“You’re still thinking about Rad?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. I had tried my best to put Rad out of my mind, but it was easier said than done. I kept thinking about the last time I saw him, at Blues Point when we had erased one another from our phones on the count of three. Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that night and stop that from happening. “I feel bad about it. I mean, Duck literally has no idea that Rad is still on my mind. We used to fight about it all the time, but it’s almost like he’s forgotten the whole thing ever happened.” I looked down at my hands. “I wish I could forget.”
“How is Duck doing?”
“Duck’s great. He’s just started his law degree, and he loves it. Since we left school, his ambitious streak has gone into overdrive.”
“How so?”
“Well, he’s gotten into self-help books in a big way. And there’s always some business seminar in town that he’s enrolled in.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Fine, I guess. As long as he is happy. We don’t get to spend as much time together as we used to, though.”
“Does that bother you?”
I shook my head. “Not really. There’s lots to keep me busy.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She scribbled something down in her notebook. “I know I wrote you a note for the doctor, some time ago. Did you ever fill the prescription?”
“No. After my fight with Candela, I was thinking about how she used to sneak a pill here and there from her mother’s supply. And I didn’t want to go down that road. I mean, I was coping okay with the rubber band.”
“Have you had any more panic attacks since I last saw you?”
I shook my head and smiled. “Not a single one.”
Thirteen
The next morning Sam came up to my desk and placed a book on top of a stack of papers.
“Novellas are making a comeback,” she said, her tone matter of fact.
“They are? I thought publishers never touched them.”
“Well, this one is making waves at the moment,” she said tapping the cover lightly with one perfectly manicured finger.
“Pretty.” There was an image of a snow-covered field with the title A Snowflake in a Snowfield and the author’s name printed underneath. “Colorado Clark?” I said. “Is that a pen name?”
“I don’t know, but you can ask him yourself. He’s your first feature.”
“Really?” I said, perking up. After weeks of pleading, Sam was finally tasking me with my first feature article. I was ecstatic. I jumped up and hugged her.
“Yes, really,” she grinned. “April has set up a time and place for you to interview him on Monday. She’ll e-mail the details to you. Make sure you read the book this weekend.”
“I will,” I promised, clutching the book to my chest and grinning at her. After sitting on the sideline for all these months, I was raring to go. I couldn’t wait to see my name in print.
“The book has already made the Elliott Tate short list, by the way,” she said as she was walking away.
“Seriously? A novella?”
She stopped and turned around. “It’s not the first time a novella has been short-listed.”
“I know, but it’s rare.”
A paper airplane landed squarely in front of me. I looked up. Trinh, a senior journalist, grinned at me from her desk. She got up and walked over.
“Congrats,” she said.
“You knew?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Sam asked me if I thought you were ready, and I said ‘hell yeah.’”
“Aw, thanks, Trinny,” I said, flashing her a grateful smile.
Since I started at See! Sydney, senior journalist Trinh had taken me under her wing. She was in her midtwenties and already had an Ayres Award under her belt—the Australian equivalent of a Pulitzer. She had a passion for politics and wanted to write for the Washington Post one day. Like Sam, Trinh took pride in her appearance and always looked like she’d just walked off a fashion shoot. I envied women like that, the ones who could throw together an outfit and make it work—who could coordinate their shoes, makeup, and jewelry and make it all seem effortless.
“So are you excited?” she asked, her gold hoop earrings shimmering against her jet-black hair.
“Yes. You know how badly I’ve wanted this.”
“I’ve read the book. It’s powerful stuff—hard to believe someone so young wrote it. Word on the street is that he’s gorgeous too.”
“Is Colorado Clark his real name?”
“Apparently. It’s an interesting name, isn’t it? Sounds like a superhero.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. It certainly was an intriguing name.
“Anyway, I’d better get back to work. Good luck with the interview on Monday. Can’t wait to hear all about it!”
“Your mother has been calling me nonstop,” said Lucy as I walked through the front door. “She says you’re not answering your phone again.” She was sitting upright on our royal-blue loveseat painting her toenails red.
I put my keys down on the kitchen bench and kicked off my shoes.
“God,” I moaned. “There’s a reason why I left home. When will she realize I plan on avoiding her for the rest of my life?”
“Audrey, I know she can be tough on you, but she’s still your mother.”
“You have no idea,” I said with a sigh. “Your parents are perfect.”
“Anyway,” said Lucy, her face fixed in intense concentration as she dipped the tiny brush into the bottle of red polish, “can you just call her? I’m tired of playing gatekeeper.”
“Fine.” I grabbed a mug from the kitchen cupboard. “I’ll do it after I have my cup of tea. Do you want one?”
“Sure.” She put the bottle of polish on the coffee table and looked up at me. “Hey, want to go out tonight?”
“I probably shouldn’t,” I said, as I put the kettle on. “I’ve just been given my first feature.”
“No way! Audrey, that’s fantastic. Congrats! You’ve been wanting this for ages.”
“I know,” I said, beaming at her.
“Who’s the feature?”
“Some hot new writer. I have to read his book over the weekend. It’s a novella, which is kind of neat. I can’t remember the last time I read one.”
“A novella? You should be able to finish it in no time. C’mon, Audrey! Freddy and Duck are both free tonight. The four of us haven’t gone out together in ages. Plus, now we have a reason to celebrate!”
“Okay. I suppose I can start the book tomorrow.”
Later that night, we met up with Freddy and Duck at Spag Bowl. It was someone’s (probably drunken) idea to attach a small Italian joint to a bowling alley. The food was awful, but it had a great atmosphere and the Bolognese was passable as long as you drowned it with Parmesan.
Lucy and I were sitting at one of the tables draped in red-and-white gingham and decorated with a small vase of fake red roses. The place was buzzing with people talking over the offbeat notes of a piano sonata, occasionally interrupted by the smack of bowling balls into pins. “Should we get a snack before joining the boys?” I asked.
“I’m starving! Let’s have dinner. Besides, Freddy gets so competitive when he plays against me. He’s such a bad loser.” She rolled her eyes.
I smiled. When it came to bowling, Lucy was formidable.
“Hi, gorgeous,” said Freddy, sneaking up behind Lucy and planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Gross, you’re all sweaty,” she said pushing his face away.
“Hey,” said Duck.
“Hi,” Lucy and I said in unison.
“Are you two going to join us?” asked Freddy, picking up Lucy’s beer and taking a swig.
“Maybe later,” said Lucy. “We’re going to have dinner.”