But it didn’t feel that way.
It felt like they were judging me.
“The girl always gets blamed,” Reeti had said.
I stared down at my notebook, my face flaming, pretending to write while they said the requisite nice things to end the critique. “Strong imagery.” “Varied sentence structure.” The workshop rule about not responding was suddenly a blessing. My throat was too tight to speak.
“The thing is, you made us care about her choices. So, good job,” Erinma said.
I mumbled thanks as they collected laptops and book bags. They headed off, in twos and threes, until only Maeve Ward and I were left.
My insides felt hollowed out. I needed to go. It was Thursday. Sophie had football practice. But I couldn’t find the energy to stand.
“They didn’t understand it at all,” I blurted to the nearly empty room. I wanted desperately for her to approve of me, to reassure me, to tell me I belonged.
“Maybe they understood more than you think,” Maeve said.
Denial burned inside me. But I’d never been good at confrontation.
“Don’t dismiss their comments because your feelings are hurt. What they’re saying tells you where you need to improve, that’s all.”
The lines in my notebook blurred.
“I encouraged you to try something new,” Maeve continued relentlessly. “Why are you still working on this project?”
Because Gray thought it was good. Because he said it showed promise.
I looked up, near despair. “I’ve been working on this story forthree years.” Closer to four. “I know the setting. I know the characters. I can’t just throw it all away.”
“Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore. What you know encompasses an incredibly limited view of the world. You’re only twenty-six, for Christ’s sake. Anything you know is bound to be derivative. You should be writing what you don’t know. Write from what you feel or want to explore or need to work out. What is it? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Her words hammered me like stones.
“Idon’tknow, okay?” I snapped. “I don’tknow.”
“Well.” Maeve regarded me, a look almost of satisfaction on her face. “That’s a start.”
—
I told you she was a witch,” Reeti said. “What will you do now?”
I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Now? I’m at soccer with Sophie.”
I watched my ten-year-old charge line up to kick the ball with the other girls, oblivious to my presence. That was good, I thought, remembering long-ago practices with Toni. I didn’t want Sophie to think she had to perform for me.
“I meant about The Ward,” Reeti said.
“Oh.” I felt stress rising, a hot lump in my throat, and swallowed. “Find some way to give her what she wants, I guess.”
“You’re good at that.”
“Apparently not.”
“I’m not talking about your writing. I’m talking aboutyou. You’re sonice.”
I smiled. “That’s a compliment, right?”
“Of course. You need cheering up,” Reeti declared. “I’m going to a party tonight. Do you want to come?”
