Текст книги "Fangirl"

Автор книги: Rainbow Rowell

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

THIRTY-FOUR

They stepped into the elevator, and Cath pressed 9.

“I can’t believe we’ve been arguing for fifteen minutes about whether Simon Snow should reach for his sword or his wand in a lame piece of fanfiction.”

And by “I can’t believe,” Cath meant “I can’t believe how happy I am.” Wren was coming up to her room, and they were going to work on Carry On until Levi was done with work. This was the routine now. Cath liked routines. She felt flushed with serotonin.

Wren shoved her. “It’s not lame. It’s important.”

“Only to me.”

“And me. And everyone else who’s reading. And besides, you by yourself should be enough. You’ve been working on this for almost two years. This is your life’s work.”

“God, that’s pathetic.”

“I meant your life’s work so far—and it’s extremely impressive. It would be, even if you didn’t have thousands of fans. Jandro can’t believe how many readers you have. He thinks you should try to monetize it.… He doesn’t really get the whole fanfiction thing. We tried to watch The Mage’s Heir, and he fell asleep.”

Cath gasped, only partly in jest. “You never told me he was a nonbeliever.”

“I wanted you to get to know him first. What about Levi?”

The elevator doors opened, and they got off on Cath’s floor. “He loves it,” she said. “Simon Snow. Fanfiction, everything. He makes me read my stuff out loud to him.”

“Isn’t he squicked by the slash?”

“No, he’s Zen. Why? Is Jandro?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Is he squicked by gay people?”

“No … Well, maybe. It’s more the idea of straight girls writing about gay boys; he thinks it’s deviant.”

That made Cath giggle. Then Wren started giggling with her.

“He thinks I’m the deviant one,” Cath said.

“Shut up.” Wren shoved her again.

Cath stopped—there was a boy standing outside her room.

The wrong boy.

“What’s up?” Wren stopped, too. “Did you forget something?”

“Cath,” Nick said, taking a few steps forward. “Hey. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Cath said. “Hey, Nick.”

“Hey,” he said again.

Cath was still six feet away from her room. She didn’t want to come any closer. “What are you doing here?”

Nick’s eyebrows were low, and his mouth was open. She could see his tongue sliding along his teeth. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Is this your library guy?” Wren asked, looking at him like he was a photo on Facebook, not a human being.

“No,” Cath said, reacting more to the “your” than to anything else.

Nick glanced at Wren, then decided to ignore her. “Look, Cath—”

“You couldn’t just call?” Cath asked.

“I didn’t have your cell number. I tried to call your room phone—you’re in the student directory—I left a bunch of voice mails.”

“We have voice mail?”

The door to her room opened abruptly, and Reagan looked out. “Is this yours?” she asked Cath, nodding at Nick.

“No,” Cath said.

“I didn’t think so. I told him he had to wait outside.”

“You were right,” Wren said, not very quietly. “He does look very Old World.…”

Reagan and Wren didn’t know what happened with Nick, how he’d used Cath. All they knew was that she didn’t want to talk about him anymore—and that she refused to go to Love Library. She’d been too embarrassed to tell anyone the details.

Cath didn’t feel embarrassed now, now that she was looking right at him. She felt angry. Robbed. She’d written some good stuff with Nick, and now she’d never get it back. If she tried to use any of those lines, any of those jokes, people could say she stole them from him. Like she’d ever steal anything from Nick—except for the paisley scarf he was wearing; she’d always liked that scarf. But Nick could keep his shitty second-person, present-tense. And all his skinny girl characters with nicotine-stained fingers. (Those girls were telling Cath’s jokes now; it was infuriating.)

“Look, I just need to talk to you,” he said. “It won’t take long.”

“So talk,” Wren said.

“Yeah,” Reagan said, leaning against the doorjamb. “Talk.”

Nick looked like he was waiting for Cath to bail him out, but she wasn’t in the mood. She thought about walking away and leaving him here to deal with Reagan and Wren, who were difficult and unpleasant a lot of the time even if they liked you.

“Go ahead,” Cath said. “I’m listening.”

“Okay…” Nick cleared his throat. “Um. Fine. I came to tell you, to tell Cath”—he looked at her—“that my story was selected for Prairie Schooner. That’s the university’s literary journal,” he said to Wren. “It’s an incredible honor for an undergraduate.”

“Congratulations,” Cath said, feeling all used up all over again. Like he was robbing her again, this time at gunpoint.

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Well … The faculty adviser, you know, Professor Piper, she, um—” He looked around the hallway, agitated, then gave a little huff. “She knows that you helped me out on my story, and she thought it would be nice if we shared the credit.”

“His story…” Wren looked at Cath.

“Nice?” Cath asked.

“It’s a prestigious journal,” Nick said. “And it will be a full coauthor credit—we can even do it alphabetically. Your name will come first.”

Cath felt someone’s hand on her back. “Hey,” Levi said, kissing the top of her head. “Got off early. Hey,” he said brightly to Nick, holding his arm out and around Cath to shake hands. “I’m Levi.”

Nick took his hand, looking confused and hassled. “Nick.”

“Nick from the library,” Levi said, still cheerful, resting his arm around Cath’s shoulders.

Nick looked back at Cath. “So what do you think? Is that cool? Will you tell Professor Piper that it’s cool?”

“I don’t know,” Cath said. “It’s just…” Just, just, just. “After everything, I’m not sure I’m comfortable…”

He pressed his navy blue eyes into her. “You’ve got to say yes, Cath. This is such an opportunity for me. You know how badly I want this.”

“Then take it,” Cath said quietly. She was trying to pretend that everyone in her whole life wasn’t standing right there listening. “You can have it, Nick. You don’t have to share it with me.”

Nick was pretending, too. “I can’t,” he said, moving another step closer. “She—Professor Piper—says it runs with both of our names or not at all. Cath. Please.”

The hallway had gotten very quiet.

Reagan was looking at Nick like she was already tying him to the railroad tracks.

Wren was looking at him like she was one of the cool girls in his stories. Oozing contempt.

Levi was smiling. Like he’d smiled at those drunk guys at Muggsy’s. Before he’d talked Jandro into throwing a punch.

Cath went back to pretending they weren’t there. She thought about Nick’s story—their story?—about everything she’d poured into it and the chance, now, that she might get something out.

And then she thought about sitting next to Nick in the stacks, trying to get him to let go of the notebook.

Levi squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Cath said. “But I don’t want any credit. You were right all along. It’s your story.”

“No,” he said, clenching his teeth. “I can’t lose this.”

“You’ll get another opportunity. You’re a great writer, Nick,” she said, and meant it. “You don’t need me.”

“No. I can’t lose this. I already lost my teaching assistantship because of you.”

Cath stepped back. Into Levi.

Reagan opened the door wider, and Wren pushed past Nick, pushing Cath into the room. “It was nice to meet you,” Levi said, and you’d have to really know Levi to know that he didn’t mean it.

Nick held his ground, like he still thought he might talk Cath into helping him.

Reagan kicked the door shut in his face. “Were you really going out with that guy?” she asked before it had quite closed. “Was that your library boyfriend?”

“Writing partner,” Cath said, avoiding them all, setting her bag on her desk.

“What a douche,” Reagan muttered. “I’m pretty sure my mom has that scarf.”

“Did he steal your story?” Wren asked. “The one you were working on together?”

“No. Not exactly.” Cath spun around. “It doesn’t matter,” she said with as much iron as she could. “Okay?”

She looked up at all three faces, all ready to be offended for her, and she realized that it really didn’t matter. Nick—Nick who couldn’t write his own anti-love story without her—was ancient history.

Cath grinned at Levi.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grinning back because he couldn’t help it. (Bless him. Bless him to infinity and beyond.)

“I’m great,” she said.

Her sister was still sizing Cath up. “Great,” Wren said, deciding something. “Okay. Great.” Then she turned to Levi and punched his arm. “All right, Lieutenant Starbuck, since you’re here, you might as well take me to FarmHouse. And you might as well get us White Chocolate Mochas on the way.”

“Might as well leave now,” Levi said gamely. “I’m parked in the fire lane.”

Cath picked up her bag again.

“And I want you both to know,” Levi said, opening the door—Cath peeked out to make sure Nick was gone—“that I know that was a Battlestar Galactica reference.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Wren said, “you’re a first-class geek.”

*   *   *

When they got to Jandro’s frat house, Levi got out again to help Wren. He only sometimes helped Cath in and out anymore. Usually she was already there before he got a chance. When Wren got out of the truck, Cath reluctantly slid away from the driver’s seat and buckled her seat belt.

Levi started the truck and shifted gears without looking at her. He hadn’t really looked at her since they’d left her room.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just hungry. Are you hungry?” He still didn’t look at her.

“Is this about Nick?” she asked. She realized that she was waiting for it to be about Nick.

“No,” Levi said. “Should it be? You seemed like you didn’t want to talk about him.”

“I don’t,” Cath said.

“Okay. Are you hungry?”

“No. Are you jealous?”

“No.” He shook his head, like he was shaking something off; then he turned to her and smiled. “Do you want me to be?” He raised an eyebrow. “I can throw a big tantrum if you like that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think so,” Cath said. “Thanks, though.”

“Good. I’m too hungry to rage. Do you mind if we stop somewhere?”

“No,” she said. “Or I could make you something if you want. Eggs.”

Levi beamed at her. “God, yes. Can I watch?”

Cath smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

*   *   *

Levi wanted an omelette. He got the eggs and cheese out of the refrigerator, and Cath found a pan and butter. (This kitchen almost didn’t remind Cath of the missing blond girl anymore. That girl had no staying power.)

Cath had just cracked three eggs when Levi tugged on her ponytail. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Why doesn’t your sister like me?”

“Everyone likes you,” Cath said, whisking the eggs with a fork.

“Then how come you only hang out with her when I’m not around?”

Cath glanced back at him. He was leaning against the sink.

“Cheese,” she said, nodding at his hands. “Grate.” When he just kept looking at her, Cath said, “Maybe I like having you all to myself.”

“Maybe…,” he said, raking one hand into his hair. “Maybe I embarrass you.”

She poured the eggs into the pan and reached for the cheese grater herself. “What am I embarrassed by? Your rangy good looks or your irresistible personality?”

“Alejandro is a Regents Scholar,” Levi said softly behind her. “And his family owns half the Sand Hills.”

“Wait … what?” Cath set everything down and turned back to him. “You really think I’m embarrassed by you?”

Levi smiled gently and shrugged. “I’m not angry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re crazy. I didn’t even know those things about Jandro, and anyway, who cares?” Cath reached up to his chest and clenched her fists in his black sweatshirt. “God. Levi. Look at you … you’re…” She didn’t have words for what Levi was. He was a cave painting. He was The Red Balloon. She lifted her heels and pulled him forward until his face was so close, she could look at only one of his eyes at a time. “You’re magic,” she said.

Levi’s eyes smiled almost shut. She kissed the corner of his mouth, and he moved his face to catch her lips.

When Cath heard the eggs start to snap, she pulled away—but Levi took hold of her waist.

“Why, then?” he asked. “Doesn’t Wren like me? Do I cramp your style? I can tell you don’t want me around when she’s there.”

Cath pushed against his chest, away, and went back to the stove, quickly grating the cheese over the eggs. “It has nothing to with you.”

Levi tried to move into her line of sight, leaning against the counter next to the stove. “How do you figure?”

“It’s just … nothing, it’s weird,” she said. “It’d be different if you’d grown up with us, or if you’d met us both at the same time—”

“What would be different?”

Cath shrugged and scraped at the omelette with a wooden spatula. “Then I would know that you had enough information to choose me.”

Levi leaned over the stove, trying again to catch her eye.

“Get back,” Cath said, “you’re going to burn yourself.”

He backed up, but only few inches. “Of course I chose you.”

“But you didn’t know Wren.”

“Cath…”

She wished there was more to do with omelettes than watch them. “I know you think she’s pretty—”

“You know that because I think you’re pretty.”

“You said she was hot.”

“When?”

“When you met her.” Levi looked confused for a second, one eyebrow arched beautifully. “You called her Superman,” Cath said.

“Cather,” he said, remembering, “I was trying to get your attention. I was trying to say that you were hot without actually saying it.”

“Well, it sucked.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached out for her waist again. She kept looking down at the eggs.

“I know that you like me,” she said.

“You know that I love you.”

Cath kept staring at the pan. “But she’s a lot like me. Some of our best friends couldn’t even tell us apart. And then, when they could, it would be because Wren was the better one. Because she talked more or smiled more—or just flat-out looked better.”

“I can tell you apart just fine.”

“Long hair. Glasses.”

“Cath … come on, look at me.” He pulled at her belt loops, and she flipped the omelette before she let herself turn toward him. “I can tell you apart,” he said.

“We sound the same. We kind of talk the same. We have all the same gestures.”

“True,” he said, nodding, holding her chin up, “but it’s almost like that makes your differences more dramatic.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means, sometimes your sister will say something, and it will sort of shock me to hear her saying it with your voice.”

Cath looked up to his eyes, unsure. They were big and earnest. “Like what?”

“I can’t think of anything specific,” he said. “It’s like … she smiles more than you. But she’s harder somehow. Closed up.”

“I’m the one who never leaves my room.”

“I’m not explaining this right.… I like Wren,” he said, “what I know of her. But she’s more … forceful than you.”

“Confident.”

“Partly. Maybe. More like—she takes what she wants from a situation.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, I know,” Levi said. “But it’s not you. You don’t push through every moment. You pay attention. You take everything in. I like that about you—I like that better.”

Cath closed her eyes and felt tears catch on her cheeks.

“I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.” He kissed her mouth. “Look at me.”

She did.

“I choose you over everyone.”

Cath took a painful breath and reached up with one hand to touch his chin. “I love you,” she said. “Levi.”

Levi’s face broke open just before he kissed her.

He pulled away again a few seconds later.…

“Say it again.”

*   *   *

She had to make him another omelette.

“Do you know what the most disappointing thing is about being a magician?”

Penelope shook her head and rolled her eyes, a combination she’d gotten terribly good at over the years. “Don’t be silly, Simon. There’s nothing disappointing about magic.”

“There is,” he argued, only partly just to tease her. “I always figured we’d learn a way to fly by now.”

“Oh, pish,” Penelope said. “Anyone can fly. Anyone with a friend.”

She held her ringed hand out to him and grinned—“Up, up and away!”

Simon felt the steps drift away from him and laughed his way through a slow somersault. When he was upright again, he leveled his wand at Penelope.

—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie

THIRTY-FIVE

“Look at them,” Reagan said, shaking her head fondly. “They’re all grown up.”

Cath turned to the cereal bar and watched two very hungover freshmen fumble with the scoops.

“I can still remember the night they came home with their first My Little Pony tattoos,” Reagan said.

“And the morning that we noticed those tattoos were infected,” Cath added, drinking her tomato juice. That’s something Cath would miss about the dorms. Four different kinds of juice on tap, including tomato—where else could you get tomato juice? Reagan hated watching her drink it. “It’s like you’re drinking blood,” Reagan would say, “if blood had the consistency of gravy.”

Reagan was still gazing at the hungover girls. “I wonder how many familiar faces we’ll see next year. Every year it’s a new batch, and most of them don’t come back to the dorms for a second tour.”

“Next year,” Cath said, “I won’t make the mistake of getting so attached.”

Reagan snorted. “We need to turn in our housing forms if we want the same room next year.”

Cath set down her juice glass. “Wait … Are you saying you want to live with me again?”

“Eff yeah, you’re never even home. It’s like I’ve finally got a room to myself.”

Cath smiled. Then took another long pull of tomato juice. “Well … I’ll think about it. Do you have any more hot ex-boyfriends?”

*   *   *

Wren was right.

She’d been on Cath to post a chapter of Carry On, Simon every single night. “Otherwise you’re never going to beat The Eighth Dance.”

They were going to go to the midnight release party at the Bookworm, back in Omaha. Levi wanted to go, too.

“Are we gonna dress up in costumes?” he’d asked the other night, up in his room.

“We haven’t done costumes since junior high.” Cath was sitting on the love seat with her laptop. She could write with him in the room now; she was so focused on Carry On, she could have written in a room full of circus animals.

“Damn,” he said, “I wanted to do costumes.”

“Who do you want to go as?”

“The Mage. Or maybe one of the vampires—Count Vidalia. Or Baz. Would that make you wild with desire?”

“I’m already wild with desire.”

“She said from across the room.”

“Sorry,” Cath said, rubbing her eyes. Levi had been needling her all night. Teasing her. Trying to get her to come out of her head and play. “I just need to finish this chapter if I want Wren to read it before she falls asleep.”

Cath was so close to the end of Carry On that every chapter felt important. If she wrote something stupid now, she wouldn’t be able to fix it or rein it in later. There was no room left for filler; every chapter meant the resolution of a plot line or a character’s last big scene. She wanted all of them to get the ending they deserved. Not just Baz and Simon and Agatha and Penelope, but all the other characters, too—Declan the reluctant vampire hunter, Eb the goatherd, Professor Benedict, Coach Mac.…

Cath was trying not to pay attention to her hit counts—that just added more pressure—but she knew they were off the chart. In the tens of thousands. She was getting so many comments that Wren had taken to handling them for her, using Cath’s profile to thank people and answer basic questions.

Cath was keeping up in her classes, but just barely. All her other assignments felt like the hoops she had to jump through to get to Simon and Baz.

One thing about writing this much … her brain never really shifted out of the World of Mages. When she sat down to write, she didn’t have to wade back into the story slowly, waiting to get used to the temperature. She was just there, all the time. All day. Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.

Her laptop snapped shut, and Cath pulled back her fingers just in time. She hadn’t even noticed Levi moving over to the love seat. He took her computer and gingerly set it on the floor. “Commercial break.”

“Books don’t have commercials.”

“I’m not much of a book person,” he said, pulling her into his lap. “Intermission, then?”

Cath climbed onto him reluctantly, still thinking about the last thing she’d typed, not sure she wanted to leave it behind. “Books don’t have intermissions either.”

“What do they have?”

“Endings.”

His hands were on her hips. “You’ll get there,” he said, nosing at the collar of her T-shirt. His hair tickled her chin, and it broke the spell in Cath’s head. Or cast a new one.

“Okay,” she sighed, kissing his head and rocking into his stomach. “Okay. Intermission.”

*   *   *

“You’ve got to give Penelope her own chapter,” Wren said. They were walking back to the dorms, sloshing through puddles. Wren had yellow rubber boots, and she kept jumping into puddles, soaking Cath’s legs and ankles.

“Where would I put it?” Cath puffed. The snow was melting, but she could still see her breath. “I should have written it two weeks ago. Now it’ll seem forced.… This is why real authors wait until they’ve got a whole book before they show anybody; I’d kill to go back to the beginning and rewrite.”

“You’re a real author,” Wren said, splashing. “You’re like Dickens. He wrote in installments, too.”

“I’m going to destroy those boots.”

“Jealous.” Wren stepped in another puddle.

“I’m not jealous. They’re gross. I bet they make your feet sweat.”

“Who cares, nobody can tell.”

“I’ll be able to tell when you get back to my room and take them off. They’re disgusting.”

“Hey,” Wren said, “I sort of want to talk to you about that.”

“What.”

“Your room. Rooms. Roommates … I was thinking that next year we could room together. We could live in Pound, if you want; I don’t care.”

Cath stopped and turned to her sister. Wren kept walking for a second before she noticed and stopped, too.

“You want to be roommates?” Cath asked.

Wren was nervous. She shrugged. “Yeah. If you want to. If you’re not still mad about … everything.”

“I’m not mad,” Cath said. She remembered the day last summer when Wren told her she didn’t want to live together. Cath had never felt so betrayed. Almost never. “I’m not mad,” she said again, this time really meaning it.

Wren’s lips quirked up, and she stamped a puddle between them. “Good.”

“But I can’t,” Cath said.

Wren’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I already told Reagan I’d live with her again.”

“But Reagan hates you.”

“What? No, she doesn’t. Why would you say that?”

“She’s so mean to you.”

“That’s just her way. I think I’m her best girl friend, actually.”

“Oh,” Wren said. She looked small and wet. Cath wasn’t sure what to say.…

“You’re my best friend,” Cath said awkwardly. “You know. Built-in. For life.”

Wren nodded. “Yeah … No, it’s okay. I should have thought of that, of you guys living together again.” She started walking and Cath followed.

“What about Courtney?”

“She’s moving into the Delta Gamma house.”

“Oh,” Cath said. “I forgot she was a pledge.”

“But that’s not why I asked you,” Wren said, like it was important to say so.

“You should move to Pound. You could live on our floor—I’m serious.”

Wren smiled and squared her shoulders, already recovering herself. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay. Why not? It’s closer to campus.”

Cath leapt into the next big puddle, soaking Wren up to her thighs. Wren jumped and screamed, and it was totally worth it. Cath’s feet were already soaked.

“Morgan’s grace, Simon—slow down.” Penelope held an arm out in front of his chest and glanced around the weirdly lit courtyard. “There’s more than one way through a flaming gate.”

—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie