Page 21 of Do You Ship It

‘ Be nice ,’ I hiss to Mum and Dad, who are sat at opposite ends of the living room. The TV is on – a cheesy crime drama, one of the few things they’ve always enjoyed together – though Mum’s also reading articles on her iPad and Dad has the laptop open, browsing for some new trainers. I’m acting like an old biddy twitching anxiously at the blinds, waiting for Anissa to get here.

‘Of course we’ll be nice!’ Mum clicks her tongue in admonishment. ‘Honestly, Cerys.’

‘I mean don’t embarrass me .’

‘When have we ever embarrassed you?’ Dad drawls, and Mum laughs, and why, WHY have they chosen now, of all days, to band together and act all pally? This is definitely weirder than the fighting.

Why is Dad even here?

Oh, God, I hope they’re not having a date night . Gross.

‘I think it’s nice,’ Mum says, ‘that you’ve made all these lovely new friends. And that you’ve gotten friendly with Anissa, even though you didn’t know each other well at school. Didn’t you invite the other girls to this party, too?’

‘I … Well, it’s not someone I know hosting, is it?’ I point out. ‘I didn’t want to show up with the whole gang in tow, that might’ve been a bit rude.’

It’s not untrue. Just … not exactly the truth. She hums in agreement, though, so I’m off the hook.

‘Mind you don’t go drinking too much,’ Dad says.

‘Yes,’ Mum agrees, and I swear to God, I am going to riot. They argued over my bloody birthday presents, but this? A party? Oh, now they’re a united front. ‘You know the drill, Cerys, don’t go drinking anything you haven’t poured yourself, keep hold of your drink –’

‘We’d tell you not to drink at all ,’ Dad says, then laughs, ‘but we’re not so old and decrepit that we don’t remember what it’s like being sixteen and going to a house party.’

‘Who are you calling old!’ Mum cries, but even that makes them both laugh, and I really will scream if they keep on. ‘Jake’ll look after you, though, I’m sure.’

‘Mind you look after him , too,’ Dad jokes, and again, they both laugh.

I am spared spontaneous combustion at the total personality transplant both my parents seem to have had, because a car has pulled up outside, and Anissa is climbing out of the passenger seat with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder, calling, ‘Bye, Mum!’ as she closes the door behind her.

‘Ohmigod she’s here!’ I jump away from the blinds and run halfway across the room, then stop, remembering I have to wait for her to ring the doorbell. It’s just been ages since I had anybody round that wasn’t Jake, and I haven’t had a sleepover since someone’s birthday party when we were about twelve years old. I hope my parents don’t embarrass me, and I hope Anissa doesn’t either by mentioning any of the fandom stuff, and –

She rings the bell.

Mum pulls a face at me, making a show of setting aside her iPad. ‘Shall I get that, then, Cerys?’

‘Oh, shut up,’ I mutter, and dart out into the hallway. Behind me, Mum whispers something to Dad, and the two of them muffle their laughter.

I guess at least they might seem halfway normal to Anissa, like this.

Not normal for them , of course, but …

I undo the latch and hold the door open for Anissa to come in. ‘Hi!’

Her mum has idled on the kerb, and gives me a wave through the car window before rolling it down. ‘You girls have fun tonight!’

‘We will!’ Anissa shouts back. As the car pulls away, she whispers to me, ‘My mum mixed us some gin and lemonade. And she took me shopping for a new outfit. I think she’s more excited about this than I am.’

I grin, although something about the admission brings that shame crawling back up inside me, that Anissa’s been so left out of things before. I tamp it down though, and wave for her to follow me inside. We both stick our heads in through the living-room door. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Anissa.’

‘Hello, Anissa! Lovely to meet you,’ Mum chirps.

‘Yes, hello,’ Dad says, and then goes to stand up , like this is some bloody business meeting and he’s going to shake her hand. He used to shake Jake’s hand whenever he saw him, and they’d both make a joke of it. I glare at him and he catches on, sitting back down. He and Mum exchange another look with raised eyebrows. Instead, he says, ‘We picked up some pizzas for you girls, in case there’s no food at the party. Shall I get them in the oven?’

‘Yes, go on,’ Mum says for us. ‘Can we get you anything to drink, Anissa? Some pop?’

‘Oh! Um … If you’ve got any Diet Coke, or something, please?’

‘Coming right up!’ They both stand in unison, and Mum ushers us away to my room to get ready, saying she’ll bring everything up. Dad’s whistling to himself, and Mum doesn’t even snap at him to be quiet.

Anissa and I go up to my room, and I cringe. ‘Sorry about them. They’re not normally … that weird.’

She laughs. ‘Don’t worry, my parents are a bit like that too.’

Anissa sets her bag down at the end of my bed. There’s a blow-up mattress squashed into the corner that Mum will sort out later. Unzipping the bag, Anissa pulls out a dress and scrunches her face up.

‘So I know you said you were wearing a dress, but …’

‘That is so cute, ohmigosh!’ I take it from her to hold it up; it’s a pink wrap dress with a tie in the front and long sleeves. I’m sure I have a lipstick that matches it she could borrow, but Anissa is already pulling some other clothes out of her bag.

‘Mum got really carried away. I’d never normally wear this sort of thing, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that. She was just so excited, you know? I don’t …’ Anissa blushes, and bites the inside of her cheek, then looks down at the floor as she blurts, ‘I mean, I don’t need to tell you , I don’t really get invited to stuff like this. I think she was just happy I was finally being included in something.’

I set the dress down next to her bag, and because I’m not sure there’ll ever be the right time to ask, I say, ‘I always thought you just … preferred to keep to yourself? You never seemed very bothered.’

She shrugs one shoulder, still not lifting her eyes from her feet, in a way that says she very much was bothered.

‘Oh. I … I don’t …’

‘It’s okay.’ She gives a thin, fleeting smile, hardly glancing up at all, and sits on the edge of the bed smoothing out the fabric of the other dress bunched in her hands. Her shoulders are slumped, but there’s something relaxed about her posture that’s more accepting than self-pitying. ‘It’s one of those things, right? I just … haven’t found my people yet.’

Now, Anissa smiles up at me, and it’s hopeful, like she’s not worried about making friends – just finding the right ones.

Like maybe I’m one of the right ones.

Not, you know, a heinous traitor with an ulterior motive.

‘Discord’s been really fab, though,’ she gushes. ‘My parents aren’t really into any of the fandom stuff and I didn’t know anybody at school who was, so it’s nice to finally have some people to talk to about it, and you’re right – they are a really nice bunch, and so easy to chat to. I just wish I’d known about it sooner! I wish I’d known you were a fan sooner, too. You wouldn’t have seemed so intimidating to try and talk to then.’

She laughs, but all I can do is stare.

‘Intimidating? Me? ’

‘Well, yeah! I mean you always just seem so … so cool, and like you always know what to do and what to wear and what to say, and you never seem to have any trouble making friends or –’

I burst out laughing so hard that she looks miffed at the interruption.

Mum chooses that moment to appear with a glass of Coke for us each. ‘Pizza won’t be too long! I’ll bring some snacky bits up with it, too. Don’t want you drinking on an empty stomach! Are you going to be having alcohol, Anissa? Does your mum know? I’d rather you girls be sensible about it, is all.’

‘ Please don’t do the Regina George “cool mom” speech,’ I groan, and Mum immediately starts pretending to hold out a video camera and do the ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ dance like in the original Mean Girls . Anissa is giggling behind me, and I can’t decide whether to laugh too, or wish the ground would swallow me whole.

‘I might have a little bit, and my parents know,’ Anissa says, though doesn’t mention the gin she’s been supplied with.

Mum nods, and I usher her out before she can repeat her whole ‘safe partying’ spiel. Anissa meets my eye with another giggle and I just roll mine, and we start discussing outfits. While she’s leaning towards jeans and a T-shirt, I’ve got a dress Nikita lent me that the other girls all approved, and try to persuade Anissa to wear a dress, too. I don’t want to look out of place; I don’t want her to feel out of place, either.

She seems to have bundled half her wardrobe into her duffel bag, though, so we have plenty to choose from, and by the time we’re snacking on pizza and crisps, she’s happily settled on a long-sleeved black tube dress. It’s knee length and a bit plain, but by the time she adds some make-up and a pair of hoops, it’ll be perfect, I think – but then I’m forced to bite my tongue when she layers on a necklace with a misshapen jade pendant and clips on a gold ear cuff that looks like a snake.

She’s still wearing the evil eye bracelet, too. None of it matches, and with the black dress, she does look very witchy. Maybe that’s the vibe she’s going for, though …?

I guess if she feels comfortable, that’s what matters?

I think of Max, so confident in his cosplay out in public, and every time I’ve fussed and fidgeted with my carefully curated ordinary outfits. It’s inconceivable, but … I could kind of do with a little of his confidence right now, or Anissa’s.

Nikita’s dress fits me mostly okay; it’s a bit big in the boobs, and a bit shorter than I was expecting, but I’m determined to wear it. Short-sleeved and bright red, Chloe called it a ‘showstopper’.

(Evie joked that I wasn’t going on Bake Off , and Daphne did a whole bit pretending to be Paul Hollywood and shake my hand, which makes me want to laugh again just thinking about it.)

I tug at the dress in front of the mirror, trying to make it sit right.

It makes my boobs look even smaller than normal, despite the fact I’m wearing my best bra; and it gapes open a bit much around the neck, but Jake won’t notice something like that. And it’s the perfect colour – passionate, romantic, sexy. That’s what’s important.

‘Wow,’ Anissa says, glancing over from where she’s doing her eyeliner. ‘You look fab.’

‘D’you think so? It’s not …?’

I turn this way and that, scrutinizing my reflection, but Anissa shakes her head vehemently. ‘Definitely not!’

I breathe a sigh of relief; even if we have quite (okay, very ) different taste in partywear, the reassurance is a big help. I sit down on the floor, pulling my make-up bag to me, rooting through for my lipgloss.

As I pull it out, I remember Daphne painting my lips for me in the college bathroom and how it didn’t feel like me, more like I was putting on a mask, and I say to Anissa, ‘Do you really think I’m intimidating?’

‘Maybe that came out a bit wrong,’ she replies softly, and lowers her own hands from doing her make-up. ‘It’s more like … you seem so sure of yourself. Who you are, where you belong. Does that make sense?’

Again, bizarrely, I think of Max.

And I tell Anissa honestly, ‘I always thought you seemed like that.’

‘ What? Yeah, pull the other one, Cerys.’

‘No, I mean it. You never seemed to care if you were on your own or … or if people were bitching about your dodgy haircut in Costa when you could hear.’

We lock eyes in the mirror.

‘It was pretty dodgy,’ she admits, and cracks a smile that takes a weight off my shoulders.

‘I’m … not, for the record. Sure of myself, I mean. And I definitely don’t feel like I always say or wear or do all the right things. I try to, because I want to fit in, rather than –’

Be like you.

I catch myself before I say it out loud, but Anissa seems to hear it anyway. She fidgets with her eyeliner.

‘I don’t blame you,’ she says. ‘Sometimes I think I’d rather fit in than just be myself, too.’

‘No, that’s not –’

It’s … not what I’m doing. Is it?

I’m not trying to pretend to be someone else. I mean, everyone knows you have to get the right school bag or water bottle and follow the right influencers and style your clothes just so, and show up at a coffee shop at the right time before college starts so you’re not left behind. But that’s not changing who you are , it’s not …

It’s not like delving deep into a fandom you don’t care about, just so a boy will like you.

Just because I want to fit in, or fit a mould (like ‘perfect future girlfriend right here, Jake, hello!’), doesn’t mean I’m not being myself though. I’m myself on Discord – there’s a safety and comfort in being on the other side of the screen where nobody is being judgemental. And I’m myself with Jake. Sort of. Mostly. I used to be, anyway.

But …

I guess I don’t feel very much like me when I’m walking on eggshells around Mum and Dad at home; and sometimes, at college, it feels like I’m reading off a script. Holding pieces of myself back because they don’t fit the part. Like the outfits I wear – after consulting OOTD posts on the girls’ Instagram Stories – are the cosplay I’ve picked out for the day.

But – everyone does that .

Don’t they?

I’m quiet for long enough that Anissa shuffles uncomfortably, looking like she wants to apologize, even though she didn’t say anything wrong, so I do the only thing I can think of, and ask: ‘Do you want me to do your lipstick for you?’