Page 81 of Foes & Cons
I haven’t spoken to anyone about this apart from my parents (who, by the way, are being equal parts patient and firmwith me), because the moment I consider life without a daily guarantee of Roxy in it, my chest becomes incredibly tight, like there’s a Hexle Hag sitting on top of me, trying to suck my dreams out through my nose.
Fake McKinley squeezes my arm, but I can’t look at him.
“Is there anything else you want to do? Anything else you’re good at?”
I shrug and look around the room.
“This? But I don’t think I can make a living following Damon Van Schwartz around the globe.”
“What about the writing?”
“Writing?” I say, frowning.
“Roxy told me what a good writer you are.”
“Did she?”
He nods. “Our time spent together was mostly her telling me how much she wants you to win the competition or the things she loves about you. She sent me some of your fan fiction, but I’ve not read it yet. Sorry.”
It feels like he’s hugging my heart. I’m still amazed that Roxy and I fit together in the way that we do.
“She said you haven’t written any in a while.”
“I haven’t.” My head turns involuntarily in Charlie Chamberlain’s direction. “But I’ve had this idea for a new fantasy thing, a totally new character. I think.”
“That’s cool. I was always terrible at writing.”
“I kind of love it. The comments and reactions I got on Wattpad were so cool, and now with this new idea I just get, I don’t know . . . excited imagining how someone might feel about what I’ve made up, in my brain,” I say, surprising myself. “Other than this, I think it might be my happy place.”
“Could you study writing? At uni?”
“Maybe? I guess? My mum really wants me to do the uni thing because it‘was the best time of her life’,”I say, sighing.
“You’re not into it?”
“I was when I thought it would be like an extended weekend with Roxy, but now I’m just kind of . . . numb about it,” I say. “I have a couple of other uni options, but I really don’t . . . my parents want a decision when I get back.”
“No pressure,” he says.
“Exactly. Dad’s not stuck on uni but he says I’m not allowed to ‘lie around like an unemployed herbert’.”
“Who’s Herbert?” he asks, laughing.
“No idea. But I know he’s right. I can’t roll myself into a duvet Swiss roll and exist like that for ever. As appealing as it sounds.”
He smiles at me, and despite the utter turmoil my soul is in right now, shovelling this shit off my chest takes the pressure off my lungs a little.
“My grandad used to say, find a job you don’t hate, as long as you spend the rest of your time doing something you love.”
“Sounds so simple,” I say.
“He was retired.” We watch someone pick up a bracelet, check the price, then move on quickly. “What about that course. TheVampire Fallswriter one?”
“Gloria Hannigan?” I say, then shake my head. “I’d never get on that, especially the residential. They pay for the accommodation in Ireland, but you have to get yourself there. And that’s if she even selects you.” I’ve looked at the course outline so many times, I could recite every step in the process to Fake McKinley and tell him how many Funko POP!s it would cost to enrol (clue:a lot). I slide down in the chair, my back hurting. “Anyway . . . where’s doing a writing course going to get me?”
“Didn’t you say writing was your happy place?” he says, frowning at me.
“Yeah.”
