Chapter Twenty
Thursday, December 16th
Creative writing club meeting
“I can’t live here anymore,” Autumn said, more sad than angry. August thought it was as if she spoke a language where everybody heard what they wanted. His parents heard she was leaving because she hated them, while Amber probably thought it only proved once again that she was the best daughter, but only August heard the truth—Autumn’s leaving was not a promise or a threat. It was not even an act of anger. It was an act of mercy.
“Anybody?” Dr. Draper asks after she finishes reading more from Autumn’s Fall. There’s time for people to comment since Josh isn’t at this meeting, which also means no Charlotte. Gabby’s here, but sits across from me. I wonder if she notices me tense up when I see Kirk open his mouth. For the first time in my life, I wish Josh were around. If Josh were here, then he’d have been reading his perfect story rather than me having to listen to Kirk attack mine.
“Wow, where do I start?” Kirk says. He’s got a shark smile on his face, a gleam in his eyes and bullets ready to fire from his mouth. “This story reinforces the stereotype that teens are moody and identify only with characters who share these traits. The characters read like they’ve been recycled from bad teen novels, but with more depravity. But all of this could be forgiven except for the Autumn character. The author neglects to show her positive qualities. The focus is only on her drama. How is anybody supposed to care about this pathetic girl?”
I’m turning the chair beneath me to sawdust, grinding my fingers into it. Poor Caitlin would be so jealous if she could see me now. She always wanted to be an actress, even tried out for a couple of school plays. But when she didn’t get the lead, she just quit. If she couldn’t be the star, she bolted. While she was a drama queen, Caitlin couldn’t act. But if she wanted to see a Banks family member act, she should see this performance, worthy of Tony, Oscar and Emmy.
“Kirk, that’s a little harsh,” I say, trying to sound very calm. “But I agree with you. Why would anyone care about this Autumn character? She just seems like a human train wreck.”
“I disagree, strongly,” Gabby says with a confused look on her face as she probably wonders why I’d attack my work, but you’d think she’d understand. After every victory, no matter how well she did, Gabby always puts down her performance, saying ‘I suck’. It’s good enough for the team, since they usually win, but I suspect not good enough for her dad, who attends most every game.
“But in this story—” Kirk starts.
“This girl has never succeeded at anything. She feels like a failure. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To always feel like you’re a loser and letting people down? Do you have—”
“This isn’t about me,” Kirk snaps. “It’s about the girl in this story and I think—”
“You’re not talking about a story. You’re talking about a person,” Gabby fires back.
“Are you saying this girl is real? How would—” he starts.
“She is to me. Have you no feeling for people who make mistakes?”
The room goes silent. Kirk’s not used to having his opinions, as loud and as wrong as they are, challenged. Like most bullies, brain or brawn, he doesn’t want a fair fight in public.
“People, let’s not argue,” Dr. Draper says. “It is okay to disagree, but let’s keep it respectful. This isn’t about anyone’s feelings, but instead trying to make you all better writers.”
“It is personal to me,” Gabby says, trying to avoid eye contact. “I care about this girl. How could you read this story and not care about her as she struggles to do the right thing?”
“I know what’s been read here,” he says, sounding embarrassed. He’s trying to back down, but Gabby’s got a full court press all over his ass. “And I don’t like the story or the girl.”
“How can you say that?” Gabby says. “Are you writing anything? Is anyone reading what you wrote? It must be nice to sit in judgment of others all the time.”
“If you understood literature, you’d agree with what I’m saying. Right, Dr. Draper?” he asks. Dr. Draper says nothing. “This is serious stuff, not like shooting a ball in a hoop.”
Gabby bolts from her chair and gets in Kirk’s face like he’s a ref who made a bad call. “How dare you say that! Because I’m an athlete, I can’t know anything else? Or is it ’cos I’m black?”
“No, that’s not it,” Kirk says. He sounds like he’s ready to cry.
“I agree, that’s not it,” I offer. “Kirk’s not a racist. He’s just an asshole.”
“Okay, we’re done for today!” Dr. Draper shouts. “Please grab the prompts and everyone’s submitted pieces on the way out. Carson, could you please stay?”
Her request elicits the classic ‘in trouble’ sound as people exit. Gabby turns around to look at me, and I want to mouth ‘I love you’, but the words, unlike me the other night on the phone, won’t come. The new year is two weeks away and I’ve just made three resolutions. I will tell Gabby I love her, we will do the act to prove that, and I will bring Caitlin home.
“You can’t insult Kirk,” Dr. Draper says, then motions me to sit at a desk next to her.
“I was just defending Gabby.”
“She was doing fine defending herself. You were being defensive about your writing.”
“I guess,” I mumble.
“Look, after today, I’m doing away with blind readings,” she says. “It’s not working.”
“I agree.”
“People are afraid to submit things because they’re afraid people will more easily tear it apart. The process is supposed to make things more open, and it’s always worked, except…”
“Except?”
“Except I used it with college students, not high-school ones,” she says, then sighs. “I’ll just let people read aloud and talk directly to the writer. That seems to work with Josh.”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“It works with Josh because the girls—and Kirk—adore him,” I tell her, amazed that she’s blind to the Sun God. “His writing is really good, but it’s the coyness and cuteness of Josh they worship, not just his words.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that, but I think we’ll let people read their own work from now on,” Dr. Draper says. “Will you continue to submit these stories?”
“It’s a novel,” I tell her. “The stories are going to be a novel.”
“Carson, that’s very ambitious.” I can’t detect from her tone if she believes I’m up to it.
“If Josh can write a novel, then so can I.” I cross my arms and make up my mind.
“Maybe the two of you should work together,” she says, showing that you can be smart with advanced degrees like her, yet still be a total idiot. “Most everyone else is writing poetry. Talk with him about it. You might help each other.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say to appease her, but there’s no way in hell that’s ever happening. The only word I want to say to Josh is ‘goodbye’ at graduation.
“Carson, you need to learn to take criticism, even if it is not constructive.”
“But from Kirk?” I ask. “What gives him the right?”
“Because he’s the reader. Once it leaves your hands, it is the reader’s story, not yours.”
“But why does he have to be so critical?” Words come from my thick head about my thin skin. You’d think with Charlotte then Thien I’d be used to rejection, but no.
She shakes her head. “Because that’s what people do. Carson, you have the potential to be a great writer, but if you can’t take criticism, you may not have the temperament for it.”
“I have a temper and a fondness for mints,” I cut.
“And bad puns, it seems.”
“Is there any other kind?” She kind of smiles, but I’m guessing she’s faking it. I gather my stuff so I can have a few minutes with Gabby before her game.
“You should think about working with Josh,” she says as she picks up her briefcase. “Just between us, Carson, you two are the most talented and mature writers in this group.”
I drop my book bag on the floor with a loud thud. “Who is better?”
“What?” she asks, like she didn’t hear. I can tell from her eyes, she did.
“I asked you who is a better writer, me or Josh Brown?” As she goes mute and avoids eye contact, I have my answer. I let her twist in the wind as I walk toward the hall, but I’m not thinking about the halls of Fenton High, instead the walls in my house. Carol’s filled with trophies, certificates and achievements while Caitlin’s wall is barren of accomplishment. Anyone like Kirk, who couldn’t care less about Autumn, never tasted spicy red anger and sour green envy.
* * * *
Even Gabby’s kisses taste bittersweet when we rendezvous later in Mom’s Malibu for a few minutes together. “Thanks for saying those things,” I tell her.
“You know I play tough defense,” she cracks. “Anybody gets in my zone, they get hurt.”
“Tell me about it,” I say as I reach out to lift up her shirt. She slaps my hand, playfully.
“After the game,” she jokes back. “I need all my energy and focus.”
“Can I ask you something?” Gabby nods, then rests her head against me as I ask, “Do you think Autumn seems real?”
“She’s very real to me,” Gabby says. “I guess that’s why I care about her so much.”
“Dr. Draper wants us to read our own writing from now on. I’m not sure I can do it.”
“I’ll be there to set a screen for you, Carson,” she says and she burrows in deeper.
“I’m not sure how to make other people care about her.”
“Why do you care about her?” she asks. I pull her a little tighter. I know I can’t half-lie myself out of this anymore. Both my body and brain tell me to put my lips to work on Gabby’s mouth rather than speaking words I should’ve told her a long time ago, but the heart trumps all.
“Because she is real,” I confess. Gabby’s head lifts from me. “It’s my older sister.”
Mixed emotions wash over her face. “Are you the character named August in the story?”
“Yea, it’s my middle name. Pretty lame, I know.”
“How is she?” Gabby asks. When I pause, she grabs my hands and holds them tight. “And, Carson Banks, don’t you dare tell me you don’t know and I just have to read the rest of the story. If you say that, so help me God, I will drop you like a bad habit.”
“I don’t know. She just left Christmas morning three years ago.”
“Do you know where she is?”
I deflect the question. “After she left, my parents hired a detective. Then Dad lost his job and they couldn’t pay anymore, not that he ever found out anything anyway.”
“Carson, I’m sorry.” She kisses me softly.
“I think if I write her story, maybe I’ll learn something,” I say. “If I can figure out why she left, maybe I can figure out what it would take to get her to come home.”
“Well, remember what I said that first night?” she whispers.
“That her story needed a happy ending?”
“You’re the writer. You can write a happy ending for me, can’t you?”
“In fiction, yes. In Caitlin… That’s her real name. In Caitlin’s life, I don’t know.”
Gabby kisses me again and I know I can’t let her down. My quest is about her now, too.