I knew it was wrong. But she lookedsohappy.
“Yeah, I mean… we Skyped. He lives in Chicago.” Thank you, Wikipedia and today’s deep boredom.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?”
“It’s very new.”
“Is he handsome? I’m sure he’s handsome.” She looked expectantly at me, then at Otis. Her sudden mood swing was borderline frightening. I couldseeher mentally decorating a wedding cake.
“Super handsome. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Tall.”
Otis and Mom began gushing over my fake-but-actually-real boyfriend. I tried steering the conversation toward Otis’s play. No luck.
My phone buzzed.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, yanking it from my back pocket, grateful for the excuse to escape the kitchen—which now felt half its original size.
No caller ID.
“Just a second,” I said, as Mom asked, “Is it John?”
I ducked into the hallway and leaned against the door to my old room.
“Yes, this is Nora,” I said.
“Hello, Nora,” a female voice replied. “I’m Charlene Clark, Senior Editor at Haller & Mark.”
My heart leapt into my throat.
“Hi. Hi,” I said. Brillant.
She laughed. “I know you probably didn’t expect to hear from us this soon, but your submission was the first we reviewed—and halfway through, I already knew.”
Was I breathing? I wasn’t sure.
“What… what are you saying?”
“I’m calling to let you know we’ve selected your story for the next round.”
A squeal built in my chest. Was this real?
“That’s… great. Amazing, actually. Thank you.”
Mom’s head popped into the hallway. She must’ve mistaken my grin for swooning over “John.” I waved her off, but she didn’t budge.
“There are a few things that need revising—we’ll prepare a list with revision points.” Charlene continued.
I nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see me. “Yes. Great.”
“You and the other selected writers will receive feedback on the first day of the retreat. You’ll have five days to polish your manuscript for the next round.”
My stomach churned and lifted at the same time. It was a confusing feeling.THELew Elliot’s own retreat. The birthplace of the originalCaptain Carusobooks. A sci-fi writer’s wet dream.
“Fantastic. I’ll take the time off.” Tired-Nora wasn’t thinking clearly. Tired-Nora had one focus and one focus only.
“Wonderful,” said the editor, whose name I’d already forgotten. “We’ll send you an itinerary and directions. We’re excited to see what you’ll do with the story.”
The moment I hung up, Mom asked, “Was that John? Are you going on a trip with him?”
