“Fourth, actually.” Mal had met Emerson at the Haus yesterday, too: a brief touch-base to organize all the pitch forms so ideas didn’t get lost. Malneededto keep everything in order if they were going to pull off this issue by the end of the month—and so they wouldn’t forgetotherimportant things, like Maddie’s scrimmage. “I’m really sorry, Maddie.”
“Don’t be,” Maddie hummed. “It sounds like you have a lot to get done.”
Mal nodded. Ms. Merritt had been shouldering more work than Mal had realized. They were learning that there were adozen tiny choices that needed to be made for any given big choice—and Mal, as editor in chief, felt responsible for making them all.
It was… A Lot.
“I mean, I’ll have Emerson’s help,” Mal added, mostly to calm the spiral of their own worried thoughts.
“Yeah, okay,” their sister said, perching her elbow on Mal’s head as they walked farther into Austinburg. (If she had been anyone but Maddie, Mal would have been annoyed.) “But be careful with her, okay? I got paired up with her for an English assignment last year, and it was a mess.”
Mal frowned. “How so?”
“She had all these really cool ideas for the presentation, but then she got lost in doing those and never actually did the reading.” Maddie shrugged, her elbow bobbing on the crown of Mal’s head. “So I had to do that part of it all on my own.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Emerson I know,” Mal said, frowning. The Emerson whom Mal knew was a force to be reckoned with—a glittering tornado of ideas and positivity and little wiggles and bright colors. And true, that sometimes made her messy, but that was wheretheycame in. With Mal’s careful notes and outlines and lists, the creative fury of Emerson was not tamed but directed. Made more powerful by their work together.
It was nice, Mal thought, smiling to themself, to know someone whose brain worked so well with theirs.
But anxiety quickly crept in, turning Mal’s stomach. Did they reallyknowEmerson? It surefeltlike they did. Each e-mail and text and coffee Mal shared with Emerson felt like one with a very old friend, a friend like Mal had never had before. But inreality… outside of her bad punctuation and nervous-making flash of red hair, they had actually onlyknownher for a handful of days.
The Emerson whom Maddie talked about sounded a lot more like the Emerson Mal had always worried about before they started getting to know her. Mal’s frown deepened.
“Just don’t bite off more than you can chew with her, I guess,” Maddie said. “Anyway, I think you’re doing cool stuff. I’m so relieved you get to keep your magazine.”
“Okay, one, it’s azine,” Mal corrected, playfully shrugging out from Maddie’s arm. “And two, this is just school stuff, really.”
“This isn’t a school thing,” Maddie said plainly. “That’s the whole deal, right?”
Mal’s frown deepened. “It’s still a school thing. I do it with people from school.”
“You do it withEmerson.” Maddie batted her eyelashes at Mal teasingly.
“Yes.” Mal’s eyes darted away from their sister, their cheeks coloring. “AndNylan, and Parker and James and—”
“Sure, sure.” Maddie cut them off with a laugh and playful smirk. “But hey, when you finish up tonight, come to the scrimmage, okay? I need you. You’re my good-luck charm.”
“Yeah, of course,” Mal promised.Howthey’d make it was still uncertain—probably by texting their mom for a ride, something Mal tried to avoid at all costs—but they meant it when they added: “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be there.”
But for the next few blocks, Mal didn’t feelthere. They were somewhere else. About seventeen blocks ahead at the Haus, in fact, worrying and wondering whether Maddie wasright—whether Emerson would leave them hanging after all, lost in a flurry of half-finished thoughts on bright Post-its.
About a dozen of said Post-its later, Mal and Emerson had settled on what they would need, and from whom, in order to get the first issue ofMixxedMediaprinted by the end of the month.
“Quick and painless,” Emerson said, dusting her hands together with overexaggerated motions. “What’s next?”
“I should pack up, probably,” Mal said. “My sister has a soccer scrimmage tonight, and I need to go.”
“Oh, dang it,” Emerson said. “See, I saw this going like: You say,I don’t know, Emerson, whatisnext?And then I say,Actually, I have this thing,and I then invite you to it.”
Mal went very still. Their heart skipped in their chest, then raced on. “What?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter now,” Emerson said, standing up and making a show of looking disappointed. “Maybe next year.”
Mal couldn’t help it. They smiled and, leaning back in their cozy chair, took the bait.
“I don’t know, Emerson,” they said, adopting the same wistful tone Emerson had used in their imaginary conversation. “Whatisnext?”
“It’s funny you should ask,” Emerson said, brightening immediately. “Because actually, I have this thing.” She paused for dramatic effect. “The Pride Center is hosting its last MoviesOut-side—get it? Like out of the closet?—before it gets too cold. They put up this big sheet thing on the back of the building and show a queer movie. There’s snacks! Kettle corn! Candiedapples! Community!” She twinkled her fingers in little waves. “You should come with me.”
