The Fangirl Project

Chapter 1

Your ticket to the Worlds Beyond fantasy con today…

See you there, CERYS!

I skip through the email, looking for the QR code, but not before my eyes widen at the reminder that “weapons, even makeshift and nonthreatening, will not be allowed into the convention center.”

“What am I getting myself into?” I mutter.

A glance around makes me even less sure that I’ve made the right decision to come along: there are streams of people walking past with armfuls of posters ready to get signed, wearing questionable wigs and fake elf ears, in T-shirts that look like less-cool versions of the Stranger Things Hellfire Club.

Some of them are even completely dressed up, like they’re going to a Halloween costume contest. A guy strides by me in brown armor made of papier-maché, with antlers the size of my arm sticking out of his head.

I take a deep breath. This is all just a means to an end, I tell myself, and it’s going to be totally worth it. I just have to walk up, scan my ticket, and go find Jake.

I’ve hardly seen my best friend Jake since he moved away at the start of summer and started going to Colleg Carreg for the last two years of school to study A Levels, instead of going to St. David’s sixth form with me in Cardiff.

I can just feel him slipping further and further away.

Every time we’ve made plans to hang out over the past few weeks, the rest of the old school gang ended up joining us, which would normally be fine, except…

Except I haven’t been able to shake the full-blown crush I developed on Jake months ago, and it’s true what they say: absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

And how am I supposed to initiate a romantic move on him if he’s only ever going to see me in that context?

I’ll be stuck in the best friend zone for life.

And, like, what’s the alternative? Tell him I have a massive crush on him and I think we’d be great together, risk total rejection, and lose the best person in my life for good because I’ve made it too awkward between us?

Yeah, right.

No, I have to find a better way. I have to show him we’re perfect for each other.

Hence, The Fangirl Project.

Hence, I’m now at some random industrial estate, in front of an old warehouse turned convention hall, surrounded by strangers in cosplay and ready to spend all afternoon pretending I’m totally excited to be here.

There’s a huge banner stretched across the front of the warehouse. Welcome, Travelers! it declares. To the Worlds Beyond Fantasy Con, for Fans of Of Wrath and Rune!

Why couldn’t Jake have at least picked something, I don’t know, more mainstream to be a die-hard fanboy over?

I probably could’ve gotten on board with Lord of the Rings, I’ve seen the memes about it and even that weird Isengard song video.

And I’ve seen all the new Marvel films with Jake, even if I don’t actually know what he’s talking about when he goes on about the different “phases.”

But no, he had to go and pick Of Wrath and Rune to be his favorite thing.

A niche, low-budget TV show with a cult following and eight books—eight!

—that aren’t even a finished series yet.

I have some idea what it’s about, mainly secondhand knowledge from Jake talking nonstop about it when I have managed to see him lately: It’s a high-fantasy adventure, with fauns, some Robin Hood–type characters called the Rascals, and an evil wizard or something.

I figure I have enough surface-level knowledge to not make a complete fool of myself today, and then I’ll try to watch the TV show. It’ll be like homework. All part of my ultimate mission to become Jake’s dream girl and give us something new to bond over so he’ll finally realize it.

Speak of the devil—my phone buzzes with a text asking if I’m here yet. I wonder if he knows I’m stalling out here, thinking about him? (Although, to be fair, I am usually thinking about him.)

His text only serves to remind me how quiet our message thread has become; when I open it, I can see back to texts I sent four days ago, agreeing to come to the convention.

My reply sounds bright and breezy, thankfully—I’d been internally screaming when he invited me after I mentioned oh-so-casually how I was thinking of giving his favorite new series a go, seeing what all the fuss was about.

I even swapped my usual Saturday shift at work so I could be here.

As I slowly make my way to the ticket scanners, I scroll a little farther back, seeing too many half-made plans that fell through.

Usually because he was busy with soccer, or his family.

But one name in particular keeps glaring up at me from the screen: Max.

They made fast friends after Jake moved, and ever since it’s Max this and Max that, and…

I can’t help but feel like I’m being replaced. Like Jake’s forgetting about me.

I shove the phone into my pocket, jaw clenched in determination. I have to change that. I have to get things back to how they were. And, if possible, make them better.

All right, I think, striding toward the doors. Showtime!

—

I’m not really sure what I was expecting from a convention, but I’m immediately overwhelmed.

The noise of people chatting and someone speaking over a microphone is amplified by the high, corrugated metal ceilings into a cacophony that makes me feel like I’ve accidentally wandered into a nightclub.

It’s way busier than I was expecting, with people clustered in huge groups to get things signed or have their photo taken with someone, and spilling out of a curtained-off section where I figure there must be a panel going on.

There are loads of stalls selling merch, too. Not just Of Wrath and Rune things, but general fantasy junk. There’s a huge display of crossbows and swords, which I think is pretty rich, given the so-called rule against having weapons in the convention hall.

This, I decide quickly, is so not my thing.

Jake tried to get me to play Dungeons tall, lanky frame and bright blue eyes that crinkle behind his glasses; and that huge, loving smile that makes you feel like the center of the whole universe, it’s so big.

Have I changed? Will he notice all the extra freckles on my skin brought out by a late burst of summer sun, the extra care I put into styling my pale blond hair today? The fact that I’m wearing my good bra (the one that actually gives me some cleavage)?

Jake envelops me in a bear hug, crushing me against him, which, in turn, serves as a crushing reminder that my crush is very much unrequited.

This definitely isn’t how you hug a girl you see as a romantic prospect; I’ve seen enough rom-coms to know.

His hand is meant to linger on the small of my back, at least.

He draws away, and I see he’s wearing one of those T-shirts like most everyone else. It’s a deep forest green, with a large circular emblem that looks sort of ancient-Roman-inspired, and sharp, blocky text is splashed across it, reading Be Ye a Rascal, Roach?

Note to self: look up “roach,” confirm if it’s a character name or a literal cockroach.

Actually, the T-shirt doesn’t look so bad…It’s a flattering cut on Jake, and the shimmer of the circle thing is really pretty. I should get one, if I’m going to be part of this.

Am I going to be part of this? I’m still not sure.

“I’m so glad you’re here! You missed the panel about the special effects, which sucks because I think you’d have loved that.

And OMG, I totally beat the rush for getting a photo with the guy who plays Daxys, and he was so awesome.

Why do they say never meet your heroes? I swear, it was the coolest three minutes of my life,” Jake is gushing, and I realize I haven’t even said hello yet, but that’s so normal that I relax even more.

What’s “hello” in the face of five years of friendship?

We only got friendly because we were in the same class when we first started “big school”; what if he’s only stayed friends with me because it was convenient?

What if we’re the sort of people who drift apart the second they’re not forced to spend time in the same building five days a week?

Or he makes all new friends—like Max—and I get pushed out?

I actually don’t know what I’d do without Jake in my life.

He’s my only constant; I can’t lose him.

“So?” he says now, waving his hands out, his smile growing even wider. There’s a flush in his cheeks; he’s so clearly in his element. “I know you’re a total newbie to the fandom, but is this the most awesome thing you’ve ever seen, or what?”

“Er…”

Oh God, come on, Cerys, think! There’s got to be something good you can say!

But the more I look around, the more overwhelmed I feel—everything about it is making my brain scream that this is a place packed with people with a shared passion that borders on obsessive, and my total apathy is not the vibe.

“It’s…huge!” I say at last. “There’s so many people here!”

Neither statement is probably the enthused awe that Jake is hoping for, but his eyes still brighten.

“Right? It’s, like, a total coup. I can’t believe it’s basically on our doorstep!

Apparently one of the showrunners is kind of local—well, she’s from Pontypool, so close enough—and once they got her on board… ”

“So cool,” I agree. I swing my ponytail over my shoulder to twirl a piece of hair around my finger, trying to rearrange my pose into something that says “flirty.” Jake’s trusty denim jacket is hooked carelessly through the strap of his backpack, and I’m already formulating a romantic plan for later.

While Jake might be the master of all knowledge when it comes to Of Wrath and Rune, my encyclopedic strength lies in every rom-com movie trick since the eighties.

He’d lend it to me if I asked, but that’s not the point.

I need to get him to notice I’m cold, and offer it to me.

But he’s too busy checking his phone to be distracted by my hair-flicking or my jacket-burgling plan and just says absently, “The panel with the cast starts in about forty minutes, so we’ll have to get in line soon if we want to get seats.

And OMG, Cer!” Jake grabs both my shoulders in excitement.

“I forgot the best part. You’ve got to meet him. Where’s—?”

The next part all seems to happen in horrible slow motion, like I’ve gotten stuck in an actual nightmare.

A cluster of convention-goers parts almost cinematically as a figure all in black strides through the middle of them, eyes focused and forward.

He’s wearing leather armguards, a long, heavy cloak with more pieces of armor accented around the shoulders, and some intimidating-looking piece of what I can only describe as a harness-slash-holster over his torso.

The old-fashioned linen shirt he has on is loose around the neck to show off a necklace on a rope chain, and his long white-blond wig is tucked back behind a pair of pointed ears.

“Here he is!” Jake lets go of me to grab this stranger by the arm, and says the very words I’ve been dreading ever since he told me he was going to a different school than me.

“Cerys,” he tells me, beaming. “This is my new best friend, Max.”