Before they could get settled, though, into the room floated the sound of Parker’s voice.
“Okay, so here it is, in all its glory!”
“Ooooooooh,” squealed an unfamiliar voice in reply.
Mal turned. Standing between Parker and Nylan was a new person. They were short, very thin, and mostly angles, covered in a fuzzy, lurid green sweater with sparkly pink elbow patches. On their face was a grin so broad it bordered on disconcerting.
“So this is the Zine Lab,” said Parker, walking the three of them in. “This is the worktable, where we do our thing. That’s Stella, she writesThrough the Garden of Gems and Dahlias, and this is Alex and James.” As if cued, Alex and James waved. “Theodora was around here somewhere, I think, but I don’t know where she is now, maybe looking for Kodi? And this is our fearless leader, Mal. They’re—”
“The one who wrote the ADHD map book!” the newcomer finished. They nodded, like this itself was conclusive evidence, then snapped their fingers in little finger guns. “Cool to meet you, Mal. I’m Fran!”
Mal cocked their head to the side. “Hi, Fran.”
“She’s in our S&S game at the library,” Parker said, chuckling. “We headed here from there, and she wanted to come see what we do.”
“It’s bitchin’,” Fran said. “I haven’t read your, like, big zines, but Parker’s let me read your mini ones. I really liked yours!”
“Really?” Mal asked.
“Uh, yeah,” said Fran. “I’m ADHD too, and going for walks helps me a lot too—but when it’s cold like this, I mostly do my walking in S&S, in character.”
Nylan giggled. “Oh, is that why your rogue is always strutting around?”
“Um, excuse me,” Fran said, “Petty Sharppaws struts aroundbecause they’re asuper cool cat personwith a magical, sparkly cape. You’d strut too!”
“Yeah, okay. Fair,” laughed Nylan.
“I just think it’s neat that someone else who has ADHD is doing ADHD, like,things,” Fran said. Her hands punctuated the air with the word, like maybe Fran’sthingshad a capitalT, too. She raised an eyebrow at Mal. “Like, that you’re doingstuffabout ADHD. I feel like I don’t see that a lot? Or if I do, it’s by people whoobviouslydon’t have ADHD because they don’t actually get it. Does that make sense?”
A familiar feeling fell over Mal. It reminded them of when they first started talking with Emerson. “Yeah. I get it. You don’t have to explain it to me.”
“I knew you’d get it.” Fran snapped her fingers again. “Anyway, I liked it, and I didn’t really ever think about it before, but now I’m like—maybe I could make stuff about ADHD, too.”
Mal smiled, a warm feeling flooding their cheeks. “Maybe I can show you sometime? The cool thing about zines like that one is they aren’t super hard or expensive to make.”
“Yeah,” said Parker. They mimed folds with their hands. “It’s a bit of tricky folding, but Mal’s really good at explaining it.”
“That would be cool!” Fran said. “I didn’t know you guys took people from not your school.”
Mal shrugged. They didn’t either. But being here for people like Fran felt important. “Things are a little… in flux right now. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”
“Bitchin’,” Fran said again. (Mal was sure they caught her eyes flash to the side, like part of her was waiting for the wordto be chided.) “Until then, I’ll just have to do ADHD stuff in-game. Maybe Petty has ADHD, too.”
“Oh, Pettyfor surehas ADHD,” Parker said, laughing. “I know rogues like shiny things, but have youseenthe way she goes after loot?”
“Uh, that’s not ADHD,” Fran huffed playfully. “That’s calledwinning Secrets & Sorcery, Parker!”
“You can’twinS&S, Fran!” Nylan said.
“Winning looks different for everyone, Nylan!” Fran retorted dramatically.
The three of them dissolved into chatter about their roleplaying game, grabbed a couple of snacks from the station on the far wall, and left. But even after the noise of them faded—Fran wasverynoisy, giving even Emerson a run for her money—their words stayed behind, neatly typed in the center of Mal’s brain page. Instead of working to come up with someplanto fix everything, they worked the words over in their mind, changing the font and the formatting to make them their own.
Winning looks different for everyone.
And as the clock crept closer and closer to nine p.m.—the end of Emerson’s shift—Mal got to work.
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