Guilty. “Sorry, honey. I have to pick up Sophie for soccer practice.”
“It’s like you care about them more than you care about me.”
The guilt intensified. “You know that’s not true. I’m in a hurry, that’s all. My workshop ran late.”
The three-hour workshop, where students read and gave feedback on one another’s work. We’d been divided into two groups of eight, so everyone could contribute, which gave me even less chance to hide. The other students, most of them, didn’t seem to mind. As if exposing their fears and neuroses and that time they got felt up in the Louvre trying to buy a postcard was just good story material. I was shamed by their courage. Intimidated by their writing, as colorful and contemporary as graffiti.
So far, I hadn’t offered much—a poem, an opening paragraph, the most constructive critiques I could devise. But next week was my turn to share something longer. “Something new,” Dr.Ward had said, with a significant look in my direction.
I’d stayed back after class to speak with her.
Her face got the pinched look she usually wore when she saw me. “Was there something else?”
“I was just wondering...” If Gray were right. What if—my throat closed—I didn’t actually have anything to say? “A parasite, feeding on an older man’s celebrity and creativity,” the reviewer inThe Atlanticsaid. No fresh ideas, no groundbreaking story, no voice. I cleared my throat. “Do they know?” I asked instead.
“Does who know what?”
“Do the other students know? About...”Me. “Destiny Gayle?”
She cocked her head. “Since Kettering’s book is not on the required reading list, I have no idea. You would have to ask them.”
As if.
And maybe, after all, I was okay postponing any discussion of my lack of creativity. I needed to pick up the girls from school. I was already late.
“Sorry I bothered you,” Toni said in an injured voice.
“You’re never a bother. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“I’ll call you tonight,” I promised.
I’d read every student parent guide online, trying to help Toni with her transition.Constantly talking and texting with your freshman may only make matters worse, they all said. Don’t be too available.Fine for Uncle Henry, who had always treated his growing nieces with careful, distant affection. Fine for Aunt Em, who was never demonstrative.
But my little sister needed me.
A tourist stood stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at her phone. I dodged around her.
“Excuse me,” she said plaintively. “Can you tell me how to get to the Book of Kells?”
“Sure. It’s in the old library. You’ll want to take the tour. You can purchase a ticket right through that gate.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “You must love being a student here.”
In her eyes, at least, I belonged.
I smiled back. “Itispretty great.”
Because you know what? It was. For once in my life, in spite of all my doubts, I was happy exactly where I was.
And Toni was not. The reversal in our usual roles struck at my heart.
—
The school courtyard swarmed with blue-plaid uniforms. Lily stood with a cluster of girls near the steps.
“You’re late,” she said as I approached.
