Текст книги "Fangirl"
Автор книги: Rainbow Rowell
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
SEVENTEEN
They didn’t talk in the car. And Cath didn’t cry. She was grateful for that. She already felt like such a fool.…
Because she was one.
What had she been thinking—that Levi really liked her? How could she have believed that, especially after she’d spent the last two days explaining to herself all the reasons he never would.
Maybe she’d thought it was possible because Reagan thought it was possible, and Reagan wasn’t anybody’s fool.…
When they got back to the dorms, Reagan stopped Cath from getting out of the car. “Wait.”
Cath sat, holding the passenger door open.
“I’m sorry,” Reagan said. “I really didn’t expect that to happen.”
“I just want to pretend that it didn’t,” Cath said, feeling tears burning again in her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this—and, I mean, I know he’s your best friend, but I really don’t want you to talk to him about tonight.… Or about me. Ever. I already feel like such an ass.”
“Sure,” Reagan said, “whatever you want.”
“I want to pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Okay.”
* * *
Reagan was good at not talking about things.
She didn’t mention Levi for the rest of the weekend. He called Cath Saturday morning, but she didn’t pick up. A few seconds later, Reagan’s phone rang.
“Don’t ignore him on my account,” Cath said. “It never happened.”
“Hey…,” Reagan said into the phone. “Yeah … All right … Just call me when you’re downstairs. Cath is trying to study.”
A half hour later, Reagan’s phone rang again, and she got up to leave. “See ya,” she said.
Cath nodded. “Later.”
Levi tried calling Cath again that weekend. Twice. And once he sent her a text that said, “so they found the 5th hare, now what? will trade gingerbread lattes and pumkin bread for this information.”
The fact that he misspelled “pumpkin” made Cath wince.
If she hadn’t gone to the party—if she hadn’t seen Levi in action—she would have thought this text was him asking her out on a date.
She knew she’d have to see him again. He was still Reagan’s best friend, the two of them still studied together.…
Reagan would probably keep him away completely if Cath wanted that, but Cath didn’t want Levi to ask questions. So Cath stayed away instead. She started going to the library after dinner and hanging out in Nick’s stacks. Nick generally wasn’t there; nobody was. Cath brought her laptop and tried to work on her final project, her ten-thousand-word short story, for Fiction-Writing. She’d started it—she’d started it half a dozen times—but she still didn’t have anything she wanted to finish.
Usually she ended up working on Carry On, Simon. Cath was on a streak, posting long chapters almost every night. Switching from her Fiction-Writing homework to Simon and Baz was like realizing she’d been driving in the wrong gear. She could actually feel the muscles in her forearms loosen. Her typing got faster; her breathing got easier. She’d catch herself nodding her head as she wrote, almost like she was keeping time with the words as they rushed out of her.
When the library closed, Cath would dial 911 on her phone, then run back to the dorm as fast as she could with her finger on Call.
It was more than a week before she saw Levi again. She came home from class late one afternoon, and he was sitting on Reagan’s bed while Reagan typed.
“Cather,” he said, grinning, pulling his earphones out of his head. He was listening to a lecture; she knew that now. Reagan said he listened to them all the time, and that he even saved the ones he really liked.
“Hey,” he said. “I owe you a beverage. Your choice, hot or fermented. I rocked that Outsiders quiz. Did Reagan tell you? I got an A.”
“That’s great,” Cath said, trying not to let her face show how much she wanted to kiss and kill him.
She’d thought Reagan had to work tonight. That was the only reason Cath had come home. But she didn’t have to stay here. She was going to meet Nick at the library later anyway.…
Cath pretended to get something she needed out of her desk. A pack of gum.
“Okay,” she said, “I’m taking off.”
“But you just got here,” Levi said. “Don’t you want to stay and talk about the symbolism of Johnny’s relationship with Ponyboy? And the struggle between Sodapop and Darry? Hey, do you think there’s such a thing as Outsiders fanfiction?”
“I’ve gotta go,” Cath said, trying to say it to Reagan. “Meeting somebody.”
“Who are you meeting?” Levi asked.
“Nick. My writing partner.”
“Oh. Right. Do you want me to walk you home later?”
“Nick’ll probably walk me home,” she said.
“Oh.” Levi brought his eyebrows together, but still smiled. “Cool. Later.”
She couldn’t get away from him fast enough. She got to the library and wrote a thousand words of Carry On before Nick showed up.
* * *
“Shut that thing down,” Nick said. “You’re corrupting my creative centers with static.”
“That’s what she said,” Cath said, closing her laptop.
Nick looked dubious.
“It was sort of a metaphysical ‘that’s what she said.’”
“Ah.” He set down his backpack and pulled out their notebook. “You working on your final project?”
“Indirectly,” Cath said.
“What does that mean?”
“Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don’t actually sculpt an object; they sculpt away everything that isn’t the object?”
“No.” He sat down.
“Well, I’m writing everything that isn’t my final project, so that when I actually sit down to write it, that’s all that will be left in my mind.”
“Clever girl,” he said, pushing the open notebook toward her. She flipped through it. Nick had filled five pages, front and back, since they’d last met.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I might turn in a story I worked on this summer.”
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“I don’t think so. It’s more like being really ahead of schedule.… All I can think about right now is this story.” He nudged the notebook toward Cath again. “I want you to read what I did.”
This story. Their story. Nick kept trying to call it an anti-love story. “But it’s not anti-love,” she’d argued.
“It’s anti– everything you usually find in a love story. Gooey eyes and ‘you complete me.’”
“‘You complete me’ is a great line,” Cath said. “You wish you came up with ‘you complete me.’”
Cath didn’t tell him that she’d been writing love stories—rewriting the same love story—every day for the last five years. That she’d written love stories with and without the goo, love-at-first-sight stories, love-before-first-sight stories, love-to-hate-you stories.…
She didn’t tell Nick that writing love stories was her thing. Her one true thing. And that his anti-love story read like somebody’s very first fanfic—Mary Sue to the tenth power. That the main character was obviously Nick and that the girl was obviously Winona Ryder plus Natalie Portman plus Selena Gomez.
Instead Cath fixed it. She rewrote his dialogue. She reined in the quirk.
“Why’d you cross that out?” Nick said tonight, leaning over her left shoulder. He smelled good. (Breaking news: Boys smell good.) “I liked that part,” he said.
“Our character just stopped her car in a parking lot to wish on a dandelion.”
“It’s refreshing,” Nick said. “It’s romantic.”
Cath shook her head. Her ponytail brushed Nick’s neck. “It makes her seem like a douche.”
“You have something against dandelions?”
“I have something against twenty-two-year-old women wishing on dandelions. Stopping the car to wish on dandelions. Also, the car? No. No to vintage Volvos.”
“It’s a character detail.”
“It’s a cliché. I swear to God, every surviving Volvo produced between 1970 and 1985 is being driven by quirky fictional girls.”
Nick pouted down at the paper. “You’re crossing out everything.”
“I’m not crossing out everything.”
“What are you leaving?” He leaned over more and watched her write.
“The rhythm,” Cath said. “The rhythm is good.”
“Yeah?” He smiled.
“Yeah. It reads like a waltz.”
“Make you jealous?” He smiled some more. His eyeteeth were crooked, but not bad enough to get braces.
“Definitely,” Cath said. “I could never write a waltz.”
Sometimes, when they talked like this, she was sure they were flirting. But when the notebook closed, the light always went off in Nick’s eyes. At midnight, he’d rush off to wherever he always rushed off to, probably to wrap a beer around a blond girl’s waist. To kiss her with his twisted eyeteeth showing.
Cath kept working on the scene; a whole new conversation took shape in the margin. When she looked up, Nick was still smiling at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, laughing.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just … It’s crazy that this works. Between you and me. That we can actually write together. It’s like … thinking together.”
“It’s nice,” Cath said, meaning it. “Writing is lonely.”
“You wouldn’t think we’d be on the same wavelength, you know? We’re so different.”
“We’re not that different.”
“Totally different,” he said. “Look at us.”
“We’re both English majors,” Cath said. “We’re both white. We live in Nebraska. We listen to the same music, we watch the same TV shows, we even have the same pair of Chuck Taylors—”
“Yeah. But it’s like John Lennon writing with … Taylor Swift instead of Paul McCartney.”
“Get over yourself,” Cath said. “You’re not half as pretty as Taylor Swift.”
“You know what I mean.” Nick poked her in the arm with the end of his pen.
“It’s nice,” she said, looking up at him, still not sure if they were flirting—pretty sure she didn’t want them to be. “Writing is lonely.”
There wasn’t time for Cath to write a page of her own in the notebook. She and Nick spent the rest of their night in the stacks, revamping his section. The Volvo became a rusty Neon, and the dandelion detail blew away completely.
At eleven forty-five, they packed up. When they got to the library’s front steps, Nick was already checking his phone. “Hey,” Cath said, “do you feel like walking past Pound Hall on your way to your car? We could walk together.”
He didn’t look up from his phone. “Better not. I need to get home. See you in class, though.”
“Yeah,” Cath said, “see ya.” She got out her phone and started dialing 911 before he’d disappeared into the shadows.
* * *
“Dad? It’s Cath. I was just calling to say hi. I was thinking about coming home this weekend. Give me a call.”
___
“Dad, I’m calling you at work now. It’s Thursday. I think I’m gonna come home tomorrow. Call me back, okay? Or e-mail me? Love you.”
___
“Hey, honey, it’s your dad. Don’t come home this weekend. I’m going to be gone all weekend at the Gravioli shoot. In Tulsa. I mean, come home if you want to. Throw a big party. Like Tom Cruise in … God, what is that movie? Not Top Gun—Risky Business! Have a big party. Invite a bunch of people over to watch Risky Business. I don’t have any booze, but there’s still some green bean casserole left. I love you, Cath. Are you still fighting with your sister? Don’t.”
* * *
Love Library was busier than normal that weekend; it was the week before finals, and everybody seemed to be digging in. Cath had to roam deeper and deeper into the library to find an empty study carrel. She thought of Levi and his theory that the library invented new rooms the more that you visited. Tonight she walked by a half-sized door in a stairwell. The sign said SOUTH STACKS, and Cath would swear she’d never seen it before.
She opened the door, and there was an immediate step down into a normal-sized hallway. Cath ended up in another siloish room, the mirror image of Nick’s; the wind was even blowing in the opposite direction.
She found an empty cubicle and set down her bag, taking off her coat. A girl sitting on the other side of the gray partition was watching her.
The girl sat up a little, so that Cath could see she was smiling. She looked quickly around the room, then leaned forward, holding on to the cubicle wall. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I love your shirt.”
Cath glanced down. She was wearing her KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON shirt from Etsy, the one with Baz and Simon’s faces.
“Oh,” Cath said, “thanks.”
“It’s always so cool to meet somebody else who reads fanfiction in real life.…”
Cath must have looked surprised. “Oh my God,” the girl said, “do you even know what I’m talking about?”
“Yeah,” Cath said. “Of course. I mean, I think so. Carry On, Simon?”
“Yes!” The girl laughed quietly and looked around the room again. “That was almost embarrassing. I mean, it’s like having a secret life sometimes. People think it’s so weird.… Fanfiction. Slash. You know.”
Cath nodded. “Do you read a lot of fic?”
“Not as much anymore,” the girl said. “I was an addict in high school.” Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a sweatshirt that read VERDIGRE FOOTBALL—FIGHT, HAWKS, FIGHT! She didn’t look like a creepy shut-in.… “What about you?” she asked.
“I still read a lot…,” Cath said.
“Magicath is my absolute favorite,” the girl interrupted, like she couldn’t hold it back. “I’m obsessed with Carry On. Have you been keeping up?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s been posting so much lately. Every time there’s a new chapter, I have to stop everything to read it. And then read it again. My roommate thinks I’m crazy.”
“Mine, too.”
“But it’s just so good. Nobody writes Simon and Baz like Magicath. I’m in love with her Baz. Like, in love. And I used to be a major Simon/Agatha shipper.”
Cath wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“I know, I was young.”
“If Agatha actually cared about either of them,” Cath said, “she’d pick one.”
“I know, right? When Simon broke it off with her in Carry On—such a good scene.”
“You didn’t think it was too long?”
“No,” the girl said, “did you?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“I never think the chapters are too long. I just want more and more and more.” The girl waved her hands in front of her mouth like she was Cookie Monster eating cookies. “I’m telling you, I’m obsessed with Carry On. I feel like something big is about to happen soon.”
“Me, too,” Cath said. “I think the Mage might turn on Simon.”
“No! You think?”
“I’ve just got a feeling about it.”
“It killed me how long it took Simon and Baz to get together. And now I’m dying for them to have a big love scene. That’s my only complaint about Carry On—not enough Simon/Baz action.”
“She almost never writes love scenes,” Cath said, feeling her cheeks pink.
“Yeah, but when she does, they’re hot.”
“You think?”
“Um,” the girl laughed. “Yes.”
“This is why people think we’re crazy perverts,” Cath said.
The girl just giggled some more. “I know. Sometimes I forget that there’s still a real book coming out—like, it’s hard for me to imagine that the story is going to end any other way than the way Magicath writes it.”
“Sometimes…,” Cath said, “when I’m reading canon, I forget that Simon and Baz aren’t in love.”
“Right? I love Gemma T. Leslie, I always will—I feel like she was this major force in my childhood—and I know that Magicath wouldn’t exist without GTL. But now, I think I love Magicath more. Like she might be my favorite author. And she’s never even written a book.…”
Cath’s jaw was hanging slightly open, and she was shaking her head. “That’s crazy.”
“I know,” the girl said, “but I think it’s true.… Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m talking your ear off. I just never get to talk about this stuff in real life. Except to my boyfriend. He knows what a freak I am about it.”
“Don’t apologize,” Cath said. “This was cool.”
The girl sat down, and so did Cath. She opened up her laptop and thought for a minute about Professor Piper, then opened up the latest chapter of Carry On. Something big was about to happen soon.
* * *
“Dad, it’s Cath. Are you back from Tulsa? Just checking in. Call me.”
___
“Dad? It’s Cath. Call me.”
___
“Hey, Cath, it’s your dad. I’m back. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Worry about school. No, scratch that, don’t worry at all. Try not worrying, Cath—it’s an amazing way to be. Like flying. Love you, honey, tell your sister hi.”
___
“Dad? I know you don’t want me to worry. But I would worry less if you called me back. And not at three A.M.”
* * *
“Ten days…,” Professor Piper said.
Instead of sitting in her usual spot on her desk, she was striking a pose at the windows. It was snowing outside—it had already snowed so much this year, and it was only early December—and the professor cut a dramatic figure against the icy glass.
“I’d like to believe that you’re all finished with your short stories,” she said, turning her blue eyes on them. “That you’re just tweaking and tinkering now, tugging every last loose thread—”
She walked back toward their desks and smiled at a few of them one by one. Cath felt a thrill when their eyes met.
“—but I’m a writer, too,” the professor said. “I know what it’s like to be distracted. To seek out distractions. To exhaust yourself doing every other little thing rather than face a blank page.” She smiled at one of the boys. “A blank screen …
“So if you haven’t finished—or if you haven’t started—I understand, I do. But I implore you … start now. Lock yourself away from the world. Turn off the Internet, barricade the door. Write as if your life depended on it.
“Write as if your future depended on it.
“Because I can promise you this one small thing.…” She let her eyes rest on another one of her favorites and smiled. “If you’re planning to take my advanced course next semester, you won’t get in unless you get a B in this class. And this short story is half your final grade.
“This class is for writers,” she said. “For people who are willing to set aside their fears and move past distractions.
“I love you all—I do—but if you’re going to waste your time, I’m not going to waste mine.” She stopped at Nick’s desk and smiled at him. “Okay?” she said only to him.
Nick nodded. Cath looked down at her desk.
* * *
She hadn’t washed her sheets, but there wasn’t any Levi left in them.
Cath pushed her face into her pillow as nonchalantly as she could, even though there was no one else in the room to judge her for it.
Her pillowcase smelled like a dirty pillowcase. And a little bit like Tostitos.
Cath closed her eyes and imagined Levi lying next to her, his legs touching and crossing hers. She remembered the way her throat had rasped that night and the way he’d put his arm around her, like he wanted to hold her up, like he wanted to make everything easy for her.
She remembered his flannel shirt. And his needy, pink mouth. And how she hadn’t spent nearly enough time with her fingers in the back of his hair.
And then she was crying and her nose was running. She wiped it on her pillow because, at this point, what did it matter?
Simon ran as fast as he could. Faster. Casting spells on his feet and legs, casting spells on the branches and stones in his path.
He could already be too late—at first he thought he was, when he saw Agatha lying in a heap on the forest floor.… But it was a trembling heap. Agatha may be frightened, but she was still whole.
Baz was kneeling over her and trembling just as hard. His hair hung forward in a way he normally wouldn’t allow, and his pale skin glowed oddly in the moonlight, like the inside of a shell. Simon wondered for a moment why Agatha wasn’t trying to escape. She must be dazed, he thought. Vampires could do that, couldn’t they?
“Go. Away,” Baz hissed.
“Baz…,” Simon said, holding his hand out.
“Don’t look at me.”
Simon avoided Baz’s eyes, but he didn’t look away. “I’m not afraid of you,” Simon said.
“You should be. I could kill you both. Her first, then you, before you’d even realized I was doing it. I’m so fast, Simon.…” His voice broke on the last two words.
“I know.…”
“And so strong…”
“I know.”
“And so thirsty.”
Simon’s voice was almost a whisper. “I know.”
Baz’s shoulders shook. Agatha started to sit up—she must be recovering. Simon looked at her gravely and shook his head. He took another step toward them. He was close now. In Baz’s reach.
“I’m not afraid of you, Baz.”
“Why not?” Baz whined. It was an animal whine. Wounded.
“Because I know you. And I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” Simon held out his hand and gently pushed back the errant lock of black hair. Baz’s head tilted up with the touch, his fangs popped and gleaming. “You’re so strong, Baz.”
Baz reached for him then, clutching Simon around the waist and pressing his face into his stomach.
Agatha slid out from between them and ran toward the fortress. Simon held Baz by the back of his neck and curved his body over him. “I know,” Simon said. “I know everything.”
—from Carry On, Simon, posted February 2011 by FanFixx.net author Magicath
