Page 108 of Fate Fiction

“I thought you said you weren’t a writer.” I could hear him smiling through the phone. My brain conjured up the same warm Evan smile that sometimes haunted me late at night. My favorite ghost.

“Still not, just a person who writes sometimes. And who’s trying to convince a literary agent that her writing doesn’t suck.” A far more complicated task than I’d naively anticipated.

“I’m definitely sure it doesn’t,” he replied assuredly.

“Well when this agent officially tells me it sucks I’ll come back and say I told you so.”

He huffed a laugh on the other end. “Then you can join the rejection club. I’ve been rejected. Many times. Not only by you.”

The last sentence was a wasp sting. I didn’t love being an honorary member of the walk of fame of people who were dumb enough to reject Evan McLeod. My name shouldn’t be listed among sleazy casting directors and agents and A-listers.

“Because you’re too charming and handsome for the role you auditioned for?” I cheekily asked as I tried to diffuse this miniscule bomb of tension that was sparking between us.

“Because I’m sometimes an anxious mess who word vomits during chemistry reads.”

“And how did you handle it?”

“I usually go someplace I can forget who I am and what my job is. An art museum. Coney Island in the middle of winter. If I have the time I’ll spend a whole day driving upstate somewhere. I need the clear separation in the same way that you need your escape by way of running. I’m honestly surprised that wasn’t your first inclination.”

He and I were still technically strangers.

The hours we’d spent together had barely amounted to a full week. Yet a tiny tingle bloomed in my core at him mentioning that quirk of mine. Evan and I didn’t actually know each other, but he knew this about me. He’d filed it away among the other details I’d revealed to him

“That’ll come later,” I said. “I’m trying to run away from my problems a little less.”

“What’s it called?” he asked.

“What’s what called?”

“The book.”

“‘Fire on the Lake’.”

It was a strange cousin to “Ice on the Turret,” more of an inside joke with myself than anything. Maybe the most eagle-eyed fanfiction readers could tie the threads together. I’d dropped a few subtle references into the manuscript, things that had been so intrinsic in my fanfiction writing that they were impossible to shake off. The story as a whole was wildly different from anything I’d ever written before, and I think that’s why I loved it so much.

“Sounds like a New York Times Bestseller to me,” he said earnestly. “I’m really, really glad you texted me. I finally had an excuse to call you.”

I sat silent for a heartbeat. It was bizarre how easy it had been for me to reach out. To pick things up in the way they should’ve been in the alternate universe version of our lives.

“Seriously?” I blurted out. “It’s not weird given the everything between us?”

“It’s definitely weird, but nice? Unfortunately I think we’re tethered together for a multitude of reasons. Plus, talking to you reminds me of camp. And I really miss camp.”

My heart tugged towards him. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

“This is going to sound crazy, but I’ve been listening to loon calls to fall asleep.”

“They don’t make you feel existential dread?” I thought of the lonely birds calling out to each other at night, close enough to hear one another, too far away to see each other. Always seeking the other out. It felt familiar.

“They do, but in a comforting way? I don’t know how to say that without sounding a little crazy. New York is so loud, I can’t believe I didn’t totally grasp how loud it was.”

“Cambridge is quieter,” I replied. “Never as quiet as camp.”

“I called Sue, I booked another week for myself. And⁠—”

And me.

Just as I began to soften around the edges for Evan again, I snapped back into protection mode, but not from Evan this time. I couldn’t reply to him, not when I was thrust into DEFCON 1 when I saw two people in the distance.