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Chapter twenty-eight

Things That Blow

Karma

“Yo, Karma,” Tyrell calls out as he enters the writing resource room. “Thanks for offering to proof my papers. This class is killing me already.”

“Yeah, summer courses are brutal.” I clear some space at the table while he sits down across from me. “But, no worries—anything for one of Josh’s buddies.”

The burly linebacker narrows his eyes and lifts his chin. “So, you and Malik, huh? What about you and Evie?”

Like I didn’t see that coming. Oh well, let’s get this interrogation over with. “Evie and I are best friends. Only friends,“ I tell him.

His biceps bulge as he folds his arms across his broad chest. “Dude, I asked around. I know you and Evie live together.”

I figured he’d go snooping around. “Yeah, we’ve been roommates for two years. Everyone knows that. It’s not a secret.”

“Is it also a secret that you date women?” Tyrell growls. “Don’t bother to lie. D’ya think I’d let you play my boy like that?”

Yeah, like I’d play on someone who hangs out with the Golden Gladiators football team. Does he really think I’m that stupid? “Tyrell, I swear to you—there’s nothing between Evie and me but friendship. She’s my bestie, but Josh is my boyfriend.”

“You’re telling me you never hit that?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

My roommate would wipe that smirk off his womanizing face if she ever heard him say that. “Evie’s not a half-night stand kind of girl. She’s beautiful, and smart, and hella fun to hang with—but she does not hook-up. If you want her, you’ve gotta be worthy.”

The linebacker flexes his impressive upper body. “Worthy? Man, I’m a National Champion athlete.”

“So is she,” I tell him. “My girl is a National Champion competitive dancer—and if you don’t think that’s a sport, then you’re dumber than you look.”

Oops. I expect that comment to get me an ass whooping. Instead, I get a much different response.

“Wait, she’s a dancer? “ Tyrell’s eyes pop out, then he leans back his head with a groan. “You gotta put in a good word for me, Karma. Please, I’m begging you. I can’t get that woman oughta my head—and now that I know she’s a dancer, it’s only gonna get worse.”

Whoa. He just switched gears faster than a caffeinated NASCAR driver. Good thing I know when to stay in my lane. “Sorry, dude—you’re on your own. If you want to date Evie, you’re gonna have to work for it. I have enough on my plate romancing Josh.”

“What d’ya mean?” A line creases the football player’s forehead. “I thought the whole point of dating guys was so you didn’t have to do that shit anymore.”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes, “that’s exactly why people are queer. No, I’m trying to show Josh how much I like him, that he’s important to me. Don’t you think he’s worth it?”

Tyrell stares at me for a long moment. “You’re right, Malik is something special. Are you really going slow with him, like you told us at Roscoe’s?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m trying, but he isn’t making it easy. I thought I was horny as a teen.”

He laughs. “When I was thirteen, I gave myself tendonitis of the wrist.” He makes a jerking motion with his hand.

“Imagine being pansexual,” I tell him. “I couldn’t look at anyone without sprouting wood.”

“Dude, the wind made me hard,“ he says. “And I’m from Chicago.”

I snort. “Speaking of things that blow—“

The linebacker lifts his hands in front of his face, blocking me from his line of sight. “Don’t tell me anything about you and Josh. I don’t want to hear it.” The huge athlete shudders.

I push his hands out of the way. “I was talking about your summer class. Are you ready for me to look at your essay or is there something else you wanted to grill me about?”

“Nah, we’re good.” Tyrell gives me a lopsided grin and holds out a fist for a bump.

What, no more interrogation? Have I actually been accepted by the big, scary Gladiator? Hell yeah!

“Hell no.” I slam the manuscript down on the desk, glaring at my mentor.

Professor Patterson takes off his glasses, calmly rubbing its lenses with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson. I take it that you’ve finished reading The Ceranic Continuum .”

“That can’t be the end of the trilogy, Professor P. No disrespect, but fuck that .“ I want to strangle the old man with his own bowtie.

He gives me a rare smile. “I’m glad that you’re passionate about the conclusion. I prefer that to placid acceptance.”

I slap a hand on top of the manuscript. “You can’t let the story end this way! That would be like Frodo falling into the fiery pits of Mount Doom along with Gollum. Why don’t you burn down the Shire while you’re at it?”

Patterson lifts his eyebrows and blinks. “You’re comparing it to Tolkien? You’ve placed Rodrick Domingo in good company.”

Why won’t he listen? “Dude, I’m not trying to compliment you—“

He looks affronted. “Did you just call me dude ?”

”—I’m saying your conclusion sucks balls.“ Maybe that’ll get the asshole’s attention.

The professor splutters, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I growl. “Big. Hairy. Monkey. Balls . I’m so mad at you, I could spit.”

Patterson purses his lips before putting his glasses back on. “And why do you think you’re so angry, Mr. Wilson?”

“You fu— freaking killed the main character! Why else would I be angry?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “I had to find some way to protect Ceran and its secret. Don’t you think Jeanrire, the leader of The Resistance, would sacrifice himself to save the planet? Wouldn’t he do anything to rescue his people, his friends?”

I dig my fingers into my hair and pull. “Yeah, I know that he would. But what’s the point of the hero’s journey if the hero dies in the end?”

The professor gives an apathetic shrug. “Someone has to put a stop to T?rlig. Otherwise the entire Ceranic race—and countless other civilizations—could be wiped from existence. Would you rather Rêve die instead?”

“No!” I take a step back in horror.

“What about Ziva Lu? Or Scomìche?”

“ No! “ I press a hand into my gut. It makes me sick just thinking about it.

Patterson temples his fingers. “Let me ask you this, Mr. Wilson. Why did you get a bachelor’s degree in English?”

I sink down into the chair opposite my mentor and put my head in my hands. “You know why, Professor. I want to be a novelist.”

“Yes, yes—but why do you want to write novels?“ he presses.

Leaning forward, I grip the edge of his desk. “I want to write stories that mean something to people. To create characters they honestly care about.”

“Oh, really?” Patterson gazes at me over the top of his bifocals. “Does The Ceranic Continuum mean anything to you?”

“Yes!” I let out a huff of air. Why does he think that we’re fighting?

“But do you truly care about its characters?” he asks in a disbelieving tone.

“ Yes !“ I insist. Some of my best friends are fictional characters. Losing Jeanrire feels like losing one of my family.

The professor gives a shake of his head. “It’s just a silly sci-fi novel. Would it matter if any of them live or die?”

“It matters to me, Professor. To me, and all of the fans of The Ceranian Saga . They need to live, especially Jeanrire. He’s important . ”

Patterson leans across the desk, his apathy disappearing. The facade of indifference slips from his face to reveal a look of desperation. “Well then, Mr. Wilson— help me save him .”

“This blows,” I grumble, then reach out my hand. “Pass me the blunt, Sis. I need a mental vacation.”

“You’re high enough.” Evie knocks my hand out of the way. “What you need to do is tell me what’s wrong. Did you and Josh have a fight?”

I fall back into the couch cushions with a deep sigh. “No, it’s nothing like that. My internship… It’s hard. Too hard. I don’t think I’m up to the challenge.“ Talk about an understatement. Who am I to save an entire fictional world? I’m nobody. If Rodrick Domingo can’t save Jeanrire, how the hell am I supposed to?

My roommate snorts. “You talked the smartest guy on campus into being your boyfriend. How much harder could it be than that?”

“You don’t get it. My dream of being a novelist is just that—a dream . The pathetic wish of a mediocre writer.“ I pull the elastic band from my messy bun and let my hair fall into my face. “I’m gonna spend my life in my little hometown making lattes for the locals.”

“What’s wrong with Wilson Woods?” Evie asks. “Besides, I thought you wanted to run the Wake and Bakery with Hank and Em. Isn’t that the whole point of getting your MBA?”

I hug my knees to my chest. “Business school blows, too,” I grumble.

“Duh.” My best friend rolls her eyes. “I try to be supportive, but I could never see you as a businessman. A writer? Yes. An artist? Yes. A greedy corporate bastard?”

“Hey!” I sit up. “I’m not gonna turn into some bullshit venture capitalist… though maybe I should. If I can’t become a writer, what else am I gonna do?”

She pats me on the knee. “You are a writer, carnal , whether you ever become famous or not. Your stories live inside your heart. If you don’t share them with the world, who will?”

Maybe she’s right. “But what if I’m not good enough? What if I suck?”

“Then suck,” Evie says. “Just don’t quit. The world needs more dreamers—and fewer venture capitalists.”

“True.” I laugh. My bestie can always talk sense into me. I should return the favor. “Your turn. I’ve got a question for you.”

“What?” She arches an eyebrow.

You guessed it. “ Crime or Time? ”

“No. Uh-uh.” Evie shakes her head back and forth. “That’s cheating and you know it.”

“Calm down. I’m just checking in on my Fairy Godmother,” I tell her. “I need a status report on your summer of magic. Have you had any frog kisses so far?”

The brunette frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m still working on it.”

“Josiah?” I hazard a guess.

“He says I remind him of one of his sisters.” Evie blinks, looking dumbfounded. I’ll bet she’s never heard that one before.

“Forget Josiah. What about Blake?” I ask. “He’s into you.”

She wrinkles her nose. “He’s nice enough for a dudebro, but I’m not feeling any chemistry. Simon’s sexy, though. Do you think he’s too old for me?”

No, but he’s definitely too gay. Besides, I think Sigh-Moan is into kinks that would make my best friend run away screaming. What’s up with Evie’s gaydar? Is she some kind of queer magnet, only attracted to what she can’t have?

It’s time for an intervention.

“Forget Simon, too.” I grin as an idea pops into my head. “Josh’s birthday is in a couple of weeks and he wants to go dancing. Come with us! Who knows how many frogs could be at the club? There might even be a prince or two.”

Evie’s eyes light up. “Who needs a prince when there’s a beat? If any of those frogs can shake it, this Fairy Godmother will hop right on them.”

Success! Or at least as close to it as I can get—I just hope for Evie’s sake that we don’t go to a gay bar. Snort.

Hmm… I wonder if I should tell Tyrell to brush up on his moves?

Nope, I gotta stay in my lane. I’ll let that fairytale write itself.