“I…” Cath was pretty sure that Levi actually was the brightest thing in the room, in any room. Bright and warm and crackling—he was a human campfire. “I really like him.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“No.” Cath knew what Wren meant, knew she didn’t want to hear about Levi’s grandmother’s quilt and the way they’d slept curled up in each other, like stackable chairs. “Have you? With Jandro?”
Wren laughed. “Duh. So … are you going to?”
Cath rubbed her right wrist. Her typing wrist. “Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”
Wren grabbed Cath’s arm, then shoved her away. “Oh. My. God. Will you tell me about it when you do?”
“Duh.” Cath pushed her back. “Anyway, I don’t feel like it has to happen now, like immediately, but he makes me want to. And he makes me think … that it’ll be okay. That I don’t have to worry about screwing it up.”
Wren rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to screw it up.”
“Well, I’m not going to nail it either, am I? Remember how long it took me to learn how to drive? And I still can’t backwards skate—”
“Think of how many beautiful first times you’ve written for Simon and Baz.”
“That’s totally different,” Cath said dismissively. “They don’t even have the same parts.”
Wren started giggling and then couldn’t stop. She hugged the laptop to her chest. “You’re more comfortable with their parts than—” She couldn’t stop giggling.”—your own and … and you’ve never even seen their parts.…”
“I try to write around it.” Cath was giggling, too.
“I know,” Wren said, “and you do a really good job.”
When they were done laughing, Wren punched Cath’s arm. “You’ll be fine. The first few times you do it, you only get graded on attendance.”
“Great,” Cath scoffed. “That makes me feel better.” She shook her head. “This whole conversation is premature.”
Wren smiled, but she looked serious, like she wanted something. “Hey, Cath—”
“What now?”
“Don’t kill Baz. I’ll even beta for you, if you want. Just … don’t kill him. Baz deserves a happy ending more than anybody.”
“Shhh.”
“I just—”
“Hush.”
“I worry—”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Simon.”
“Baz?”
“Here.”
—from Carry On, Simon, posted September 2011 by FanFixx.net author Magicath
THIRTY-THREE
“Have you started?” Professor Piper asked.
“Yes,” Cath lied.
She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t say no—Professor Piper was liable to abort this whole endeavor. Cath still hadn’t shown her any progress …
Because Cath hadn’t made any progress.
There was just too much else going on. Wren. Levi. Baz. Simon. Her dad … Actually, Cath wasn’t as worried about her dad as she used to be. That was one nice thing about Wren going home every weekend. On the weekends that Wren was stuck at home, she was so bored, she practically live-blogged the whole thing for Cath, sending constant texts and emails. “dad is making me watch a lewis & clark documentary. it’s like he’s DRIVING me to drink.” Wren didn’t even know about Cath’s Fiction-Writing assignment.
Cath had considered telling Professor Piper—again—that she wasn’t cut out for fiction-writing, that she was practically fiction-phobic. But once Cath was here, looking up at Professor Piper’s hopeful, confident face …
She could never get it out. She’d rather endure these excruciating checkups than tell the truth—that she only ever thought about her project when she was sitting in this room.
“That’s wonderful,” the professor said, leaning forward off her desk to pat Cath’s arm, smiling just the way Cath wanted her to. “I’m so relieved. I thought I was going to have to give you another ‘blood, toil, tears, and sweat’ speech—and I didn’t know if I had one in me.”
Cath smiled. And thought about what a repugnant creature she was.
“So, tell me about it,” the professor said. “May I read what you have so far?”
Cath shook her head too quickly, then kept shaking her head at a more normal pace. “No, I mean, not yet. I just … not yet.”
“Fair enough.” Professor Piper looked suspicious. (Or maybe Cath was just paranoid.) “Can you tell me what you’re writing about?”
“Yeah,” Cath said. “Of course. I’m writing about…” She imagined a big wheel spinning around. Like on The Price Is Right or Wheel of Fortune. Wherever it landed, that would be it—that’s what she’d have to write. “I’m writing about…”
Professor Piper smiled. Like she knew Cath was lying, but still really wanted her to pull this off.
“My mom,” Cath said. And swallowed.
“Your mom,” the professor repeated.
“Yeah. I mean … I’m starting there.”
The professor’s face turned almost playful. “Everyone does.”
* * *
“The aerie,” Cath said, “that’s what this is.”
Levi was sitting against his headboard, and Cath was in his lap, her knees around his hips. She’d spent a lot of time in his lap lately. She liked to be on top, to feel like she could move away if she wanted to. (She almost never wanted to.) She also spent a lot of time deliberately not thinking about anything else that might be happening in his lap; his lap was abstract territory, as far as Cath was concerned. Unfixed. Unmapped. If she thought about Levi’s lap in concrete terms, she ended up crawling off the bed and curling up by herself on the love seat.
“What’s an aerie?” he asked.
“An eagle’s nest.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Right.” He ran a hand up through his hair. Cath followed with her own hand, feeling his hair slip silkily through her fingers. He smiled at her like she was someone who’d just ordered a peppermint latte.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
He nodded and kissed her nose. “Of course.” When he smiled again, only his mouth moved.
“What’s wrong?” Cath started to move off his lap, but he caught her.
“Nothing. Nothing important, I just—” He closed his eyes, like he had a headache. “—I got a test back today. It wasn’t good, even for me.”
“Oh. Did you study for it?”
“Clearly not enough.”
Cath wasn’t sure how much Levi studied. He never cracked a book—but he went everywhere with earbuds. He was always listening to a lecture when she came down to his truck. He always pulled them out when she climbed in.
Cath thought back to the way he used to study with Reagan, flash cards spread all over the room, asking question after question.…
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Indirectly,” she said. “You’re not studying with anyone else.”
“Cather. Look at me. I’ve never been this happy in my life.”
“You don’t seem happy.”
“I didn’t mean right this minute.” He smiled; it was tired, but genuine. Cath wanted to kiss his little pink mouth immobile.
“You need to study,” she said, punching his chest.
“Okay.”
“With Reagan. With all those girls you exploit.”
“Right.”
“With me, if you want. I could help you study.”
He reached up to her ponytail and started tugging out the rubber band. She let her head fall back.
“You have enough homework,” he said. “And thousands of Simon Snow fans hanging on your every word.”
Cath looked up at the cracks in the plaster ceiling while he worked the hair tie free. “If it meant being here, in the aerie, with you,” she said, “instead of you being somewhere else with someone else, I would gladly make the sacrifice.”
He pulled her hair forward; it fell just past her shoulders. “I can’t decide if you love me,” he said, “or this room.”
“Both,” Cath said, then thought through his choice of words and blushed.