When Fangirls Lie by Marian Tee

that another change of subject was called for, she asked, “Can I join your dance practice today? I mean, just on the sides. I won’t be a bother, I promise.”

    Alan choked. “You? Dance?”

    “Hey!” She was deeply affronted at the look in Alan’s eyes.

    Donovan grinned. “That bad, huh?”

    “You have no idea,” Alan said feelingly.

    “HEY!”

    Alan ignored her. “I slow-danced with her during graduation ball and she stepped on my toe every five seconds.”

    “I did not!”

    He lifted a brow at her. “Really?”

    “It was every seven seconds.”

    Alan threw his hands up. “See?”

    “I could have improved a lot since then, you know?” At his dubious expression, she insisted, “Really. My dad paid for professional lessons.” Or at least that was how she liked to call her copy of Hip Hop Abs with Shaun T.

    Alan’s doubt turned into hesitation. “Really?”

    She tried not to grin at how easy she had fooled him. “Really.”

    This time, he looked impressed. “Cool.”

    When they entered the huge concert hall, where a part of it had been temporarily set aside for dance practice, the first thing Saffi saw was Mitch.

    Shit ! Saffi made a quick about face. She was so not in the mood to get into another catfight!

    Behind her, Alan said happily, “Guess what, guys? H’s here and wants to practice with us!” Alan reached her side and twirled her around to face everyone. Saffi watched Mitch’s eyes widen in recognition.

    Mitch was in a rage. Dressed in another all-black ensemble because she knew it made her look sophisticated like a celebrity, she could only curse silently when she saw the same groupie who ruined her night at the concert. How could Staffan Aehrenthal prefer that slut over her? She was a real woman, a decent woman while this---this whore was nothing!

    Saffi pretended to twist her ankle. “Oh, wow. I think I just hurt myself.”

    Alan and Donovan stared at her blankly.

    Mitch said loudly, “If she wants to dance so much then maybe she’ll be game for a dance-off. Winner has dibs on Staffan’s bed tonight.”

    She was so not going to stoop to the insane fangirl’s level, Saffi decided, and especially since she knew she had absolutely no chance of winning. Saffi twisted her ankle to another angle. “I’d love to, umm, dance off, but I don’t think it’s going to happen, not with my ankle…”

    “Oooh. She’s walking away,” Mitch jeered. “I guess she knows groupies like her are just good for nothing but sex.”

    Saffi froze.

    She thought about Carmina and her friends and the way they had fun hanging out during the concert, the way those girls had fought for her and even helped her get past the checkpoint of Staffan’s backstage area.

    Without thinking, Saffi rotated her ankle clockwise twice, exclaiming with exaggerated shock, “Oh my goodness, I think I’m fine now.”

    Alan slowly lifted his hand up…and smacked himself in the forehead. This , he thought, was not going to be good . It had Silly Sapphire written all over, like the countless times Saffi did the craziest things back when they were kids because she was more gullible and innocent than a newborn.

    Mitch had started warming up in front of her, cracking her knuckles, stretching her limbs, and twisting her body in no way a vertebrate had a right to.

    Pretending she was just as experienced, Saffi did a little stretch, too, standing on her toes only to lose her balance a few seconds after. The other dancers choked back their laughter as she tumbled to the side and hurriedly righted herself.

    Saffi lifted her chin. “No matter how good your moves are on the dance floor, they won’t do you any good when you’re in Staffan’s bed. You’ll leave him cold and you’ll---” Saffi tried to come up with a really nasty insult. “---you’ll make his dick hide like a turtle inside a shell because you’re so bad in bed!”

    Mitch saw red. “Bitch!” And then she was charging towards Saffi