Chapter 20

Zelda isn’t at therapy the next morning. I miss her and her smirks and even her mixed signals.

Sky takes her turn at the mic today, and though I can hardly be blamed for not paying rapt attention due to Zelda never leaving my thoughts, I catch the salient points of her story. She rallied the supporting characters in her last novel to create their own subplot where Sky’s character puts on an epic battle of the bands. Unfortunately, it was a Very Serious Book about a Very Serious Issue, and the Author complained that Sky’s fun and frivolous meanderings clashed tonally with the rest.

“And I think instead of excising the good parts, the Author should have aspired to amp up his boring stuff,” Sky grumbles, squeezing her fist around the base of Angela’s pink microphone so tightly, it looks like she might warp the plastic. “I hope he ends up remaindered. Or pulped.”

Everyone gasps. Even me.

Angela recovers quickly from her shock. “I would like you to try to rephrase your statements to be more positive, please.”

“Why?” Sky asks. “It’s not like the Author listens in, right? That’s what you always claim, anyway.”

“Our goal here is to remember our place,” Angela says patiently, though I notice an eyelid twitch. “We are subject to the Author’s vision. And the Author is always right.”

“The Author is always right,” we all drone, expect for Sky. She and Angela stare each other down until Sky finally relents.

“Fine,” Sky says, slumping in her chair and letting the mic drop into her lap. “The Author is always right.”

Angela beams. “Very good, Sky!”

“Still.” Sky closes her hand loosely around the mic. “It’s a shame that subplot had to go. It was so cool.”

“You remember it,” I blurt. “Tell us about it, and we’ll remember it with you.”

Fortunately, Angela doesn’t chastise me for speaking out of turn. In fact, she supports me. “What an excellent idea, Riley. Let’s serve the pie and have a story hour!”

No complaints from me on that count. I cut the pie, a lemon meringue, and everyone takes a piece except for Nebraska, who waves me away waggling her fingers. Mandy grabs a plate from me a little too roughly and mutters a ‘thank you’ without meeting my eyes. Her lips are set in such a thin line, I can barely make out her trademark red lipstick.

But I quickly forget about her brusqueness as I get lost in Sky’s story and the spellbinding cadence of her words. I admire the way she threw herself into her character, the way she left an echo of her true self in the story.

But is that the best we can hope for? To give pieces of ourselves to the characters we play until we become empty caricatures of ourselves? Maybe that explains why Nebraska is so sharp-edged and bitter. Would her personality have developed differently if she had the chance to control her own story?

When the session ends and we all go our separate ways, Mandy confronts me in the elevator. “I’m mad at you.”

One guess to why she might be upset. “Did Clark visit you?”

“Yes. And he gifted me two glass grasshoppers.” Mandy pulls a pink paper box out of her bag, and she opens it to show me two perfectly formed green grasshoppers. “He said you told him to!”

I whistle in appreciation for his glassblowing, skills far superior to his intellectual capability. “Clark is quite the talent, though.”

“He is, isn’t he?” A proud smile breaks through her frustration for a moment. “But that does not get you off the hook.”

“I’m sorry. Clark completely misunderstood my advice on the grasshopper front, but I did tell him he should work out his problems directly with you instead of trying to use me as a middleman.”

“He sat on my sofa and stared at my mosaic for, like, ten minutes.” Mandy huffs. “And then burst into sobs.”

I can imagine this scene perfectly. Clark breaking down and Mandy comforting him, making him false promises of eternal glass adoration she cannot possibly keep. “So you got back together?”

She throws up her arms in a gesture of defeat. “How could we not? I’m not a heartless beast.”

Would the sobbing tactic work on Zelda? I doubt it. For starters, we don’t have the history Mandy and Clark share—we can’t get back together when we’ve never been a couple. Plus, I’m not prone to sobbing. Minor welling and tearing up, here and there, but no major waterworks.

“Do you love him, though?”

“I want to,” she answers. “And some days I think I could. Isn’t that enough? For now?”

Judging from Mandy’s pained expression, I would say ‘no,’ but haven’t I already meddled enough? Relationships sure are tough to navigate when there is no Author controlling the outcome.

“Look, I’m the wrong person to ask for relationship advice.” And when I say it, my voice wobbles.

“Riley has a crush on someone.” Mandy sing-songs this statement, as if I’m a kindergartener about to develop a terminal case of cooties. “And I know who it is.”

To my relief, the elevator door opens, offering me an escape route. “No, you don’t.”

“Please.” Her tone becomes serious as she trails me out of the elevator. “I’ve noticed the way you look at Zelda.”

The blush rampaging across my face confirms Mandy’s suspicions. Betrayed by my own body! “I don’t think she looks at me the same way,” I confess.

Mandy gives me a long, consoling hug. She must agree with my assessment, which makes me even more insecure than I already am.

“Zelda has a lot going on. Maybe romance is not a priority for her at the moment.”

Ouch. Is Mandy implying that my priorities are screwed up? “Well, maybe it would be her priority if there weren’t the whole therapy non-fraternization rule to consider,” I point out.

“But see, here’s the thing. Even if it weren’t against the therapy rules—when have you ever heard of two Manic Pixies in love? I mean, wouldn’t the universe explode from an overload of quirky cuteness? It’s probably better for our continued existence that you leave her to all her admirers at the pool hall.”

“You play pool with her?” I must sound accusatory, because she gets defensive.

“Yeah, and you could, too, if you ever went out with us.”

“You’ve never invited me out.”

She scrunches up her features in confusion, as if including me in all the Manic Pixie group activities had never occurred to her before. “You’re welcome to come whenever. I won’t be there tonight because I have a date with Clark, but I know Zelda and some others are going. The pool hall has been a popular Manic Pixie meet-up spot for eons.”

My mind immediately jumps ahead to what I’ll say to Zelda at the pool hall. Will I feign disinterest, or will her charm disarm me?

“Can you not tell anyone about my feelings for Zelda?”

Mandy laughs. “Sure, as long as you refrain from encouraging Clark to give me more grasshoppers.”

“If only he’d listen,” I sigh. But we shake on it.