She glanced up at his face. He looked impatient. And let down. Like Cath was letting him down.
Can we just be honest? he asked. He didnt wait for her to answer. This story was my idea. I started it. Im the only one who works on it outside the library. I appreciate all of your helpyoure a genius editor, and youve got tons of potentialbut do you really think its your story?
No, Cath said. Of course not. She felt her voice shrink into a whine. But we were writing together. Like LennonMcCartney
John Lennon and Paul McCartney have been quoted multiple times saying they wrote their songs separately, then showed them to each other. Do you really think John Lennon wrote half of Yesterday? Do you think Paul McCartney wrote Revolution? Dont be naïve.
Cath clenched her fists in her lap.
Look, Nick said, smiling like he was forcing himself to do it. I really appreciate everything youve done. You really get me, as an artist, like nobody else ever has. Youre my best sounding board. And I want us to keep showing each other our stuff. I dont want to feel like, if I offer you a suggestion, it belongs to me. Or vice versa.
She shook her head. Thats not She didnt know what to say, so she pulled her laptop toward her and started wrapping the cord around it. The one Abel had given her. (It really was a good gift.)
Cath dont. Youre freaking me out here. Are you actually mad about this? Do you really think Im stealing from you?
She shook her head again. And put her computer in her bag.
Are you angry? he asked.
No, she whispered. They were still in a library, after all. Im just Just.
I thought youd be happy for me, he said. Youre the only one who knows how hard Ive worked on this. You know how Ive poured myself into this story.
I know, she said. That part was true. Nick had cared about the story; Cath hadnt. Shed cared about the writing. About the magic third thing that lived between them when they were working together. She would have met Nick at the library to write obituaries. Or shampoo packaging. Im just, she said. I need to work on my story now. Its almost finals week.
Cant you work here?
I dont want to waterboard you with my typing noises, she murmured.
Do you want to get together one more time before we turn in our stories, just to proof them?
Sure, she said, not meaning it.
Cath waited until she got to the stairs to start running,
and ran all the way home by herself through the trees and the darkness.
* * *
On Wednesday afternoon, after her Biology final, Cath sat in front of her computer. She wasnt going to leave the room or get on the Internet until she finished her Fiction-Writing project.
She wasnt going to stop typing until she had a first draft. Even if that meant typing things like, I dont know what the fuck Im typing right now, blah, blah, blah.
She still hadnt settled on a plot or characters.
She spent an hour writing a conversation between a man and his wife. And then she realized there was no rising or falling action; the man and his wife were just arguing about Brussels sprouts, and the Brussels sprouts werent a metaphor for anything deeper.
Then she started a story about a couples breakup, from the perspective of their dog.
And then she started a story where a dog intentionally destroys a marriage. And then she stopped because she wasnt all that interested in dogs. Or married people.
She thought about typing up everything she remembered writing from Nicks anti-love story. That would get Professor Pipers attention.
She thought about taking one of her Simon/Baz stories and just changing the names. (She probably could have gotten away with that if Professor Piper wasnt already on to her.)
Maybe she could take a Simon/Baz story and change all the material details. Simon is a lawyer, and Baz is a spy. Simon is a cop, and Baz owns a bakery. Simon likes Brussels sprouts, and Baz is a dog.
Cath wanted, desperately, to escape to the Internet. Just to check her e-mail or something. But she wouldnt let herself open a browser window, not even to check whether the b in Brussels should be capitalized.
Instead, she shoved away from her desk and went to the bathroom. She walked slowly down the hall, trolling for distractions, but there was no one milling around trying to be friendly. Cath went back to her room and lay on her bed. Shed stayed up too late the night before studying for Biology, and it was easy to close her eyes.
It was almost a nice change of pace to be stewing about Nick instead of Levi. Had she actually liked him? (Nick, that is. Shed definitely liked Levi.) Or had she just liked everything he represented? Smart, talented, handsome. World War I handsome.
Now just thinking about Nick made her feel so ashamed. Shed been taken. Grifted. Had he planned to steal the story all along? Or was he just desperate? Like Cath was desperate.
Nick and his stupid story.
It really was his story. It was nothing Cath ever would have written on her own. Stupid, quirky girl character. Stupid, pretentious boy character. No dragons.