Emerson was everywhere, woven through the periphery of Mal’s life.
“It’s your red hair,” Mal said, still half in their thoughts. “And also you always seem like you’re having a really good time.” They blinked at Emerson, then shook themself, their cheeks warm. “But what does it mean for our schedule? Are there any days that are out?”
“Well, no. Not as such.” Emerson wiggled where she sat. Her voice was a little squeakier than usual. “I just go where I go whenever. And I can prioritize our meetings! Iamthe managing editor of the coolest new zine. So I can do that, at least.”
To Mal, Emerson’s unplanned schedule sounded like a nightmare. But her promise to prioritize the zine made them smile. They dropped their gaze to their notes. “Cool. We can work with that.”
“Also, the thing about working at the Haus,” Emerson started, leaning in so the wheels on her chair creaked, “is that everything is pretty chill. Sam was razzing me for being late, but it’s not a huge deal. And I’m always down to do a meetup like this before my shift. Or after.”
“Huh?” Mal looked up. This was a decided contrast from Dollar City, whereeverythingran the risk of turning into a huge deal. “Like, after hours?”
“Sure, if we need it.” Emerson shrugged. “The wholethingabout the Haus is it’s a community-led space, so the hours are a bit… soft. They’re, like, only suggestions. If the space is needed outside of them, we just stay open.”
“But what does that mean for us?” Mal asked.
“Late-night editing parties.” Emerson grinned, fanning out her fingers for emphasis. “Those epic all-nighters you see in the movies. More coffee—even if it’s without cream and sugar, you grossie.” She swatted at Mal’s leg playfully. “But it also means we can be a little more flexible about our end times most nights.Alsoalso—here, it helps me to see it like—”
She bent and got out two pads of differently colored Post-its from her bag. Then she wrote their free times each day on the notes—bright yellow for herself, pumpkin orange for Mal—and stuck them to the wall in front of the desk in weekday order.
“Ta-da!” she said, waving her hands at it. “Our week in Post-it form.”
Mal had to hand it to Emerson: Though it was a mess, it was also an interesting way to visually represent how their weeks looked. And before long, between their two brains and a sea of Post-its, they came up with a schedule for their co-occurring free times: Mondays and Tuesdays from four to five p.m., like now; Thursdays, any non-school time; Friday afternoons, heavily caveated by Emerson (“as long as nothing else important is going on”); bits and bobs of time on Saturdays between theirtwo work shifts; and the Sundays when Mal wasn’t working at Dollar City.
It felt like a lot of time to spend working in this small room. And it also felt like still not quite enough to get everything that needed doing done.
“I mean, we can sneak in other times as we need to,” Emerson reassured them. “And if we’re up against a deadline, I can do Friday whenever.”
It still sounded like a lot, but Mal nodded. “Okay. This is workable.”
“Of course it is,” Emerson said, flipping her hair. Over the course of the meeting, it had dried and was almost back to its standard poofiness. “We worked it out.”
And while Mal didn’t have as much faith in them as she did, they had to admit it had seemed to come together pretty well, all things considered. Usually, when they tried to make plans with Maddie or her friends, it took much longer to explain the whys and hows of Mal needing extra morning time to boot up or extra time at night to wind down. But Emerson got it on the first go.
“Well, it’s almost shift time,” Emerson said, swigging the last bit of her overly sweet coffee.
“Yeah, don’t piss Sam off,” Mal teased.
“Ooh, are you in looove?” Emerson asked, the smallest shadow crossing her face before it settled into a playful smile.
“What? No.” Mal shrugged. “I just think it’s cool to see another nonbinary person in the wild. Like, we’re pretty rare Pokémon.”
“Yeah, a star-rated holographic card for sure,” Emersonjoked back. “I didn’t think of that, but you’re right, that’s cool. Okay, I’ll stop picking on you. Maybe notSam, but you’re off the hook.” Her easy smile was back, her shoulders relaxing a little. Mal watched, curious, liking to see it there.
“Well, should we meet again tomorrow?” they asked, copying the last bit of the Post-it schedule into neat lines in their planner. “We still need to nail down, like… an actual theme for this first issue, I guess.”
Mal’s stomach suddenly felt a little mushy. They had gotten so caught up in the bright colors and rich coffee scent of Emerson they had almost forgotten there was real, hard work to do. Work that Mal had no idea how to actually get done.
“Yeah, sure,” Emerson said. “And I’ll get the coffee tomorrow, since you got today.”
Mal smiled. “Okay. I like the sound of that.”
“Cool, well.” Emerson rolled her seat back to the far side of the desk. Only as she moved away did Mal realize how close they had been. It was like they’d been drawn together, magnet-pulled. “I can’t keep Sam waiting. Say bye on your way out, okay?”
And then she was gone, bouncing away from the desk and through the door—leaving Mal to pack up their backpack with the ghost of a smile on their lips.
Subject:Issue One Theme—Please Vote
Wednesday, September 11 | 8:32 PM
