Scarlett Epstein Hates It Here(33)

Of course she did. The vision of Kira and Dad brewing some French press coffee and spending a lazy Saturday morning in the brownstone going over line edits almost makes me hurl with aspirational envy.

“Dad, that’s amazing. Seriously. You’re gonna be famous. And I am so gonna benefit from that sweet, sweet literary-world nepotism.”

He laughs. “Let’s not get our hopes up just yet. It still feels very surreal.”

“Well, get used to it, pretty soon it’ll be very real!”

“That’s true,” he says, sounding way more measured and low-key than I’d expect from a debut novelist who has been working on this manuscript since I was eight.

“Don’t sound so elated; you might sprain something.”

“What about you?” he asks. Being typically modest, of course he is changing the subject. I reluctantly roll with it.

“What about me?”

“It’s about time I saw some of your work, isn’t it?”

“It’s fanfiction, I’m not Alice Munro. And to answer your question, I’ll send something to you when you have the hookup at the New Yorker.”

“Scar, I mean it. I might not have a ton of time right now because of all the book stuff, but I really want to read them. I know you’ve been at the top of the pack in this community for years. When can I see them?”

“When they’re good enough for you to read,” I say.

“I have no doubt that they already are.”

I brush that off, insisting I’ll send one soon, but all the while a warm, loved feeling creeps up behind my rib cage like ivy.





Chapter 14


The Ordinaria

Part 4

Submitted by Scarface_Epstein

It was the night of the Pembrooke donors’ ball, when all the wealthy parents who had swimming pools or lacrosse courts in their names were rewarded with highballs, a live band, and zero mentions of the money. That would be déclassé.

Gideon’s father had basically strong-armed him into hanging out with Jason Tous and his two flunkies from school. Now here they were in his foyer, in impeccably tailored suits, sitting on stiff-backed chairs in the laboratory waiting room as Ashbot and the other (human) girls got ready upstairs.

His father, naturally, really liked these obnoxious guys— not to mention zeroed in on them as potential Miss Ordinaria consumers. Some of them had even applied to intern at the lab.

Gideon hated it at first . . . but then he surprised himself. Getting wasted and making sexual jokes about “product testing” was kind of fun. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy hanging with them just a little bit, having a beer with some normal guys and pretending he was one too, at least for a little while.

He noticed he was jiggling his leg nervously and stopped. Usually these things were incredibly boring, and he went only because his parents made him. Not this time. He’d gotten another e-mail from Anonymous last night: I’ll be at the donors’ ball. Black dress. We need to talk.

It was the first he’d heard from Anonymous since the original e-mail. Black dress! So it was a woman (probably). He was determined to get to the bottom of it. He just hoped there weren’t too many women in black dresses—he really didn’t want to go up to someone cool-looking and ask, “Are you Anonymous?” like a noir blind date.

He sighed, audibly.

Jason was slumped insolently in his chair checking his phone, with his legs spread much wider than they needed to be. He glanced at Gideon, then broke into an Ol’ Boy grin and slapped him on the back.

“You’ve got it made, dude! Lighten up.”

“Nah, it’s not chill.” When he was with them, Gideon slid into colloquialisms he’d never use normally. The other day in AP Philosophy, he actually heard himself say, “Proust was dope.” Everyone laughed, even the teacher. With him, though. Not at him. It gave him a proud rush.

Dylan Dinerstein, usually the quietest, piped up: “I get it. You don’t want to settle on one. You want to rent a little first, and now you’re stuck with—”

He jerked his head toward the stairs.

“It’s not even like that,” Gideon mumbled.

“You won’t even feel, like . . . obligated to put a down payment on her once she’s got a lot of miles on her.”

“Miles?”

“Hi!”

Ashbot stood at the top of the stairs, flanked by the other three guys’ dates, who were all wearing black. Ashbot had finally found her clique: the sort of girls who dated guys like Jason and blotted their pizza and wore Miss Ordinaria–brand lingerie. Still, of course, Ashbot looked hotter than all of them. She was wearing a white dress that flattered her pale, creamy skin. Then they glided down the marble stairs, their four-inch heels clacking perfectly in time with one another.

Gideon held out his arm and Ashbot took it, smiling brightly at him and tossing her hair, accidentally showing the on-off switch on the back of her neck. He fixed her hair to cover it again.

She zeroed in on his yellow tie. “Oh, you have to change that. Quick, we’ll be late.”

“What’s up with that? They look like they’re going to a funeral.”

Ashbot rolled her eyes. “God, did you even look at the invite? It’s a black-and-white ball.”