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“I can’t believe you did that, Emma. You’re so brave,” I slurred as we left the pub.

She laughed. “He was so cute I had no choice. My inner lust for him was so overpowering that I just fell prey to my desires. Here’s hoping he calls . . .”

“Will you care if he doesn’t?”

“God, no! He’s a waiter in a bar. There are hundreds of those all over London. Who cares if one of them doesn’t fancy me back? He might have a girlfriend already, or be gay—except I do have a pretty good gaydar—or he might just not like blondes.”

“You’re my new idol, Emma,” I said as I tripped over a jagged paving stone.

“Oh-kaaay, little lady, that’s good to know. But I reckon we should get you home before you throw up all over your new idol.”

“I’m not that drunk,” I said as she bundled me into a cab and told the cabdriver an address that wasn’t mine. I laid my head on her furry leopard-print coat and closed my eyes.

I woke up with a headache and saw flashing lights in front of me. I blinked a few times and realized they were fairy lights. Different-colored ones encased in paper stars, carefully positioned to illuminate a life-sized poster of Rihanna. I looked down and saw that I was stripped down to my underwear and my half-naked body was barely covered by a zebra-print duvet cover.

“Emma?” I called out, my voice creaking as though it hadn’t been used in days.

The door creaked open and she rolled in, wearing a hot pink dressing gown, carrying two floral mugs. “Hiya! I brought tea.”

Gratefully I took a mug from her and eased myself up onto my elbows, wincing as a sharp pain shot across my head. “Thanks so much for letting me stay here yesterday.”

“No worries. There was no way I was letting you go home alone in that state. Anyway, I don’t know if you can stomach it but there’s kind of a party happening tonight that you should totally come to.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I feel like I’m dying.”

“It’s the Easter holidays! We have no lectures, and as you told me about a million times last night, you officially have nothing to do back in Guildford. So I can’t think of a single reason why you shouldn’t come.”

I groaned. “Emma, I’m an emotional wreck. My best friend doesn’t want to know me anymore, I spend my free time eating ice cream alone, and when I do persuade someone to hang out with me, I don’t shut up about all of the above. Why do you want me to come to this party with you?”

“Stop self-pitying, Ellie Kolstakis,” she said in a mock-mum voice, before putting her cup down and looking me in the eyes. “When you’re not moaning about how crappy your life is, you’re hilarious and loads of fun. So I think you should have a shower, then come sit on the sofa with me and watch that new series everyone is obsessed with, and then we can get glammed up and hit the party. How does that sound?”

“It definitely sounds more appealing than going back to my place and packing up all my stuff to take home.”

“Exactly. And then I promise you can go home to your family tomorrow and I’ll leave you alone. For now, though, take these.” She threw me a towel and some tracksuit bottoms. “Get showered up. I can’t wait to put you in one of my outfits tonight. You’re going to look
so
hot.”

I raised my eyebrows at her and walked out of her room, trying to cover my underwear-clad body with her towel. She called out after me, “It’s the door on the right. My housemates have all gone back home for Easter, so don’t worry about anyone walking in on you showering. Feel free to enjoy that showerhead however you want, babe!”

I ignored her tip and had a very uneventful shower. We spent the entire day watching a new series about terrorists and the CIA whilst eating carrot sticks and hummus. After seeing Emma’s fridge, which looked like an aisle from Whole Foods, I now understood why she was still a size six and I wasn’t. The other day’s fish and chips had clearly been her day off weight-watching.

When the evening came round, Emma led me up to her room and forced me into trying on dresses that wouldn’t go up past my bum.

“Emma, this is getting embarrassing now. I’m a 36D with a sometimes-size-twelve bum, and I’m not going to fit into your clothes. Please, can we give up?”

“You’re only a couple of sizes bigger than me. We can definitely find you something. Ugh, I’m so jealous of your bum. I wish I had one; mine is just flat.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better, Emma.”

“No, I’m serious! Beyoncé is my hero and I dream of having curves like her. In fact, let me prove it to you,” she said, suddenly starting to rummage through her drawers. After a few minutes she triumphantly pulled out a pair of large knickers. “There!”

“Are those Spanx? Those suck
in
your fat, Em.”

“Nooo! Look, they’re padded pants! They have all this padding at the back to give you a structured bum,” she said, waggling her tiny posterior at me.

I burst out laughing as she pulled the pants on over her black thong and began dancing like her bum idol in the new music video everyone was talking about.

“Okay, point proven. I will squeeze myself into one of your insanely glam dresses if you go out wearing those pants.”

“Ellie, I already wear these as many times as I can before I have to do a whites wash. Oh my God, I’ve had a brain wave. I think I have a very, very cool chiffony dress lying around somewhere. It wouldn’t only fit you—it would look amazing!”

After a fifteen-minute search, which uncovered numerous other sparkly dresses instead, Emma found the one she meant and I put it on.

I looked critically at myself in her full-length mirror. I was expecting it to hang shapelessly from my boobs, which were hooked up in my most industrial, thick-strapped bra. Instead, it gave me a feminine shape. It was black chiffon, sleeveless and even made my legs look shapely. It was covered in a dark blue peacock print and Emma had persuaded me to wear it with her black, five-inch-heeled ankle boots. She had even cajoled me into putting on a pair of long silver earrings, to which I had agreed only as a compromise after refusing to wear two huge peacock feathers dangling from my ears. My long brown hair still looked a bit out of control and there was nothing that could be done about my prominent, straight nose, but the dress did detract attention from the center of my face.

“You look amazing, Ellie,” remarked Emma as she surveyed my body.

“I guess I look as good I’m ever going to,” I admitted, and she rolled her eyes.

“You need more self-confidence, babe. Embrace your hot bod and work those curves,” she said as she rummaged distractedly in her drawer.

I raised my eyebrows. She thought
I
had a hot bod? She was wearing black velvet platform heels with tiny colored gems all over the heels and a skintight cotton dress that she wore bra-less and tights-less with the peacock earrings I had rejected. Standing next to her, I felt like a nun, but when we walked into the party—at her friend Amelia’s house—I was relieved I’d gone for a more toned-down look. Most people there were the typical hipster types: the guys in checked shirts and skinny jeans, while the girls wore boots and oversized jumpers with tiny floral dresses underneath. I was grateful I had listened to my inner Greek mum and worn thick black tights.

Emma was the only one who looked like she had walked out of a Soho nightclub, but she seemed oblivious to this and ran towards Amelia, shrieking, “OH MY GOD, HI!” as we walked in.

Amelia had short dark hair that suited her elf-like face and piercings all up her ears, and she was wearing a man’s denim shirt with ripped tights. She and Emma looked like they were from different worlds—or opposite social scenes at the very least—but they hugged as though they had been friends for years and started sharing stories with each other so loudly the whole room turned to stare.

I smiled politely when Emma remembered to introduce me, and then decided to disappear for a while so they could catch up without the awkward friend hovering behind them. I mouthed something about coats and a loo to Emma before slipping off in search of company—or, if that was too optimistic, in search of somewhere to hide.

I walked around with my coat slung over my arm, scanning each cluster of people to see if I recognized anyone. Even though everyone there was a third-year student at UCL, I realized I didn’t know a single person and was forced to give vague
I’m actually looking for a friend and totally belong here
eyes to anyone who gave me a questioning look. Once I had given out the look-over ten times, I decided to give up. I chucked my coat onto a pile of khaki anoraks in a bedroom and took refuge in the bathroom.

I hated forcing myself to speak to strangers at parties. All my teenage insecurities came flooding back the second I became the new girl or walked into a room full of people I didn’t know. I put the toilet seat down and sat on top of it. Emma’s flippant remark about me needing more self-confidence drifted into my head. I thought I had ditched the low self-esteem levels that had haunted me through school when I was surrounded by impossibly attractive girls and their boyfriends who hadn’t ever fancied me, but I clearly hadn’t. I couldn’t even admit I looked good after spending two hours getting ready.

I needed to sort myself out or my entire life was going to pass me by. While I was moping around and wishing someone would shag me, everyone else was moving on and carpe diem–ing. Maybe Lara was right and I should stop blaming my virginity for every problem I had. I sat up straight. I needed to take a page out of Emma’s book and get over my teenage bullshit.

I stood up and walked over to the mirror, scrutinizing my face. My thick, dark hair was not as out of control as I always assumed it was, and fell over my shoulders in acceptable waves. I’d refused Emma’s fake eyelashes, but after seeing her with a full set, I had compensated for my short ones by piling on layers of mascara. The result was that I now had long eyelashes, satisfactory hair and an impressive outfit. I gave myself a small smile and started a version of the same self-help speech I’d been giving myself since I was thirteen and saw it in a copy of
Just Seventeen
magazine.

“I, Ellie Kolstakis, look amazing. I am a beautiful, confident individual and I can have anything I want. I will go downstairs, I will be amazing and I will be brave. I am incredible.”

I couldn’t help grinning widely after the speech. It worked every time. I didn’t care how lame, clichéd or romcom it was—the self–pep talk was a tried-and-true method. It had a good success rate for a reason and I was damned if I was going to miss out on it. I winked and pouted at myself in the mirror until I realized how ridiculous I was and quickly left the bathroom. I shut the door and found myself face-to-face with my all-time favorite person.

“Oh my God, Ellie,” said Hannah Fielding, who had swapped the flowers round her head for a piece of fabric tied into a bow. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve never seen you at one of Meely’s parties before.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really know, erm, Amelia very well, but I’m here with Emma. In fact, I should probably find her—I’ve been ages.”

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting ages. I could have sworn I heard you speaking to someone in there.”

I shrugged my shoulders and held out my phone weakly. “I took a phone call while I was in there. Anyway, so good to see you. I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”

I turned and bolted down the stairs before she could say anything else. I put my head into my hands, wanting to curl up in a corner, but then I saw Emma. I was still on the staircase, so she couldn’t see me from my vantage point, but I saw her walk over to a very attractive guy and start talking to him. At first he just looked pleasantly surprised, but within seconds his body language suggested he was interested. Okay, I understated—he looked like he was ready to throw her over a banister and shag her immediately.

How did Emma find it so easy? She didn’t even let people like Hannah bother her. I trudged down the rest of the stairs, feeling the effects of my motivational speech slowly ebbing away. I poured myself a glass of vodka with a few drips of orange juice.

I was gagging after my first sip when I saw a guy standing in the corner of the room on his own, his arms crossed. He wasn’t very attractive—his face was kind of squashed-looking and he was very pale and freckly. On top of that, he looked pissed off. He was wearing a dark red, zip-up hoody and had a book poking out of his pocket.

He looked like a pretentious idiot. The perfect guy on whom I could practice my new confident persona.

Without letting myself think, I decided I’d walk over and say hi. I could feel my little enzymes and cells inside urging me on.
Come on, Ellie, you can do this,
they yelled.
You don’t even particularly fancy him—you have nothing to lose.
They had a point.

I closed my eyes and quickly walked over before I had a chance to convince myself not to. The blood pounded in my veins as I approached him.

I smiled. “Hey, I’m Ellie.”

He looked up at me suspiciously. “Hey. I’m Jack.”

“Hi! So, how do you know Amelia?”

“Who’s Amelia?”

“Oh, um, she lives here and it’s her party. I thought maybe you’re a friend of hers.”

“No, I’m just here with a friend, Eric.”

“Oh right, I don’t know him.”

“Yeah, he’s dating a girl who told him to come. Hannah Fielding?”

Of course he was dating Hannah. Fucking typical. “Yeah, I know her. We both study English together. How do you know Eric?”

“We work together.” He shrugged.

I smiled. “Oh, cool. What do you do?”

“I work in graphic design.”

I winced. He was giving off strong
leave me alone
vibes and the monosyllabic responses suggested he definitely didn’t want me here and was about to reject me.
Come on, Ellie! You’re beautiful and brave,
I yelled at myself inwardly. I gave it one last shot.

“Graphic design, cool. What kind of stuff do you do?” I asked optimistically.

“Well, I really hate the idea of working for the commercial side of things, so I’m working for a small start-up in Shoreditch.”