The Fandom(50)

We smile at each other. Then, following the script, I give him a gentle nudge. ‘Enough stalling, Gem.’

I recall Rose vaulting over the gate in one smooth action, but I suspect I would fall flat on my face, so instead I just climb over it. I try my best to seem feisty and brave, but my boots squelch in the mud and I feel like a bit of a fraud. I begin to run again, hoping I’ll get enough of a head start to make sure we end up at the stables.

‘Not fair,’ he calls after me. ‘I don’t know the estate like you do.’

‘You’re the superhuman,’ I call over my shoulder.

I see the stables and feel an enormous sense of relief, followed quickly by the realization that this is it – he’s about to kiss me. I order myself to stay focused; I’m so close to pulling this off. I slip down the side of the stables, hogweed and brambles catching at my ankles, causing me to trip and bump into the wood. He stumbles behind me, and we both begin to giggle, waking up the horses.

I reach the back of the structure and lean into the planks, grateful for the rest, my chest rising and falling from all the exertion. The scent of pony nuts and horse hair mingles with our sweat. He leans beside me, still giggling, a piece of hogweed clinging to his ankle. I can feel the cords of his arm muscles as they push against my overalls. I’m only moments away from the first kiss. My mouth suddenly feels like it’s stuffed with cardboard – shoe boxes, judging from the taste. God, I would kill for a breath mint.

He turns to me and pushes my hair from my face. It kind of catches in my mouth and pulls my lip to the side. ‘Agh,’ I mumble.

But he just laughs. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’

I take a moment to study his features. A collection of shapes. This close, I can see the trellis of pores and the fine covering of tiny hairs on his skin.

I untangle my hair from my mouth. ‘An Imp, you mean?’

‘No, anyone so free.’

He toys with the back of my ear and I can’t help turning into his hand, it feels so large, so solid, against my cheek. Willow is touching my ear. I focus on the perfect bow of his upper lip. ‘I’m not free. I’m a slave. Your father’s slave, to be exact.’

His hand drops to his side, weighed down with shame. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean like that . . . It’s just, I don’t know, it probably sounds stupid me saying this, but I wish I could be more like you.’

This is it. He’s about to kiss me. I cup his flawless face in my palms and force his eyes to meet mine. I think my heart may have stopped beating, just turned to grit in my chest. But I deliver my line with confidence. ‘You can be.’

He stares at me for a moment. I anticipate his sudden movement, the taste of his lips against mine. I get this unexpected shudder in my windpipe, this feeling like I’ve just come inside from a snowstorm, my skin hot and cold at the same time. I let my eyelids close. This is it.

But he remains still, the kiss never arrives.

Instead, he says, ‘It’s my coming-of-age ball tomorrow.’

He’s moved straight on with the lines, he’s missed out the kissing bit. My heart jump-starts and my brain fills with all those insecurities: Is it because my breath smells? Is my hair too messy? Is it because I went off-script and talked about the decontamination process? Maybe I’m just not good enough.

But I stick to my lines. ‘Yeah?’

Maybe I should kiss him? But what if he doesn’t want me to? He’s so tall, I might miss and just kiss his chin. The four-letter word fills my head, all angular and spiked.

But he just smiles, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. ‘Are you waitressing at it?’

Yeah.’

‘I’ll probably have to dance with every Gem socialite in the region . . . but I’ll save the last dance for you.’

‘I’d like that,’ I reply, my outer voice on autopilot, my inner voice still screaming profanities.

‘I better head back,’ he says.

I realize I’m still clutching his face. I try to let go casually, so he barely notices, but my palms kind of stick to his chin. ‘OK then.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow? Yeah?’ He flashes his beautiful smile.

‘I’ll wear my dancing shoes.’

He kisses me on the cheek. On the cheek. And then he leaves.





I return to the Imp-hut, completely dejected, my worst fear confirmed – I’m hopeless with men. Even with a script, even without my gorgeous BFF cramping my style, I’m hopeless with men.

Nate takes one look at my face. ‘He didn’t kiss you, did he?’

I shake my head.

‘Why not?’ he says. ‘You didn’t dribble and fart and pick your nose did you? Because I warned you against that look.’

I daren’t tell him I went off-script and risked so much, just because I lost my cool. I’m just too embarrassed, too ashamed. Instead, I slump on to my bunk. ‘I guess he just doesn’t find me as attractive as Rose.’

Nate slaps his palm to his forehead. ‘Violet, it’s Monday night. Willow is meant to declare his undying love for you on Thursday night and follow you into the city. You’ve got three more days. If you don’t get him to fall for you, we’re stuck here . . . as Imps, in a world where Imps are lower than pondweed. You know that, yeah?’