“That’s a cool idea,” chimed in Maddie, who was much neater with her spaghetti. “Maybe you could meet up with Mal and Emerson at the Haus?”
Mal cast a side-eye at Maddie, who shrugged and grinned. She did this—pushed them, gently. Sometimes, like when she got them to try pistachio ice cream even though ice cream shouldnotbe green, it was nice. Other times, like now, it was annoying. “I’m sorry, but what is co-working?”
“Co-working,” Parker repeated, emphasis on theco, like that explained it all. “Sorry, my dad uses the term a lot; I forget it’s weird businesspeople speak. Like, we would hang out and work together. I think it’s what tech people say when they want to get stuff done but still hang out somewhere cool.”
“The Haus is cool,” Maddie hinted, picking at her piece of overly dry garlic toast.
“I’m really more into Kawaii Café,” Parker said. It was one of the newer coffee places in Covington, but from the ad Mal had gotten on their criminally neglected Instagram, they could see how it would fit her vibe, with its pop design and neon lights. “Their boba game is strong! But if that’s where you work, I can meet you there. What time?”
Mal and Emerson hadn’t nailed down an exact time to work today, since Thursdays were their open afternoons. “Would… four p.m. work for you?”
Mal still wasn’t sure co-working made sense when it came to editing or writing, which both seemed like things best done alone.
But after their work shift last night, Mal and Emerson had FaceTimed each other to work on editing and layout ideas, respectively, and Mal felt like they got a lot more done with Emerson’s periodic humming or fussing over Prince Pringles (she was right, Mal thought; hedidkind of hate her, despite her constant doting) than they might have alone.
They had coincidently gotten no homework done, but that was a problem for Later Mal.
“Yeah, sure,” Parker said. “I’ll meet you there!”
And with that, she was off, her pastel-blue skirt swishing around her round hips.
Mal took a deep breath and speared their fork back into their soggy spaghetti.
“That sounds like a fun afternoon, Mal!” Maddie’s voice was chipper. “You’re going to have a whole team soon.”
“I don’t think writers work in teams,” Mal grumbled.
“But you do worka lot, apparently.” She caught Mal’s eye. “How are you holding up?”
“Good,” Mal answered quickly—and, to their surprise, truthfully. “There’s a lot to do. You know, like—” Mal started, and then cut themself off. They didn’t need to info-dump. Maddie swore she never minded, but Mal always felt guilty if they overshared. “Just… zine things.”
Zine Things was as good as capitalized lately. It was often their answer to Maddie’s check-in questions.
“How about with school?” Maddie asked, watching Mal carefully. “In a very cool and chill way,” she rushed to add when Mal made a face. She’d been through thick and thin with Mal when it came to school, so she knew better than most how quickly Mal could go from Fine, Really to Not At All Fine, Oh No, What Is Happening. She redirected. “I just… I know Mom can kind of hound you about stuff, and I want to make sure we’re keeping you up to speed. How are you doing?”
“Me?” Mal’s voice pitched up slightly. “Fine, really.” They waved their hand, nonchalant. “I’m keeping up.”
It wasn’t untrue—by and large, Mal was able to keep up with their homeworkandthe extra time planning the zine. But it wasn’t entirelytrue, either. They were already a couple of lessons behind in Algebra IIbeforemissing last night’s assignment. But this wasn’t unusual. It had historic precedent, in fact; part of the reason Mal had been diagnosed with ADHD in the first place was because of how far behind they’d gotten in math during their first go at eighth grade.
“Mom was snooping with me this morning,” Maddie shared, rolling her eyes. “I told her you were great, thank you very much, obviously, but I wanted to make sure you really are.”
Mal shook their head. They hated it when their mom tried to snoop through Maddie. It was less about being snooped on—she also did that directly anyway—and more that it was through Maddie, specifically. It felt unfair to both of them in a way Mal couldn’t quite put into words.
“I am,” they said. “Really.”
From the look in Maddie’s eyes, Mal could tell she didn’t entirely buy it.
“Okay,” she said anyway. “I believe you.” She twirled her soggy spaghetti with gusto. “And I believeinyou. You got this.”
Maddie waggled her eyebrows and turned back to chat with her friend. Mal rolled their eyes but hoped she was right anyway.
Mal got to the Haus just before four p.m. and quietly addedCO-WORK: Parkerto the day’s date on their wall calendar so it would match their planner for the day. They had just settled into their chair when something pink and shiny landed in front of them with a clatter.
“Emerson,” Mal said, blinking up and then back and then up again. “Why the hell do you have a toaster on our desk?”
“It’s my emotional-support toaster, Mal!” she exclaimed, plopping into her chair with enough force to send it wheeling a little bit away. As she scooted closer to Mal again, she added, like it made all the sense in the world, “For my Pop-Tarts.”
“For your…” Mal shook their head and laughed, a vibrant, silly thing that matched Emerson’s energy. “For your Pop-Tarts?”
