I opened my mouth.
AJ, heavyset, head shaved, piercings glinting under the fluorescents, said, “Tell the world about my trauma.”
“Well—”
Charlie, lanky and pale and with a remarkable bowl-cut, was clasping their hands with glee.“Talk to Maggie McLaughlin.She inventedDetectives and Dragons.”
I forgot what I’d been about to say because, let’s be real:Detectives and Dragonssounded amazing (whatever it was).But I recovered and said, “No.No.And no.”
The ducklings stared back at me with: a) the certain knowledge they were smarter and cooler than me (Thatcher); b) the certain knowledge that I was yet another part of the establishment trying to silence them (AJ); and c) confusion (Charlie).
This is what happens, I told myself, when you take your students out of their natural environment: a small, windowless classroom.
“We’re here to—” I began.
“We know,” AJ said.“Learn, network, and have fun.”
“Yes.But don’t say it like that.You should be excited!This is your first con, right?”
Thatcher didn’t answer, but then Thatcher probably wouldn’t have admitted to a firstanything.AJ mumbled assent.Charlie was still glancing around, eagerness painting their face.
“I learn best from a writer who has real experience.”Thatcher had been winding up to this all week, and I knew where it was headed.“I mean, we all know that the only truth in writing comes from our willingness to go out into the world, to face death personally, so we can know what life means.Like you, Dash.”He adjusted his beanie and, almost absently, added, “These people all look like they came out of a basement.”
“That’s such a toxic, privileged view of writing,” AJ began.“Think about how women of color face death every day of their lives—”
“DETECTIVE DRAGON!”Charlie waved both hands at a woman across the room.(They could have given Millie a run for her money.) The woman gave Charlie a confused frown, and Charlie shook their head.“Oops, no, sorry.”
“Excuse me?”A man stood a few feet away—not quite close enough to intrude, but impossible to miss.He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and thin in a wiry way.He had a narrow jaw and an intent gaze, like he’d peeled off the top couple of layers and was looking at something deeper.He wore pointy shoes, a crisp white shirt, and a raspberry-colored trench coat with a flared hem barely long enough to cover his rear end.“Mr.Dane?”
“Yes,” I said.“Hi, that’s me.”And then I said, “I’m Dash Dane.”
“Julian Haskell,” the narrow-jawed man said.“I’m so sorry to surprise you like this, but—” He gave me a surprisingly disarming grin.“—you haven’t been answering my emails.”
The name did ring a bell, although only faintly.I’d received a handful of emails from readers about my novel,A Work in Progress, as well as a truly staggering amount of spam—people who wanted to help me make it into a luxury hardcover that would be printed in China, people who wanted to help me advertise my book on social media, people who wanted to narrate the audiobook version.(Apparently I’d also gotten on some sort of wealth management list, because there were also a lot of spam emails about how I could find clients and grow their wealth.) Maybe it had been a mistake, in the end, to use my real name instead of a pen name?
“I’d like to talk to you about some ideas I have for—”
And then it came back to me, and the words popped out of my mouth: “The TV show?”
“A TV show?”Charlie asked.“Oh my God, Mr.Dane!”
I flapped my hands at the ducklings.“What are you doing here?Go!Confer!”
They moved off, but not before I heard AJ say, “Why would they make a TV show about him?What kind of trauma hashehad?”
In the wake ofthatlittle gem, Julian smiled.“Yes, the TV show.Actually, there are a number of things I’d like to talk to you about if you have a few minutes.”
“Well—” I began.
Julian gave me a smile that hovered between apologetic and conspiratorial.“I’m sorry again for catching you like this.”
“To be totally honest, I thought those emails were spam.”
He laughed.“Fair enough.Is there somewhere we could sit down?”
“Mr.Haskell, I don’t mean to be rude, butareyou serious?A TV show?”
“Serious enough to fly out here so I could get you to talk to me,” Julian said.
