discord, actually. That same sense of detachment and distance, allowing for a little more vulnerability. ‘I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff.’

There’s a beat before he says, ‘That’s really how you see me, huh?’

The fact I hesitate is all the answer he needs, because I hear a mirthless chuckle on the other side of the door. The wood creaks slightly, shifts behind me, as if he’s leaning further into it. I hear a muffled, softthumplike he tips his head back against it.

‘Is this the part where you try to tell me youhaven’tbeen judging the hell out of me since the first moment you met me?’ I ask, even if my heart is a nervous hummingbird beating against my ribs, and my fingers preoccupy themselves by picking at the label on my bottle of cider.

‘Can you blame me? You didn’t exactly do a good job of pretending like you cared about anything at the Worlds Beyond con except for Jake. You were obviously just there to hang out with him, not because you had any interest in OWAR.’

‘Um, excuse you, but I’vewatched the show. I started the audiobooks. I – I made fanart, and … and stuff. And you still –’

‘Got defensive,’ he interrupts me, but it’s matter-of-fact, not argumentative, and I’m shocked by both the evenness of his tone and by how much his words remind me of what Jake said in our Discord chat the other week. No wonder they’re such good friends;they have so much in common. Max goes on, ‘I didn’t think you were serious about it, and …Of Wrath And Runemeans a lot to me.’

‘It’s more than just “some stupid fantasy series”,’ I say, echoing what Jake said online. What I said I was starting to understand. But I can’t resist biting back at Max, ‘I didn’t realize beingdeadly seriouswas a requirement for being a fan – even if you do a very good job of embodying that. People can like something in a different way than you do, you know.’ Now, I’m thinking of another Discord chat – and what Heather/@silversmithhh told me after I admitted I couldn’t bring myself to wear the cosplay.

‘I think I just thought it was …’ He sighs. ‘Kind ofperformative. You just seemed …’

I raise my eyebrows, even though he can’t see it, daring him to finish that sentence.