Page 28 of Fangirl

Will knows the real me—at least a part of him does.

He met the computer geek I was before all this, before the personal trainers and stylists and bullshit. He’s the one who saw potential when no one else did, who vouched for me when I wasn’t even sure I deserved it. And that’s why, no matter how much of a mess he becomes, no matter how far he falls, I’ll always be by his side.

The thought mollifies my resolve a little, and I decide to share just a bit more.

"You know the girl I met online?"

Will’s mouth quirks. "The Jake hater?"

I grimace. "The one and only."

His amusement deepens, and he tilts his head. "And you…" He drags the word out like he’s savoring it. "Video chatted with her?"

I nod.

Will lets out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "And she’s still pretending she doesn’t know who you are?" He snorts. "Man, I’m high as fuck, and even I can tell she’s playing you."

I press my lips into a thin line, a mix of frustration and irritation bubbling inside me.

"Okay, Clark Kent." He gestures vaguely at my outfit. "You think the cap and glasses make you so inconspicuous?"

I exhale through my nose, once for the casual way he admits to being high, and again for how stupid he seems to think I am.

"I’m not an idiot, Will." I keep my voice steady. "I’m a special effects professional, or have you forgotten?"

He doesn’t seem fazed, just reaches for the dried fruit on my table, popping a few into his mouth as he eyes me. "Oh? And who did you pretend to be? Clark Gable?"

I can’t help but smirk at that one.

Will has an unhealthy obsession with Hollywood’s Golden Age stars, something that doesn’t exactly fit with his destructive bad-boy persona.

It’s one of his best-kept secrets, and for that reason alone, I let the jab slide.

"Myself."

Will pauses mid-chew, eyes narrowing as if he misheard me. "I must be higher than I thought."

I sigh.

"I was playing around with a deepfake program recently," I start, then shake my head. "I don’t know, I was bored. I created a program to see what I’d look like if I’d never gotten… Hollywoodized."

Will snorts. "Hollywoodized?"

"You know what Imean." I gesture vaguely at my face. "Less polished. The nose I was born with. No veneers. My real hairline, instead of whatever sorcery my stylist does to it. A little rounder in the jaw, a little softer around the edges."

Will leans back, staring at me like I’ve grown another head. "So… youcatfishedher. Withyourself."

I exhale. "It’s not catfishing if it’s the real me. Or at least, thebeforeme."

Before the stylists, the PR coaching, the personal trainers—before Jake Hollander.

Amy isn’t talking to a brand. She’s talking to Eli, the guy who existed before Hollywood molded me into something more marketable. That counts, right?

But even as I think it, something twists in my gut. If it were really that simple, why do I feel like shit every time she says my name? Eli. Like it’s real. Like I’m real.

I should tell her. Every night, I think I will. And then she says something that makes me laugh, or worse, something vulnerable, and I freeze. The truth feels heavier each time I hold it back.

I shift in my seat. If I tell her the truth now, what happens? I lose her. I can already hear the disappointment in her voice, the betrayal laced in every word. And the worst part? She wouldn’t be wrong.