He stands and hurries over to pick up the pages. “You know, this really isn’t bad,” he says, scanning the first page. “Millie changed theshe’s toI’s—what’s that called again? First person?—which is a departure, I know, but it does give the final scenes some urgency, and—”
Ava snatches the pages from his hand. “You’re not the editor, Holden. You’re just pretending to be one.”
“Hey, I’m doing you guys a favor! I’m pretty sure this”—he gestures at the dilapidated cottage—“isn’t in my job description.”
“And yet you jumped at the chance.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, crossing his arms, “maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“I swear to god—” Ava shakes her head. “It must be nice. Knowing you can just pull some Bartleby the Scrivener shit and say I’d rather not, and be sure that everything will still turn out all right because the whole world is tilted in your favor instead of stacked against you.”
Holden throws up his hands. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t ask to be—”
“Don’t,” snaps Ava. “Just—don’t.”
She sucks in a breath. “No,” she mutters, backing away. “No, you are not about to make me raise my voice.” She heads for the cottage door. “If you come up to that house again, you’re fired.”
Holden laughs, realizing only as the sound leaves his mouth that it was probably the wrong one. His boss stops in her tracks and turns, one eyebrow cocked.
Holden shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Sorry—it’s just—you can’t fire me,” he says, and he was at least seventy percent sure that was true until he said it.Pivot, warns a voice in his head, so he musters a smile. “Look, it’s only a few more months.”
He might as well have thrown open all the windows and doors and let the night air come rushing in, because the temperature plummets by several degrees as his boss narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”
He should lie, heknowshe should, but she’s being really mean, and he’s already one foot in, and his mom used to say that at that point, you might as well jump. “My uncle said that if I stuck it out a year, he’d promote me.”
“Promote you? To what?”
He feels like it’s a trick question, or a trap, but he answers anyway. “Senior editor.”
Ava blinks sharply, as if someone’s blown dust in her eyes. Her mouth opens and closes more than once before she finally shakes her head and mutters, “Unbelievable. Some people really do say the quiet part out loud.” Holden considers asking what she means, but she seems to be talking to herself.
“Unbelievable,” she says again, turning her back on him and marching toward the door, and he knows he should just let her go, but he’s not quite clear where things stand.
“Um, so should I...”
“Just stay here,” she orders, “and try not to ruin everything.”
She slams the door in her wake, so hard that Holden’s head starts to ache all over again.
For a moment he just stands there, frustrated and a little hurt, and then something inside him comes unstuck.
“Screw this,” he announces, heading for the narrow stairs. He doesn’t have to put up with this kind of treatment. He went toYale. He deserves a job with an office, and a chair, and a door with his name printed in neat capitals. He’ll talk to Uncle Ellis as soon as he gets back.
Up in the bedroom, he collects his things. He packed several outfits, one for each day, just in case he had areasonto go up to the castle, and then, of course, a nice suit for the final morning; he had this idea of wearing it when he announced the winner, assuming Ava had chosen by then—and, if not, at least to open the safe. Now he shoves the clothes unceremoniously into his bag.
“Screw this,” he says again, punctuating the silence every few moments so he won’t forget he’s mad. He changes back into the clothes he wore the first day for the announcement ceremony (as he likes to think of it) and adds the pajamas, robe, and slippers to the bag before putting on his shoes.
He bends over to collect a pair of socks—yellow, with small purple umbrellas—and his glasses slide off for the third or fourth time. Instead of picking them up, he stomps on them,hard. And it would have been pretty satisfying if the glass had shattered, but it turns out the lenses must be some kind of plexi, because they just pop out, the plastic frame buckling under his shoe, sides jutting up like the mangled legs of a shiny black bug.
Holden frowns, and then kicks the sad mess across the bedroom floor.
Because he knows, okay? Heknowshe didn’t get this job on his own merit, just like he didn’t get into Yale on grades alone, not when his father’s name is on the law school, just like his uncle’s is on the publisher. He knows, but it’s not his fault they don’t want him to struggle. Not his fault they keep opening these doors. He’d be a fool not to walk through them. He feels bad, of course, that Ava had to work so hard to get where she is. But if she would just give him a chance...
Holden sniffs as he zips up his bag and trudges back downstairs.
And he’s no longer muttering to himself, which is why he hears the noise.
Somewhere beyond the house, a scratching sound, like footsteps on the gravel trail. His spirits lift, because it’s probably Ava, come to say sorry, to admit she’s been too hard on him, that she knows he’s trying, and they’re in this together.
