Chapter 11
11
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes!” Laurel and Brit exclaim in unison.
Having exchanged our dorm room numbers during needlework, I arrived at their door with a handful of dresses and robes, needing fashion consultation. They welcomed me in, and I found myself distracted from my fantasy-makeover project—their room is incredible. They’ve decorated their double suite with extensive Elytheum merch they packed with them. Apparently they live only an hour away, and they loaded their cars up with posters and figurines, candles, mugs, and maps. It’s heaven.
Or, wait, no. It’s Afterrealm, Elytheum’s conception of the spiritual life after death, the dulcet realm from which fallen heroes gaze over their kin.
Anyway, it’s amazing.
Laurel and Brit helped me choose from among the dresses I’d purchased—all fan-made, of course—and promptly started braiding my hair and applying purple shimmering glitter to my cheeks like I’m a demoness. Laurel commanded the effort while Brit, I noticed, retreated into the hallway for multiple phone calls with someone named Stephanie, returning harried yet with undimmed excitement for her and Laurel’s handiwork.
Honestly, I needed their aid. After collecting a sandwich in the student store closest to the library, I hit the costume boutique, where I picked out my Elytheum attire for the week, then proceeded to spend the next hour indecisive in front of the mirror in my room.
Finally, I admitted defeat. I would have to impose on my new friends, who I knew were exactly the right people to ask. Earlier, I had learned Laurel and Brit run impressive social media accounts dedicated to re-creating looks from Elytheum and other series. I was moved when they offered me their expertise without blinking.
I evaluate myself in their lit-up vanity. Honestly, I’m not overwhelmingly confident right now. Hence my hesitation.
Nevertheless…
Laurel and Brit’s work is incredible. I look like I could take on hordes of vicious demons, magic curses, ex-boyfriends, annoying coworkers, inboxes of over a hundred emails. The world.
Main character energy.
I’m wearing the outfit they helped me choose. The long-sleeve purple dress hits me mid-thigh. Pairing the dress with leather boots, I look badass—not how I ever imagined describing myself, not when my hobbies consist of rereading books and crocheting, and my tolerance for caffeine past five p.m. is nonexistent. From her own collection, Brit even lent me a snug leather vest that pushes my breasts together.
I look drop-your-plate-of-puff-pancakes-in-the-dining-hall good. I look like fan art come to life.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I say. “Honestly.”
“Please.” Laurel waves my gratitude off. “This is our favorite thing to do. I only wish Jordan could see you.”
I smile. Her voice holds more wistfulness than Jordan—the man who once forgot to pick up dinner for my visiting parents because he was debating someone on Reddit—deserves, but I’m grateful for Laurel’s kindness.
While they did my makeup, I shared with my new friends the real-world details of my “ex-paramour.” They were sympathetic in exactly the right ways, indignant in exactly the right others. Revenge is makeover magic , Laurel pronounced, and I wondered if she spoke from experience.
Likewise, I learned about them. They’re middle school teachers who started a smutty book club during lunch breaks, which is where they first read Elytheum. It brought them together, and now they’re part of a whole broader bookish community.
The more time we spent together, as more makeup transformed me into the daring woman I see in the mirror, I felt more and more like we’d known one another forever instead of for eight hours. Hearing how Elytheum founded their friendship comforted me. It reminded me how despite everything in my love life, I have Amelia, and now I have them. Who knows how many other fan-friends I’ll find this week? While I may have come to the Experience running away from the loss of my relationship, I’ll leave here having gained something precious.
“Forget Jordan ,” Brit announces. “I can’t wait for your coworker who you hate to see you. Your sworn enemy ,” she repeats with dramatic enthusiasm.
Under my demoness glitter, I’m certain my cheeks have gone pink. “Scott? Believe me, he doesn’t care,” I protest, remembering his judgment this afternoon.
“Enemies to lovers is always compelling,” Laurel admits thoughtfully.
“Debatable,” I offer weakly, as if my bookshelves aren’t overflowing with the trope.
“You said he’s here to become the ultimate book boyfriend to impress girls? Why don’t you give him some personal feedback while using him as your rebound? Win-win-win,” she proposes with a flourish. On each win , she swishes her makeup brush like a magic wand. “For Scott. For you. For fans of enemies-to-lovers everywhere.”
“It’s really not like that,” I say coolly. “We got into an…unpleasant altercation today. Believe me, it’s best if we don’t speak for a while.”
“Who said anything about speaking?” Brit asks, raising an eyebrow.
I’m definitely pink under my purple makeup streaks now. A rebound fling? With a hidden enemies-to-lovers agenda? The idea is obviously out of character for the Jennifer who drove down here, the Jennifer ready to romanticize every relationship into her OTP. I don’t really do rebounds .
However…
I can’t deny the frustrating spark I felt while we fought for the clue. And out of character is part of the point of this week.
“ Maybe ,” I say. When Laurel and Brit promptly high-five, I preempt their perilously high hopes. “But he’s probably not even attracted to me. He’s made it pretty clear he wants nothing to do with me,” I say.
“Don’t even worry,” Brit drawls her reassurance. “We,” she says, “are going to do a little court recon tonight.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror, wary, and—okay—excited. “What did you have in mind?”