Fangirl

isn’t a rule.”
    “There is a rule,” Baz said. “I made it myself. Don’t be friends with Snow. He already has too many. ” He shouldered Simon out of the way and caught the ball on his own knee.
    “You’re infuriating,” Simon said.
    “Good. I’m fulfilling my role as your nemesis.”
    “You’re not my nemesis. The Humdrum is.”
    “Hmmm,” Baz said, letting the ball drop and kicking it back to Simon. “We’ll see. The story’s not over yet.”

    —from “Baz, You Like It,” posted September 2008 by FanFixx.net authors Magicath and Wrenegade

 
    THIRTY
    “We don’t need to talk about this,” Wren said.
    “You were just hospitalized for alcohol poisoning,” their dad said. “We’re talking about it.”
    Cath set a stack of foil-wrapped burritos on the table between them, then sat down at the head of the table.
    “There’s nothing to say,” Wren insisted. She still looked terrible. There were circles under her eyes, and her skin was waxy and yellow. “You’re just going to say that I shouldn’t drink that much, and then I’m going to say that you’re right—”
    “No,” their dad interrupted, “I’m going to say that you shouldn’t drink at all.”
    “Well, that’s not very realistic.”
    He smacked his fist on the table. “Why the hell not?”
    Wren sat back in her chair and took a second to recover. He’d never cursed at either of them. “Everybody drinks,” she said calmly. The Only Rational One.
    “Your sister doesn’t.”
    Wren rolled her eyes. “Forgive me, but I’m not going to spend my college years sitting soberly in my dorm room, writing about gay magicians.“
    “Objection,” Cath said, reaching for a burrito.
    “Sustained,” their dad said. “Your sister has a four-point-oh, Wren. And a very polite boyfriend. She’s doing just fine with her college years.”
    Wren’s head whipped around. “You have a boyfriend?”
    “You haven’t met Levi?” Their dad sounded surprised—and sad. “Are you guys even talking?”
    “You stole your roommate’s boyfriend?” Wren’s eyes were big.
    “It’s a long story,” Cath said.
    Wren kept staring at her. “Have you kissed him?”
    “Wren,” their dad said. “I’m serious about this.”
    “What do you want me to say? I drank too much.”
    “You’re out of control,” he said.
    “I’m fine. I’m just eighteen.”
    “Exactly,” he said. “You’re coming back home.”
    Cath almost spit out her carnitas.
    “I am not,” Wren said.
    “You are.”
    “You can’t make me,” she said, managing to sound at least twelve.
    “I can, actually.” He was tapping his fingers so hard on the table, it looked painful. “I’m your father. I’m pulling rank. I should have done this a long time ago, but better late than never, I guess— I’m your father. ”
    “Dad,” Cath whispered.
    “No,” he said, staring at Wren. “I am not letting this happen to you. I’m not taking a call like that again. I’m not spending every weekend from now on, wondering where you are and who you’re with, and whether you’re even sober enough to know when you’ve landed in the gutter.”
    Cath had seen her dad this mad before—heard him rant, watched him wave his arms around, cursing, steam pouring out of his ears—but it was never about them. It was never at them.
    “This was a warning,” he said, stabbing his finger at Wren, nearly shouting. “This was your canary in the goddamn coal mine. And you’re trying to ignore it. What kind of father would I be if I sent you back to that school, knowing you hadn’t learned your lesson?”
    “I’m eighteen!” Wren shouted. Cath thought this was probably a bad strategy.
    “I don’t care!” he shouted back. “You’re still my daughter.”
    “It’s the middle of the semester. I’ll fail all my classes.”
    “You weren’t worried about school or your future when you were poisoning yourself with tequila.”
    She cocked her head. “How did you know I was drinking tequila?”
    “Christ, Wren,” he sighed bitterly. “You smelled like a margarita blender.”
    “You kinda still do,” Cath muttered.
    Wren planted her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands. “Everybody drinks,” she said stubbornly.
    Their dad pushed his chair back. “If that’s all you have to say for yourself, then all I have to say is— you’re coming home. ”
    He got up and went into his room, slamming the door.
    Wren let her head and her hands fall to the