Will wants us all to watch a horror film that's new to Netflix, because he's too scared to watch it by himself, so Sylvie makes batches of popcorn and Kitty makes tea and we ram into Kitty's flat, on the sofa and on cushions on the floor. Harper hasn't looked at me, although I've been trying to catch his eye for the last hour. He is eating popcorn and watching the movie with rigid concentration, and hasn't uttered a word.

Unlike Harper, Will has uttered a lot of words.

'Uh, no, honey, do not go in there,' he tells the TV. 'Why are you so stupid? Don't go in the house alone. Yes of course the lights don't work. Oh yeah, great, the torch on your phone is perfect, use that. You idiot. No, don't go in the basement. As if! No, as if anyone would do that. Stop, girl, stop!'

'Will,' Ed has grumbled on multiple accounts, but Will continues.

'Oh, yes, just follow the sound of crying, great idea,' Will cries at the TV. I can feel him all tense beside me, waiting for the inevitable jump moment as the suspenseful music builds.

I glance over at him, to see that his hands are clenched in his lap. Today he's wearing a t-shirt with "Can you believe?" in bold print.

'Ed, I have a friend's art show on Saturday night and I really should go, is there anyone who can cover my shift at the bar?' Charlotte's voice breaks through the suspense.

'So no one actually wants to watch this film, then?' Ed asks with a sigh.

'I'm watching!' Will says, his voice higher than normal.

My thoughts race through the possibilities. Harper and me working side by side in the bar, for an entire evening. He wouldn't be able to ignore me there.

'I could cover the bar shift,' I say. 'I don't have many shifts this week.'

Ed doesn't look at me. 'I'll ask Lou if she's free to do a shift.'

'Ed, I could do it,' I say.

'I don't have time to train you,' Ed says, which is stupid, because Ed wouldn't even be the one to train me. But Harper remains silent, watching the film.

'I'm sure I can figure it out, I've hung around the bar enough,' I say weakly, trying to make a joke about it, but Ed is firm, and then Will requests we stay silent.

'Girl, I told you not to go into that basement!' Will yells at the screen, as the suspenseful music finally breaks.

But I'm not watching the movie anymore. I grip onto my phone for its support, and scroll through Instagram, for something to distract me. I can feel a heat in my cheeks and a tightness in my throat from the embarrassment of Ed turning me down for the shift in front of everyone.

I should be able to do that bar shift. And I'm angry that Ed shut me down so quickly. And I'm angry that Harper refuses to look at me, and won't talk to me. I even texted him, in case he'd reply to that, but it's radio silence, even though he's right here. Right here. Silent.

I look over at Harper again - I can't stop looking at him - and see he's pulled out his little blue notebook. It's been a while since I've seen him writing in it. I can't read what he's writing; his handwriting is tiny and illegible, but I let myself imagine it's something angry, or full of angst. I want to know what's going through his head. I'm desperate to find out why, after kissing and cuddling together in his bed, he's suddenly not talking to me.

'Lou says she's free Saturday night to do a shift,' Ed says, and I realise that in the three minutes that I've been fixated on scrolling through Instagram, Ed has already texted her.

'Oh, and she says she's going out afterwards to Electric Brixton and can get us all on door. Anyone keen?'

'I'm down,' Will says. 'Love me some Brixton boys.'

The others express their interest, but I stay silent. I'm still pissed at Ed, and I want him to realise that.

But minutes pass, and Ed doesn't seem to realise that I haven't spoken up.

I don't even like this movie, anyway, and no one really cares that I'm here, so I take my cup of tea, grumble a weak excuse, and head across the hall to my flat.

But as soon as I'm in the other flat alone I realise that the horror movie has creeped me out a fair bit, and I don't like being in the flat alone. But I can't go back; I've already made my exit.

This bedroom creeps me out. Matt's bedroom. Ever since I've been here, I dream of two little boys, and I can't help think that the dreams are true, somehow. That little boy with the dark brown hair and the deep eyes, staring at me, in my sleep. Even though I've turned the room into my own space, with pink cushions and fairy lights and stacks of my own books, this place has an ominous feel to it. Like it doesn't belong to me.

I keep my bedroom light on while watching a Disney movie on Netflix, and hope in the back of my mind that someone will notice my absence and ask if I'm okay.

But nobody does.

I spend the week trying, miserably, to read War and Peace, and working my butt off in the bookshop, trying to impress Ed. Harper still doesn't talk to me, and I resolutely decide that I'll refuse to talk to him too. So I make hundreds of coffees, grind my way through Russian literature, and stay up late every night baking cakes and sweets.

The only good thing about the week is that Sylvie asks me to read one of her short stories. When I read her piece I am crushed by it. I'm absolutely flattened, because when I read her prose I realise that I never knew Sylvie. I knew a version of her - the version with the fake nails and the winged eyeliner - but now I've seen inside her brain. And her short story kills me, and makes me ache with a longing for something I can't even describe.

Her story is not about love, or heartbreak, or loss, or anything that's tangibly sad. It's just about a girl, trying to sort out her own mind, and it makes me weak, and angry, and sad, and passionate, all at once.

When I read Sylvie's writing, I realise that I'm not the only one who is terrified she doesn't fit in. I'm not the only one who spends hours obsessing over what it means to be me - in appearance, in how I present to the world, in how others perceive me, in whether others like me. It's like Sylvie has scooped every single insecurity I have about myself out of my brain, and dumped it on a page.

When I read it, I cry.

• Author's Note •

Hello welcome to Team Sylvie, everyone is welcome here because Sylvie is the best and I love her.

Anyway yes, thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the comments!

And my question for the chapter is...

What's your favourite social media app? Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Youtube, something else I don't even know about because I'm super old?

See you next chapter!

elle xx