Vote which scene from Rainbow Rowell's awesome new book, Fangirl, you would like to see turned into a piece of artwork by illustrator Noelle Stevenson.
The UK paperback edition of Fangirl features some stunning artwork from Noelle Stevenson. Below is the Fangirl character line-up beautifully envisaged by Noelle.
Now we want to give you the chance to see your favourite Fangirl scene illustrated. Vote between the four scenes below and Noelle will work with Rainbow to create the most voted for scene.
*UK and Ireland only, voting closes 30 March 2014, by entering you agree to any terms and conditions listed in this post and to our site terms and conditions which can be found here
Need a refresh? Re-cap on the scenes below . . .
Scene a) The Emergency Dance Party
Cath danced. And rapped. And danced. And eventually there was knocking.
Damn. Maybe the neighbors are home.
She opened the door without looking and without turning down the music (Kanye-impaired
thinking), but ready to apologize.
It was just Levi.
“Reagan isn’t here!” Cath shouted.
He said something, but not loud enough.
“What?” she yelled.
“Then who is here?” Levi shouted, smiling. Levi. Always smiling. Wearing a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves unbuttoned at the wrists. Couldn’t even be trusted to dress himself.
“Who’s in there, listening to rap music?”
“Me,” Cath said. She was panting. She tried not to pant.
He leaned toward her so he wouldn’t have to shout. “This can’t be Cather music. I’d always pegged you as the mopey, indie type.”
He was teasing her; only genuine emergencies were allowed to interrupt the Emergency Kanye Party.
“Go away.” Cath started to shut the door.
Levi stopped it with his hand. “What are you doing?” he said, laughing, and pushing his head forward on the “doing.”
She shook her head because she couldn’t think of anything reasonable to say. And because it wouldn’t matter anyway; Levi was never reasonable. “Emergency dance party – go away.”
“Oh no,” Levi said, pushing the door open and sliding in. Too
skinny. Too tall.
Cath shut the door behind him. There was no protocol for this. She’d call Wren for a sidebar consultation if there was any chance Wren would answer the phone.
Levi stood in front of Cath, his face serious (for once) (seriously, for once) and his head deliberately bobbing up and down. “So,” he said loudly. “Emergency dance party.”
And nodded. And nodded.
Levi nodded back.
And then Cath started laughing and rolled her eyes away from
him, moving her hips from side to side. Just barely.
And then her shoulders.
And then she was dancing again. Tighter than before – her
knees and elbows almost locking – but dancing.
Scene b) Cath and Reagan scoping the dining room
Cath actually was happier now. (Not that she was going to admit that to Levi.) So far, being Reagan’s charity case didn’t require much – just going down to the dining hall together and helping Reagan ridicule everyone who walked by their table.
Reagan liked to sit next to the kitchen door, right where the buffet line dumped into the dining room. She called it parade seating, and no one was spared. “Look,” she’d said last night, “it’s Gimpy. How do you think he broke his leg?”
Cath looked up at the guy, a dangerously hip-looking character with shaggy hair and oversized glasses. “Probably tripped over his beard.”
“Ha!” Reagan said. “His girlfriend is carrying his tray. Just look at her – that is one shiny unicorn. Do you think they actually met in an American Apparel ad?”
“I’m pretty sure they met in New York City, but it took them five years to get here.”
“Oh, Wolf Girl at three o’clock,” Reagan said excitedly.
“Is she wearing her clip-on tail?”
“I don’t know, wait for it. . . . No. Damn.”
“I kinda like her tail.” Cath smiled fondly at the chubby girl with dyed black hair.
“If God put me into your life to keep you from wearing a fucking tail,” Reagan said, “I accept the assignment.”
As far as Reagan was concerned, Cath was already problematically weird. “It’s bad enough that you have homemade Simon Snow posters,” Reagan had said last night while she was getting ready for bed. “Do you have to have gay homemade Simon Snow posters?”
Cath had looked up at the drawing over her desk of Simon and Baz holding hands. “Leave them alone,” she said. “They’re in love.”
“Pretty sure I don’t remember that from the books.”
“When I write them,” Cath said, “they’re in love.”
“What do you mean when you write them?” Reagan stopped, pulling her T‑shirt down over her head. “No, you know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. It’s already hard enough to make eye
contact with you.”
Levi was right, they must be hitting it off, because now when Reagan said stuff like that, it made Cath want to laugh. If Reagan missed dinner, Cath would go down to the dining hall anyway and sit at their table. Then, when Reagan came back to the room later – if Reagan came back to the room later – Cath would tell her everything she’d missed.
Scene c) Regan giving Love Life advice to Cath
Reagan was eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. “Okay,” she said,
stabbing her spoon at Cath, “now what?”
“Now what, what?” Cath said, her mouth full of grilled cheese.
“Now what with Levi?”
Cath swallowed. “Nothing. I don’t know. Do I have to know what?”
“Do you want my help with this?”
Cath looked at Reagan. Even without her makeup and hair, the girl was terrifying. There was just no fear in her. No hesitation.
Talking to Reagan was like standing in front of an oncoming train.
“I don’t know what this is,” Cath said. She clenched her fists in her lap and forced herself to keep talking. “I feel like . . . what happened last night was just an aberration. Like it could only have happened in the middle of the night, when he and I were both really tired. Because if it had been daylight, we would have seen
how inappropriate it was—”
“I already told you,” Reagan said, “he’s not my boyfriend.”
“It’s not just that.” Cath turned her face toward the wall of windows, then back at Reagan, earnestly. “It was one thing when I had a crush on him and he was totally unattainable. But I don’t think I could actually be with someone like Levi. It would be like interspecies dating.”
Reagan let her spoon drop sloppily into her cereal. “What’s wrong with Levi?”
“Nothing,” Cath said. “He’s just . . . not like me.”
“You mean, smart?”
“Levi’s really smart,” Cath said defensively.
“I know,” Reagan said, just as defensively.
“He’s different,” Cath said. “He’s older. He smokes. And he drinks. And he’s probably had sex. I mean, he looks like he has.”
Reagan raised her eyebrows like Cath was talking crazy. And Cath thought – not for the first time, but for the first time since last night – that Levi had probably had sex with Reagan.
“And he likes to be outside,” Cath said, just to change the subject. “And he likes animals. We don’t have anything in common.”
“You’re making him sound like he’s some rowdy mountain man who, like, smokes cigars and has sex with prostitutes.”
Cath laughed, despite herself. “Like a dangerous French fur trapper.”
“He’s just a guy,” Reagan said. “Of course he’s different from you. You’re never going to find a guy who’s exactly like you – first of all, because that guy never leaves his dorm room. . . .”
“Guys like Levi don’t date girls like me.”
“Again – the girl kind?”
“Guys like Levi date girls like you.”
“And what does that mean?” Reagan asked, tilting her head.
“Normal,” Cath said. “Pretty.”
Reagan rolled her eyes.
“No,” Cath said, “seriously. Look at you. You’ve got your shit together, you’re not scared of anything. I’m scared of everything. And I’m crazy. Like maybe you think I’m a little crazy, but I only ever let people see the tip of my crazy iceberg. Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and socially inept, I’m a complete disaster.”
Reagan rolled her eyes again. Cath made a mental note to stop rolling her eyes at people.
“What would we do together?” Cath asked. “He’d want to go to the bar, and I’d want to stay home and write fanfiction.”
“I’m not going to talk you into this,” Reagan said, “especially if you’re going to be stupid. But I will say this: You’re being stupid. He already likes you. He even likes your creepy fanfiction, he won’t stop talking about it. Levi’s just a guy. A really, really good – maybe even the best – guy, and nobody’s saying you have to marry him. So stop making everything so hard, Cath. You kissed him, right? The only question is, do you want to kiss him again?”
Scene d) Simon Snow TV Marathon
There was always a Simon Snow marathon on TV on Christmas Eve. Cath and Wren always watched it, and their dad always made microwave popcorn.
They’d gone to Jacobo’s the night before for popcorn and other Christmas supplies. “If they don’t have it at the supermercado,” their dad had said happily, “you don’t really need it.” That’s how they ended up making lasagna with spaghetti noodles, and buying tamales instead of a turkey.
With the movies on, it was easy for Cath not to talk to Wren about anything important – but hard not to talk about the movies themselves.
“Baz’s hair is sick,” Wren said during Simon Snow and the Selkies Four. All the actors had longer hair in this movie. Baz’s black hair was swept up into a slick pompadour that started at his knifepoint widow’s peak.
“I know,” Cath said, “Simon keeps trying to punch him just so he can touch it.”
“Right? The last time Simon swung at Baz, I thought he was gonna brush away an eyelash.”
“Make a wish,” Cath said in her best Simon voice, “you handsome bastard.”
Their dad watched Simon Snow and the Fifth Blade with them, with a notebook on his lap. “I’ve lived with you two for too long,” he said, sketching a big bowl of Gravioli. “I went to see the new X Men movie with Kelly, and I was convinced the whole time that Professor X and Magneto were in love.”
“Well, obviously,” Wren said.
“Sometimes I think you’re obsessed with Basilton,” Agatha said onscreen, her eyes wide and concerned.
“He’s up to something,” Simon said. “I know it.”
“That girl is worse than Liza Minnelli,” their dad said.
An hour into the movie, just before Simon caught Baz rendezvousing with Agatha in the Veiled Forest, Wren got a text and got up from the couch. Cath decided to use the bathroom, just in case the doorbell was about to ring. Laura wouldn’t do that, right? She wouldn’t come to the door.
Cath stood in the bathroom near the door and heard her dad telling Wren to have a good time.
“I’ll tell Mom you said hi,” Wren said to him.
“That’s probably not necessary,” he said, cheerfully enough.
Go, Dad, Cath thought.
After Wren was gone, neither of them talked about her. They watched one more Simon movie and ate giant pieces of spaghetti-sagna, and her dad realized for the first time that they didn’t have a Christmas tree.
“How did we forget the tree?” he asked, looking at the spot by the window seat where they usually put it.
“There was a lot going on,” Cath said.
“Why couldn’t Santa get out of bed on Christmas?” her dad asked, like he was setting up a joke.
“I don’t know, why?”
“Because he’s North bi-Polar.”
“No,” Cath said, “because the bipolar bears were really bringing
“Because Rudolph’s nose just seemed too bright.”
“Because the chimneys make him Claus-trophobic.”
“Because –” Her dad laughed. “– the highs and lows were
too much for him? On the sled, get it?”
“That’s terrible,” Cath said, laughing. Her dad’s eyes looked bright, but not too bright. She waited for him to go to bed before she went upstairs.
Wren still wasn’t home. Cath tried to write, but closed her laptop after fifteen minutes of staring at a blank screen. She crawled under her blankets and tried not to think about Wren, tried not to picture her in Laura’s new house, with Laura’s new family.
Cath tried not to think of anything at all. When she cleared her head, she was surprised to find Levi there underneath all the clutter. Levi in gods’ country. Probably having the merriest Christmas of them all. Merry. That was Levi 365 days a year. (On leap years, 366. Levi probably loved leap years. Another day, another girl to kiss.)
It was a little easier to think about him now that Cath knew she’d never have him, that she’d probably never see him again. She fell asleep thinking about his dirty-blond hair and his overabundant forehead and everything else that she wasn’t quite ready to forget.
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