Mal shook their head. Emerson kept on whispering.
“They said we’re fully funded again, is that true? And that we can start in the new semester! And that Ms. Merritt will be our advisor again, and—”
“No,” Mal said, their voice low but insistent. “No, we won’t be doing that.”
“Did a new e-mail come through?” Emerson was oblivious. “Let me—”
“I deleted it,” Mal said sternly. “Because it’s not happening.”
“They changed their mind?”
“No.Collageis dead.”
“No, it’s…,” Emerson started, and then stopped, and then really looked at Mal.
Mal wasn’t sure what they looked like in this moment.They didn’t feel entirely tethered to their body, for one. For another, the feelings bubbling below their surface were ones they had not yet untangled, so they had no idea what their face might be doing.
“Oh,” Emerson said at last. “Youdon’t want to do it.”
“I don’t,” Mal hissed.
Emerson was quiet for a long time—so long that Mal finally looked up at her. They couldn’t read her face; arranged on it was an expression Mal hadn’t seen on her before. A part of them wanted to rush over and soothe it, to kiss her forehead until it smoothed out again. They didn’t like seeing that confusion creasing it. They didn’t like being the cause.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Because I didn’t fit there,” Mal spat under their breath. In their chest, they could feel heat rising. Maybe it was anger. It rumbled at least a little with embarrassment, coloring their cheeks bright red.
“Don’t be silly, Mal,” Emerson whispered, and her expression shifted to something Mal recognized—something playful, but earnest. “Youwerethat magazine. The rest of us were just—”
“No, I—” they started, then stopped, then redirected. “Ididn’tfit there, not really. I had to fit myselfintoit,makemyself fit it. And it’s different here.” With little motions they hoped none of the others could see, they gestured around the space from their lap.
Emerson was quiet for a little while. Mal looked down, but they could still feel her gaze on their cheeks. It made the flush there burn even hotter. Finally, she said, “You don’t want to give upMixxedMedia.”
“Of course I don’t.” Mal made a scoffing, coughing sound that they felt guilty about as soon as it left their mouth. They looked up at Emerson again. “Sorry, I didn’t—”
“I have good news for you, then!” Emerson interrupted. Her voice was quiet, but getting louder, squeakier. Her grin kept getting wider and wider, too—like it was growing in proportion to the gloomy feeling suffocating Mal. “You don’t have to.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Of course not!” Emerson seemed relieved Mal was with her. “We can pick upCollagetoo, but we’ve obviously got to keep going withMixxedMedia, we’ve built too—”
“What, and do both?” Mal’s eyebrow raised differently now. Stiffer. Incredulous.
“Yeah, duh,” said Emerson, like it was that easy.
“No,” Mal hissed in a whisper. “We can’t do both.”
This was an either/or—not a both/and. How could Emerson not see that?
“Of course we can,” Emerson reassured Mal, her voice rising. “We’re getting better and better at—”
“Not everyone can just keep going and going like you do, Emerson,” Mal said, their whisper cutting. “Some of us need to slow down.”
Emerson was quiet for a second, her expression wounded, but she recovered. “Well then, we can just really hit the planning hard over winter break and get everything in order. We could meet here, or we could come to my house, we have a study—”
“Of course you have a study,” Mal rolled their eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emerson asked, her eyes wide and stunned.
