“I might.” I try to say this with a straight face, but the visual is too ironic to not be funny. Also, I have to appreciate how he’s speaking my language.
“Poor Baby.” His eyes flick my way, and I feel as though he might be seeing me for the first time. Seeing I’m not only a troublemaker like Ramona the Pest. I can be taken seriously.
The worst part of being considered beautiful is that my appearance is all people see when they look at me. Yet at the same time, I’m afraid to take off my makeup, because what if that’s all I am? I have to prove there is more to me, and maybe I’ve started to prove it to him.
“You know?” Kai’s words tear my attention from Karson, though it’s going to take some time for my thoughts to catch up and my brain to compute what he’s saying.
I stare blindly at my roommate while he speaks, though I’m still wondering about that look Karson gave me. It made me feel as if I was on stage—both vulnerable and powerful. And perhaps there is power in being vulnerable. Dare I look at him again? Dare I let him truly see me?
“You’re right, Gemma.” This comes from Charlie, though I’m not sure what he thinks I’m right about. I’ve missed a whole conversation they mistakenly assumed I was part of simply because I was present for it. “Your idea has something to offer everyone.”
Oh, that’s a good thing to be right about.
Kai nods. “It will be both entertaining and meaningful. Though it’s going to be hard to find a cast and costumes to fit all those famous roles.”
I blink a few times to refocus. We’re talking about the logistics of filming now rather than the strength of story. I have to make this doable for them. “I can limit the number of characters to seven. That shouldn’t be too much work.”
Charlie nods. “Seven is the number of completion.”
He makes writing sound as simple as math. Like one can use a calculator or follow a formula to get to happily ever after. Really it’s more of a jigsaw puzzle. There are often missing pieces, and until they connect with each other, the individual parts don’t make sense. It’s not until the picture comes together in its entirety that it’s clear there’s no other way it could possibly work.
Which is why we need God’s promise that in all things He works for the good of those who love Him. He writes endings I couldn’t even imagine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
KARSON
Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy tale.
—PETERS. BEAGLE
Gemma is gone. Okay, in reality she’s still here, but with the way she’s staring into the distance, her mind is gone. She might as well be a zombie. Everyone else has actually left for the day—bodyandbrain.
“Gemma.” I snap my fingers in front of her face.
She blinks. Smiles. “Hi.”
I once heard that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. Somehow she’s gone past comparing me to a witch doctor to the point where she might not even remember my name. If only I could say the same about her.
I cross my arms. “Class is over.” I nod to where Drew stacks orange cones.
“Oh.” She glances around, pats herself down as though she’s looking for a purse that she didn’t bring, then digs into her pockets. She absently pulls out car keys. “Did Kai and Charlie leave already?”
I huff. While I’d expected to have to repeat all the info for next week’s class, I didn’t expect to have to act as her personal assistant. “They mentioned something about grilling hamburgers and asked you to stop and pick up lemonade on your way home. You told them you would.”
“Okay.”
It doesn’t seem to bother her that she’s forgotten a whole conversation she’d participated in, but I’m kind of bothered that she’s forgotten me. “You okay?”
She sighs and stares past me again with the kind of contentment that would indicate she was watching a sunset. I know we have plenty of daylight left, so I glance over my shoulder to see what she’s looking at.
Harris polishes his motorcycle with a yellow rag. Not really a sigh-worthy sight, unless you’re a biker named Wolfman.
“I got a great idea for a new script.” She says this as if it’s a positive answer to the question about being okay.
I rub a hand over my head, not sure where I fit into her new script idea or why I would want to. “Does that mean you won’t need to come back to class next week?”
Her face jerks my way, light eyes wide in alarm. “Why wouldn’t I?”
