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“I’m saying it’s got big problems,” Esther told him bluntly, because sugar-coating it wouldn’t do him any favors. Not if this was for his master’s thesis. “Have you considered who your audience is for a film like this? Who are you expecting to sell tickets to? Because people who think they’re signing up for Armageddon II aren’t going to be happy when they end up watching a horror film halfway through. And people who actually want to see an ambiguous commentary on post-structuralism aren’t going to buy a ticket to something that sounds like Armageddon II.”
He nodded at the papers in her hand. “What else is written down there?”
“Ummm…” She wasn’t sure if she should tell him the other stuff. It was pretty much all downhill from here, and he was already pissed.
“Go on, I can take it. Let’s hear the rest.”
“Okay…” She went down the page, rattling off a list of comments: “A lot of the dialogue is either meaningless word salad or lazy clichés. Characters talk at each other like robots instead of actual humans beings. Your hero is dumb as a rock. Your female lead reads like the equivalent of a grown man playing with a Barbie doll. The way the mechanic character talks is definitely racist—”
“Did I do anything right?” he interrupted, staring straight ahead. His hands were knotted into fists at his side, his forearms taut.
“Well…asteroids exist,” Esther said. “You got that part right.”
His jaw clenched. “Great.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s fine.” He scooped up his laptop and pushed himself to his feet. “Can you just give me your notes and I’ll read over them on my own?” He held his hand out without meeting her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She felt like she’d just stomped on a baby bird. A baby bird who’d asked her to stomp on him, but that didn’t keep her from feeling like crap.
“You didn’t. I asked for an honest critique and that’s what you gave me. Can I have the notes?”
Esther reluctantly held them out, and he snatched them out of her hand. “Look, Jonathan—”
“Thanks for your help,” he said, cutting her off as he turned to go. “I’ll take your feedback under consideration.”
She winced as the door slammed behind him.
Well, that went exactly as well as she’d expected.
Chapter Nine
Jinny finally called Esther back at eight o’clock that night.
“My mother is giving me brain cancer,” she announced.
Esther dug the television remote out from under Sally’s belly and paused The Walking Dead right as a zombie was about to bite someone’s throat out. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Every time I see her, I get a headache. That sounds like brain cancer to me.”
“Or here’s a thought,” Esther said. “Maybe you just find her aggravating, and it’s a normal stress headache.”
“Maybe,” Jinny allowed reluctantly.
“Tell me about your date last night. How’d it go?”
Silence. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “It was fine, I guess.”
That was…not at all the reaction Esther had been expecting, based on Jonathan’s version of events. “But not great?”
“He let me talk more this time.”
“That’s good, right?” Nice to know he’d actually paid attention to some of Esther’s coaching. But he must have done something else wrong.
“I suppose.” Jinny made a dissatisfied noise. “I don’t know, I’m still not feeling the fluttery thing, you know? I want him to make my heart beat faster and my toes curl. My toes did not curl, not once. Not even when we were making out.”
Esther sat up straighter. “Wait, back up. You made out with him?” No wonder Jonathan had been grinning—and blushing—when he’d talked about Jinny earlier.
