“The Boy on the Bus” - James King
Drama
Welcome to Sparkleville, Population: You- Parker Washington
An Appointment- Casey Harris
Poetry
On Flowers in Bloom(Three Poems) - Nylan Hassan
Darkness- Amy Way
She Made Me a Mixtape- Kodi Jones
Not an Invitation- Marshall Rice
Staff Sponsor: Donna Merritt | Student Editor: Mal Flowers
Mal —
I’m so sorry this was our last issue, but thank you so much for
making Collage something special. Stick with it, kiddo. You’ve got talent.
Your fan,
Ms. Merritt
CHAPTERTHREEFINE
Because it was their last act asCollageeditor in chief, they wanted to do it Correctly—so Mal brewed the best pot of coffee they could.
Ms. Merritt had gotten a special bag of pumpkin-spiced grounds for the occasion. Today, Mal didn’t even care if enjoying those cinnamony, seasonal flavors made them basic. For one, they were never really sure what “basic” even meant, aside from being a way to judge people for liking what they liked. For another, even if theywerebasic, today they were going to lean into the warm, comforting fall vibes as hard as they could. Fall was Mal’s favorite season: crisp like the crunch of leaves beneath their favorite boots and cool enough that they could wear layers without sweating through them. If they were going to face the funeral of their only extracurricular—something they were still decidedly one unplanned-for moment from melting down about—they were going to do it with a cup of pumpkin-spiced comfort in their hand.
Sometimes they felt like a bad bisexual for loving hot coffee so much. It felt like mutiny to break with the iced-coffeestereotype. But iced coffee often came with a higher price tag, and hot coffee was cheap—or, like here in Ms. Merritt’s office, free. Free was Mal’s favorite price.
But not even free pumpkin-spiced coffee could uncancelCollage.
Slowly, other students started to trickle in. Mal took their time setting up the snacks: the ham and cheese roll-ups they’d made with Maddie last night; the hand-decorated cupcakes Ms. Merritt’s daughter had made on a day trip home from college; the fruit tray Parker had apparently dropped off before school, all its melons cut into cute bear and cat shapes with little cookie cutters. When everything was in place, Mal hovered nearby, too anxious about being there at all to make eye contact with the staffers who filtered in and out, grabbing plates and cups of coffee. Once everyone started to settle into seats, Mal grabbed their own plate, refilled their comfort cup of cinnamon-and-nutmeg-spiced coffee, and went to settle too.
Altogether, only six other people had shown up.
They all sat in the circle of dragged-together chairs that Mal had helped arrange. Mal hadn’t expected the wholeCollagecrew to turn out, but they had expected more than…this. Mal frowned, cupping their coffee in their sweaty palms. They took a sip, hoping the heat and the swirling spice would ease the cold disappointment settling into their stomach.
Somehow it only made them feel colder.Collagedeserved better than this.
Still, itdidfeel a little strange to end the magazine’s run with everyone together in one room, even if “everyone” wasonly seven people.Collagehad always taken place remotely—from the paper submissions of its inaugural issue in 1976 to the open inbox of last spring’s issue. Working remotely made it easier for Mal (and, they assumed, for the other student editorial staffers, though they’d been the only one since the previous editor in chief ditched her duties last fall in order to spend more time with her boyfriend) to do their job: reading each submission, then carefully combing through them for grammar, usage, and story elements that needed fixing. Mal had worked on the editorial side of the magazine since sophomore year, when Ms. Merrit allowed them to shift over from staff writer, so picturingJames KingandNylan Hassanmade them think first of bylines. Seeing the staff aspeoplerather than words on a page gave Mal a heart-racing, nervous feeling they hadn’t expected.
“So, what I thought would be nice,” Ms. Merritt began, when the embarrassingly small crew had quieted, “is if we spent some time together and celebrated everything theCollagewas. What it meant to us. What we’re proud of. To start, I amsoproud of all ofyou—of all the work and words you’ve put in. What about you?” Ms. Merritt opened her hands to the group, welcoming memories.
“I’m proud ofThrough the Garden of Gems and Dahlias, obviously,” Stella volunteered first. She twirled the end of her thick, Katniss Everdeen–style braid around her finger, like she was trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. “And that it’s the longest-running serial feature we had.”
Of course she was. Mal bit the inside of their lip, then took another sip of hot coffee.
Ms. Merritt smiled encouragingly. “I’m proud of that, too,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Stella, and she winked. “When it’s published, I’ll make sure to include you in my acknowledgments.”
