Chapter 4

BY THE TIME WE reach our lockers it's just five minutes until first bell. I hear Jamie's voice before I see her – she sounds like she's super upset about something.

Jamie's what some people might call a drama queen – literally, because she's the unofficial star of Huntson High's drama club, and figuratively because she's totally OTT and melodramatic.

As we near her I see she's wearing a sequined silver cardi over a dress with a photo of the Fable boys printed on it. She mentioned that she did a bit of online shopping just for the concert, and I guess this is it.

Her long brunette hair is swept up in a messy bun to show off the shower of oversized golden stars dangling from her ears.

It must have taken her hours to get ready this morning.

Jamie never does things half-heartedly. Last year when she was getting into character for her role as Dorothy in the school production of The Wizard of Oz, she wore her hair in braids every day for weeks.

And a while before that one of her YouTube fans won a contest where they got to choose what color she wore for a month. She wore shades of green every day head-to-toe until Beth Donklin told her she looked like a cucumber.

Standing next to Jamie is my other bestie, Grace.

Jamie told me that in elementary school the other girls nicknamed Grace "Mouse", because she’s small and quiet, with mousy blonde hair in ringlets down to her shoulders. As usual, she's dressed conservatively (a high collared pale blue dress today) and has a book tucked under her arm.

When I first met them, I thought they made an odd pair. I still think that. The Drama Queen and the Book Worm. Somehow though, it just works, and they are closer than sisters in spite of their opposite personalities. Go figure.

"Oh my god, finally," Jamie practically shrieks as we reach our lockers. "Girls, we have an EMERGENCY on our hands."

Grace shakes her head and gives me a look. Here she goes again, is what she's saying.

"Are you ok Jamie?" Zee asks innocently. "What's wrong?"

Jamie swings open her locker door. She reaches into the back where she keeps her spare makeup, knocking aside lip-gloss and a bottle of Miss Dior perfume. She pulls out her black pencil eyeliner and brandishes it like a sword.

"This is what's wrong," she says, staring intensely at the eyeliner. The nib is nowhere in sight.

"I tried sharpening it, but it's just making the wood sharper and leaving the nib behind." The way she's moaning and staring at the pencil in horror, you'd think someone had just died.

She takes my hand and stares hard at me, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Ashling, tell me you have eyeliner. My life depends on it."

Besides Jamie, I'm the only one in my group who ever wears makeup – Zee's a total tomboy, and Grace isn't allowed. So I get why Jamie's pinning her hopes on me.

Still, I only ever wear eyeliner for a night out, not to school. Jamie collapses against her locker and sinks to the floor as I shake my head.

"This is beyond lame," she says, hugging her arms around her body. "I feel naked."

"I think you're getting a bit carried away," Grace says, pulling Jamie back onto her feet. "It's just for one day."

Jamie's face looks even more panicky and her voice actually manages to rise an octave.

"Just one day? Hellooo! Have you forgotten what's happening today? We're watching Fable tonight. It's literally the biggest day of my life. Of all our lives. I wanted to slay tonight. And it's not like I'll be able to borrow eyeliner at your house when we're getting ready... there's no way your mom would lend me some, even if she had."

Grace lives closest to Rose Quarter, tucked away in the heart of the city along the Willamette River, so the others are going to her house after school to get ready for the concert.

It was a miracle really that Grace's parents agreed to it at all.

They're ultra conservative – anti-makeup, anti-dating, anti-fun. They treat her like she's some sort of delinquent, which is ridiculous, because she's basically a saint. Like if they give her an inch of freedom she'll go off the rails.

Jamie says it's got something to do with her older sister, but I don't know the full story.

"Who cares what you look like at the concert," Grace says. "Everyone will be watching Fable. No one's watching you."

"Tell that to my followers," Jamie mutters.

Jamie has more than seven-hundred-thousand followers on Instagram and even more than that on YouTube. All she does really is upload photos and videos of her outfits, hair and makeup every day (plus the occasional rant about hipsters) – but she's doing something right. Some of her vlogs have over a million views.

She says she doesn't care about being popular – it's all practice living in front of a camera, the perfect preparation for her future career in Hollywood. Personally I think she just likes all the attention.

"This is the worst possible timing ever,” she says with a pout. “I need my eyeliner. I wanted to take photos every hour today, like a countdown to the concert. It's just not fair. #fableportland is so trending right now and I'm going to miss out." The last part sounds like a squeal.

Zee squeezes her arm. "Don't worry Jamie. None of that matters. We're all going to have an amazing time at the conc-"

She catches my eye even though I'm trying to look nonchalant.

"Sorry Ashling. I keep forgetting," she says quietly. We're all silent for a moment.

"It's ok. I'll be fine," I say, not feeling like I'll be fine at all. I'm determined not to feel sorry for myself though, and I hate the thought of my friends worrying about me.

"Seriously, I'll be ok," I say.

"Of course you'll be ok," Jamie says. "It was your decision not to come tonight. And besides, you'll get to spend time with Jade. Tell him I say hi".

Jade works for my parents. He's super hot, super nice and also super unavailable.

Grace cocks her eyebrow. "You're dreaming Jamie. He’s twenty-one," she says.

"Whatever. He's sooo into me." Jamie says.

"That's irrelevant. You're underage. It’s wrong, and he'd never risk it," Grace says matter-of-factly.

"Quit being such a prude. Five years is nothing," Jamie says. "Anyway, lets get back to real issues – like my eyeliner."

"I have a sharpie in my bag," I offer.

"I might actually try-" Jamie stops mid-sentence and sighs.

"We have company."