I held my pages. “Um, sure. So, I wanted to write about a young Black woman who decides to open her relationship, and about her struggle for…” I observed the clock in the corner. “Self-determination? And a vocabulary?… Basically, she’s trying to locate herself in this bigger feminist story, but she doesn’t know what that story is or where she fits into it, so she’s trying to find the story and a way to, to talk about it, but there is no language really, or she doesn’t have it, so she has to create it, or find it.” I added, “Or something.”
Oscar whispered to Michelle, “Do you get what she’s saying?”
Michelle shook her head.
Feeling hot, I peeled off my hoodie, but my head got stuck in the neck hole.
“Do you need help?” Jason asked.
Everyone looked like a dark, blobby version of themself. “I’m fine. You guys keep going.”
Milken asked, “What’s working in this story?”
“I didn’t like Amira,” Chloe said.
“That’s great, Chloe. Please save that for the ‘what can be improved’ part of workshop.”
“I thought Amira’s messiness was refreshing,” Jason said. “Even though she was selfish, I was still rooting for her, even though I kind of hated her.”
“What made you root for her? What did the author accomplish?” Milken asked.
My hoodie was still stuck around my head and my necklace had snagged on a loose thread. I’d given up, but now I couldn’t get it back down without strangling myself, so my arms were awkwardly in the air. This didn’t seem to bother anybody.
“It’s the way the character’s written,” Jason said. “She just seems so pathetic.”
I could discern Milken’s nodding head. “I felt that too. Anyone else feel like this character was pathetic?”
The shadow of everyone’s hand went up. Michelle cleared her throat. “My issue is she frames this whole nonmonogamy journey as a feminist issue, but I’m a feminist and this didn’t feel like feminism to me, you know? Is it just me who felt like she wasn’t a feminist?”
Oscar said, “No, you’re right, she definitely didn’t feel like a feminist. Like, how is letting some dishwasher come on your face behind a restaurant dumpster feminist? Like, Black women are already hypersexualized. Honestly, though, it’s not even really the coming on the face for me, it’s more of it happening by a dumpster, if that makes sense.”
“I didn’t understand her motivations,” Jason said. “Theo seems like a great boyfriend. Why risk ruining it by opening the relationship? Maybe if we saw more of her upbringing, we could understand why she wants this?”
I tugged on my sweatshirt again. It was still caught on my necklace.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Jason asked.
I cried, “I’m fine!”
Edgar came over and pulled the hoodie off me in one easy motion. “Who cares about motivations?” he said, handing my sweatshirt to me. “She was an interesting character who did interesting things. Isn’t that what story is about?”
Oscar said, “Yeah, children’s stories.”
We workshopped Edgar’s and Michelle’s stories next. I folded everyone’s feedback into a box in my brain and lit it on fire. My phone vibrated. I couldn’t deal with my mom.
When Michelle started arguing with Oscar about her story’s ending, Milken said, “I think that’s a good place to stop. Next week, we’ll discuss Chloe’s and Jason’s stories. Don’t forget, Professor Ford is speaking at Politics and Prose next Saturday. I hear it’ll be standing room only so be sure to get there early.”
I reached for my phone to tell my mom I hadn’t heard from my dad. But the message wasn’t from her.
Tristan:Hey, could u do me a favor?
Chapter 5
It hardly snowed in Houston, but my freshman year of college, flurries fell slantwise, dissolving against my dorm window. Classes were canceled. Milan and I stole packets of Swiss Miss from the dining hall. The hot chocolate was too sweet, but we sipped it in her twin bed, watching a rom-com in which two office mates hurled bland insults at each other, shared stories about their awful Midwestern childhoods over Chinese takeout, and kissed without tongue. Booooo!!!
Milan was propped on her giant pillow, thumbing through Instagram. She gasped. “There’s a snowball fight on the quad. We have to go.”
“You just did my hair.”
