Zoe was waiting at the curb in front of the school when Natalie got out of her taxi on Monday morning. Her first look into Natalie’s face told Zoe everything: Cassandra Day was dead again.
With a little too much forced cheerfulness in her voice Zoe said, “Hi, Nat. Get some good writing done over the weekend?”
Natalie pressed her lips together, shook her head, and frowned. She stepped around Zoe and went up the front steps.
Zoe was right behind her. “Come on, Natalie. Don’t give up. I’ve got a whole new idea, a really good one.”
Just inside the glass doors Natalie turned around. “Listen, can we just stop talking about this? I’m sorry I ever showed you my stupid story. So let’s just forget about it, okay?” But Natalie knew better, even as she was saying the words. Asking Zoe to stop something halfway was like asking a chimp to lay off the bananas.
Zoe was all business. “Are you done pouting now? Because I’ve got something important to say. I talked with my dad, and I did some thinking, and all Cassandra Day needs is a good agent. You know what an agent is?”
Natalie heaved a sigh and shrugged off her backpack, letting it thump onto the floor behind her. “Yes, I know what an agent is. And I talked with my mom, so I also know that it’s almost as hard to get an agent for a book as it is to get a book published.”
“Well, what would you say if I told you that I’ve already got you an agent?”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Natalie.
“Not kidding,” said Zoe.
“So . . . who is it?” Natalie was cautious but interested, even a little flattered.
Zoe smiled. “Okay, her name is Sherry Clutch, and she’s known my dad for more than ten years, and thanks to me, she knows all about your story, and she’s really interested . . . even if the book’s not completely finished yet.”
Natalie narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at Zoe. “So, what’s the catch? There’s got to be a catch.”
“No, really. There’s no catch . . . except—”
“Aha!” Natalie cut in. “Except what? Sounds like a catch to me. C’mon, out with it.”
Zoe went on, “Well . . . you know how you’re Cassandra Day? Well, Sherry Clutch . . . she’s me! Get it? I’m your agent!”
Natalie’s face was a dictionary of emotions. Horror. Disbelief. Disappointment. Then anger. She grabbed her backpack, wheeled around, and started up the stairs. “That’s not funny, Zoe. It’s not funny at all.”
Again Zoe was at her heels. “But listen, Nat. I can do this, I really can. An agent is just someone who works for a writer. It’s just a person who really believes a writer is great. I know your book is good. I know I can get your mom to take it seriously. It’s gonna get a fair shot, I know it!”
Natalie didn’t stop and she didn’t turn around. She turned left at the first corridor and headed for her locker, taking long purposeful strides. Zoe sprinted ahead, turned, and planted herself in Natalie’s path. Natalie was a whole head taller, and Zoe half expected to be knocked over.
But Natalie stopped. Jaw clenched and eyes hard, she looked down into Zoe’s face.
Zoe said, “Please, Natalie. Just let me give it a try. It’ll be fun, and I know I can do this . . . I know I can. And don’t you think Sherry Clutch is just the most perfect name for an agent?”
Part of Natalie just wanted to push right past this girl and never talk to her again. But her training as a writer stopped her. In a fraction of a second, in that way that writers do, she took a mental step back and considered the scene before her. There was Zoe. Ridiculous? Yes, but also completely loyal, completely enthusiastic, completely confident. Here they stood in the hall, face-to-face. Dozens of kids streamed by in both directions, lockers slammed, laughter and shouts and noise rose all around them. And in that instant Natalie saw what mattered. It wasn’t whether the book got published or not. It wasn’t whether Zoe was absolutely crazy—which she was. The important thing was Zoe herself, her friend.
So Natalie had to roll her eyes and smile. She had to. And then she put out her hand and shook Zoe’s. Then in her author’s voice Natalie said, “Ms. Clutch, I’m Cassandra Day. My friend Zoe says you’re a terrific agent. Can you tell me a little about yourself?”
• • • • •
In bits and pieces during their morning classes Zoe told Natalie about her plans. Natalie had to admit they were impressive—crazy, but still impressive. Except that, as usual, Zoe wanted to do everything herself.
But during lunch Natalie said, “It all sounds good, Zoe, but I want to have Ms. Clayton read my book too. She might have some ideas about how to get it published.”
Zoe looked hurt. “Ms. Clayton? What does she know?”
Natalie shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.”
“But I’ve already thought of everything.”
Natalie narrowed her eyes. “Everything? I don’t think so. I mean, like, look at this.” Natalie pointed at the piece of stationery that Zoe had designed and printed up on her computer at home over the weekend. “Zoe, I hate to tell you, but this stationery doesn’t look real.”
“I know,” said Zoe. “It’s just the prototype. I’ll take it to a Kwik Kopy and have fifty sheets printed up on nice paper.”
Natalie said, “That’s not what I mean.” She pointed at the top of the page, below where it said SHERRY CLUTCH LITERARY AGENCY. “Look. There’s no office address, there’s no phone number, no E-mail address, no fax number. No one’s going to believe this.”
Zoe gave Natalie one of her Do-you-really-think-I’m-that-dumb? kinds of looks. She patted Natalie’s arm and said, “Trust me. I’ve got it all figured out, I really do. That’s my job, remember? But if it’ll make you feel better to have Ms. Clayton get involved, then fine. That’ll be fine. I’ll figure that out too. All you have to do is finish the book and leave the rest to me.”
Natalie wished it could actually be that simple, but she knew better. With Zoe in charge, nothing was simple.