CHAPTERSIXCOLLAGEIS DEAD
In the end, the same people who came to theCollagegoing-away party were the same people who came to theCollagerelaunch meeting: Nylan, Parker, James, and Kodi. As the clock that Emerson had brought in and hung on the brick wall inched closer to six p.m., Mal had been nervous Stella might not show, but at 5:58, she sauntered in wearing a pink sweatshirt and a smirk.
Now they all sat in a loosely formed circle of chairs Mal had helped Emerson commandeer from other rooms around the Haus. It was surprising how easily the space came together—not just because no one seemed to mind two teens stealing chairs from various parts of the Haus (one really nice couple in the garden offered to help, even), but because Emerson was surprisingly easy to work with. She communicated clearly what they were meant to do, and then they did it together. She worked like Mal worked: an experience Mal had never had before.
Well—no, she didn’t work like Mal worked. But the way she worked wassymbioticwith the way Mal worked. Last night, for example, they had prepared notes for the meeting, co-working in the same Google Doc which Emerson hadnamed—of course in all caps—DUMP DOC. At Emerson’s suggestion, they had called each other on the phone. Talking on the phone wasnotsomething Mal liked to do… but talking on the phone with Emerson wasn’t so bad. Over the phone, they discussed the agenda Mal had sent out—or at least they started there, then worked their way in a series of spirals away from and back to it as their thoughts led them.
Emerson’s job had been to fill the shared document with all those ideas and plans and considerations. It was a thing of wonder to watch the sheer number of thoughts and facts and what-ifs appear on the screen beside Emerson’s blinking cursor as she laughed and chatted with Mal. Then Mal came in, gathering and organizing the mess into neat lists that made sense. Their process worked so nicely that they didn’t even mind when Emerson changed all the color-coding to bright Post-it colors “to match the colors I already use for planning stuff.”
It sent a thrill through Mal’s chest, seeing how Emerson’s brain worked in real time. She was much messier—and certainly louder—than Mal was, but for the first time they could remember, Mal thought that maybe the way their brain worked wasn’t so different after all. Not from Emerson’s, at least.
By the end of the call—which ran so long that Maddie popped her head into the bedroomtwiceand Mal had to tell her they’d visit herAnimal Crossingisland later—Mal felt strangely secure in the direction they were going. Emerson made Mal feel like she understood them. Like they were on the same page (or Google Doc, as it were). But they should have known better than to think things might go their way.
At first, Mal picked up a few wins. The folded zine format Emerson had mocked up for Mal went over well with the group and officially became the style they’d be using. The gathered staffers seemed equally interested in keeping the zine serious, in publishing work they were proud of. Everything was going to plan.
Until itreallywasn’t.
Parker was the first person to suggest they expand the accepted formats fromCollage’s poetry, prose, and drama categories to whichever formats they wanted, and Nylan happily jumped from that to including images for some of the pieces. To Mal’s great surprise, it was Stella who latched onto this idea—“I commissioned some art of Talia and Xarrett; I can check with the artist about using it for such an insubstantial print run,” she said—and before Mal could do anything about it, it was officially A Thing.
And then there was the issue of how often to publish. Mal thought sticking to the established once-a-semester model was best, but Kodi thought since they were handling production on their own rather than going through a printer (which, as Mal knew, tookweeks), they should be able to publish more frequently. Once James said he’d always wishedCollagewas a monthly magazine, it became one.
And then suddenly Mal was left with the feeling that the magazine—zine—the room was chattering excitedly about wasn’t evenCollageat all.
“I mean,” Stella said, speaking over Parker, who was chatting about the possibility of a color cover, “this all sounds good, but what should we rename it?”
“What shou—” Mal started repeating the words automatically, trying to process them. “I’m sorry, what?”
“A new name, Mal.” Stella rolled her eyes, exasperated. “For our new magazine.”
“It’s a zine,” corrected James. “There’s a difference.”
“Rude,” said Stella, “but exactly. This isn’t reallyCollageanymore. We should have a rebrand to indicate that.”
Could Stella hear their thoughts, or did their face just broadcast them plainly? Mal had to do something, and fast.
“But that’s the whole point,” they countered. A hot panic rose in their throat like bile. They tried to swallow both back. “Thisis Collage. We’re keeping it going. Same crew, same mag—uh, zine.”
“I don’t know,” Parker chimed in from one of the office chairs closest to Mal. In the stark plainness of the back room, her bright pink-and-blue sweater looked especially vibrant. “It feels different to me, too.” Then at the look Mal gave her, she rushed on: “Like, in a really cool way! Like it’s ourownthing, not some stiff, rules-y school thing.”
Mal bristled. TheylikedthatCollagewas stiff and rules-y.
“Yeah,” Kodi added. “Plus, the nameCollagewas kind of… not it, you know?”
“Collageis what we do,” argued Mal. “We take a bunch of different pieces and put them together to make a larger picture.”
“Oh dang, really?” Kodi shook her head. “Yeah, I definitely never thought of it like that. I thought of it like…collagecollage.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nylan. “I was always a bit confused, because we never had anyone make actual collages.”
“Oooh!” Parker hummed. “I’m putting one on my to-do list for the first issue!”
“It’s a collage offorms,” Mal added, holding up their hands and weaving their fingers together for emphasis, in case they hadn’t been clear enough at first.
“But is it, though?” Stella asked, looking smug.
A strange feeling sank Mal’s shoulders, turtling them in on themself. They had been banking on Stella to be on their side, because they knew she lovedCollagethe same way Mal lovedCollage.They hadn’t been friends for years, but surely she would still believe in the tradition of their literary magazine, like they both had freshman year.
“I—well, I—” Mal stammered.
