“Nothing,” they admitted, trying to keep their shoulders from collapsing in defeat. And though they sounded convincing enough, their next words tasted like the bile in their throat: “But I’ll figure it out, I guess.”
“You will,” Ms. Merritt reassured them. “And I’m really glad you all came to sendCollageoff. I hope you can stick together, even though the magazine hasn’t.”
And then, as if on some mystery cue Mal always seemed to miss, everyone stood, taking their plates to the trash and picking up leftovers. On autopilot, Mal stood too, retreating to the office to help tidy because it was what they were Supposed To Do, even with their brain still a whirlwind of fear.
Maybe it was because Ms. Merritt had just mentioned it, but it seemed like everyone was trying to make good on her ask: They were sticking together. Nylan and James started tochat about the yearbook and what they hoped they’d get to work on. Stella snagged Kodi, letting her know about NHS tutoring and talking about GPA ranking for their graduating class. Emerson had bounced over to Parker, demanding she text her more information about this anime club with muchkamehameha-ing of her arms.
Mal stood frozen, their half-eaten ham-and-cheese rolls packed back up in the Tupperware they’d brought, their thoughts banging against the inside of their brain. This was The End, and they still didn’t know what to do with it.
Then, just like that, everyone started to leave.
A cold dread gripped tight to Mal’s chest. Despite Ms. Merritt’s reassurance, they were almost positive they weren’t actually going to find another Thing. They were going to fail—again. And this time they would be left entirely alone.
You just needsomething,Mal.The words spiraled at top volume in Mal’s mind, half in their mother’s voice, half in a small, shaking version of their own.It doesn’t even have to be something you love, just something youhave.
Before they were really sure what they were doing, Mal was moving out the classroom door and down the hallway, their feet pounding hard on the linoleum tiles as they chased a retreating head of bushy red hair. Their hand closed around the sleeve of Emerson Pike’s jean jacket with such force it made her reel around. She stood—half-affronted, half-bemused—blinking at Mal.
“Fine,” Mal spat.
“O… kay,” said Emerson, her head tilting to the left. “Fine what?”
“Fine,” Mal said, their arms going limp at their sides, palms open like they were surrendering. “I’ll do it.”
“Okay, I’mfullyhere for the enthusiasm and the dramatic confession vibes,but,” Emerson said, her grin cheeky, “I’m still not following, Mal.”
Truthfully, neither was Mal. They hadn’t planned this at all, and it was certainly not part of The Plan. But the words were coming out nonetheless. “The zine. TakingCollagerogue. Whatever you want to call it, I’m in.”
Emerson’s eyebrow quirked up her forehead, disappearing behind the line of her bangs. Her face split into a curious smile. In a motion Mal could only describe aswiggly, she did a brief sort of dance, which made the light fabric of her bird-print dress swish around her round thighs, then went very still and serious.
Mal wasn’t sure if they wanted to join the dance or scold her for it. They settled on standing still, their hands opening and closing anxiously at their sides.
“Just like that?” Emerson asked.
“Well…”
Hadthey decided just like that? Mal wasn’t even sure. It still sounded like an extremely bad idea. Ms. Merritt had saidCollagewas over, and doing anything but accepting that felt a lot like breaking the rules, which Mal tried their very hardest to never do. And a rogue publication seemed unlikely to qualify for their Common App extracurricular. Making a magazine on their own felt very firmly like a Hobby, not an Activity.
But as they instead stared down a lot of nothing, as they glanced down the hallway at the retreating backs of the kidsMs. Merritt had urged tostick together, the reality of impending failure pricked like needles at the corners of their eyes. Everything was happening Too Fast. And Mal was desperate.
“Yeah,” they said. “Or, well—no. Sort of. Yes, let’s do it.” Emerson wore the most amused little smile, which made Mal rush on. “But if we’re going to do it, we need a plan.” Of this, Mal was absolutely certain. They didn’t do anything without a plan.
Well, other thanthis, apparently.
Emerson wiggled again. “We can make a plan. Want to meet for coffee this weekend and chat?”
“Sure, fine,” said Mal. “I work Saturday, but I could do Sunday.”
“That works for me. Here, let me—”
Emerson bent over, unzipping her messenger bag and fishing around inside for what felt like far too long. As they waited, the volume of Mal’s racing thoughts turned up from ten to eleven. They warred with the noise of the contents of Emerson’s bag clattering around, leaving Mal with the sickening sensation of standing still amid a swirl of sudden, cacophonous motion. Finally, Emerson resurfaced, holding a pen and a pad of Post-its. She scribbled something, then pulled the sheet off and held it out to Mal.
“Text me,” she said. “We’ll figure out all the details.”
Now it was Mal’s turn to say “O… kay.” And then Emerson was off, bopping down the hallway and disappearing around the corner everyone else had just rounded.
Mal looked down at the Post-it stuck to their palm. Written in handwriting almost as sloppy as theirs was an 859 areacode number andEMERSONin all caps with four exclamation points, like Mal might forget it if she didn’t write loudly enough.
Mal blinked at the corner where Emerson had disappeared, their mind now also looping that strange wiggle, that swish of her loud dress. They had no idea what would happen next, but forgetting Emerson wasnotit.
