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.