“That would berad as hell,” said Parker.
“We could look into doing art covers,” Kodi said. “I’ve been doing screen printing workshops at the Hellmann Center, and I have ideas.”
“Oh,” said James, interest piqued. “And what if we took itonline?” He dropped his voice and waggled his eyebrows. “Idohave some experience with blogging, you know.”
“That would be so cool,” said Alex. “I’ve been thinking of making a TikTok for us, too, and some micro-documentaries about what we’re doing…”
The meeting went on, and from the head of the table next to Emerson, Mal took a moment to observe: to watch the ideas bloom on people’s faces, to hear the thrill of excitement in their voices as they grew.
And instead of watching from the sidelines, Mal was part of it all.
“Yes, and,” they said, standing up and leaning over the table. “What if—actually, let’s take some notes. Someone really smart and cool and pretty taught me a way to keep track of ideas as we come up with them. You know what we need?”
A burst of bubbling laughter erupted from Emerson, who dove toward her desk drawer.
“Post-it notes!”
Description 5
CHAPTERTHIRTYBIGGER
TheCollageoffice was different than they remembered.
Stella would be on her way to the room soon. They had agreed to meet after school—and after she had time to grab coffee from The Post, which Mal had never been to. It was on the other side of Covington, in Stella’s neighborhood, so Mal knew they had a good ten minutes before she got back and they had to give her theCollageeditor-in-chief rundown.
For now, Mal was alone with the office.
Leaning a hip on the battered old desk, they remembered what this room had once meant to them: something to do, a place to do it, a way out, and a future ahead of them.
But as Mal looked around now, they couldn’t conjure up those feelings anymore. The desk was only a desk: cheaply made, shoddily put together, an afterthought. Mal trailed their fingers over its surface. The plastic wood veneer felt thin beneath them.
Since they were alone and there was no one there to see them do it, Mal sat down. The old Formica chair was all metal legs and metal arms with wooden armrests. Ms. Merritt had brought it in as a special treat for Mal last year, when they’dtaken over as student editor: one of thenicechairs from the classroom, which was mostly filled with chipped armless chairs with tennis balls on their feet.
The arms of the chair were much too narrow, so Mal needed to slide into it—and they squeezed Mal’s hips uncomfortably even when they settled. And the back left leg had always been a good half inch shorter than the rest. Last time they’d used it, Mal had needed to duct tape a wad of cardboard beneath it to even it out. Now, from a semester of living under a stack of boxes, the wad had compressed. Mal wobbled, frowning.
Maybe they could have done good work here this year. They had last year—or at least, they’d done what they were meant to do. There was a time when that was all Mal had expected for themself.
But they saw now that the chair had never really fit. It had always left them sitting the way they were now, with its arms digging into their hips, needing something bigger, something that fit them better. And even when the duct-taped leg was at its best, Mal had always worried about the wiggling, about whether it would bother Ms. Merritt. And the plastic coating on the desktop had always made their insides feel itchy if they touched it too long.
Before, Mal had thought that this was just how it was.
But now they had an armless chair, one that was comfortable and sat them at just the right height for the overly grand desk where they worked. When they wiggled, it was because they wanted to, and no one minded. Emerson had found their chair, and Emerson had made the Zine Lab a Wiggle-Full Zone. But it had beenMalwho sat and wiggled and worked. Whohelped build the back room and welcome new people in and fold pages and field e-mails.
Mal had done a lot over the last season. They had always loved fall because it was a time of slowing down, of coffee and coziness and color—but for them,thisfall had been a season of growth.
They were bigger than this room now.
And it didn’t feel shameful or frightening: It feltgood. Exciting. Like something to be proud of.
Mal smiled at the white cement block wall. This wasn’t their place anymore.
“Sorry I’m late. The traffic out of Latonia was a nightmare.” Stella’s voice rang in their ears, making Mal jump. “You like plain black coffee, right?”
Mal blinked up at Stella, who held out a cup of coffee, the cardboard collar around it embossed with a shiny foil eagle. The tendril of steam drifting up from its plastic lid filled the cramped office with the delicious, earthy scent of a fresh brew.
“I didn’t ask for coffee,” Mal said, looking up at Stella.
“And yet I got one for you,” Stella said, rolling her eyes. “It’s almost like that’s something friends do for each other, Mal.”
