Fangirl

Cath wanted, desperately, to escape to the Internet. Just to check her e-mail or something. But she wouldn’t let herself open a browser window, not even to check whether the b in “Brussels” should be capitalized.

Instead, she shoved away from her desk and went to the bathroom. She walked slowly down the hall, trolling for distractions, but there was no one milling around trying to be friendly. Cath went back to her room and lay on her bed. She’d stayed up too late the night before studying for Biology, and it was easy to close her eyes.

It was almost a nice change of pace to be stewing about Nick instead of Levi. Had she actually liked him? (Nick, that is. She’d definitely liked Levi.) Or had she just liked everything he represented? Smart, talented, handsome. World War I handsome.

Now just thinking about Nick made her feel so ashamed. She’d been taken. Grifted. Had he pla

Nick and his stupid story.

It really was his story. It was nothing Cath ever would have written on her own. Stupid, quirky girl character. Stupid, pretentious boy character. No dragons.

It was Nick’s story. He’d just tricked her into writing it. He was an unreliable narrator, if ever she’d met one.

Cath wanted to work on her own story now. Not the one for class. Carry On.

Carry On was Cath’s story. Thousands of people were reading it. Thousands of people wanted her to finish.

This story she was supposed to be writing for class? Only one person cared if she finished it. And that one person wasn’t even Cath.

*   *   *

She fell asleep with her shoes on, lying on her stomach.

When she woke up, it was dark, and she hated that. It was disorienting to fall asleep in the light and wake up in the dark, instead of the other way around. Her head ached, and there was a circle of drool on her pillow. That only happened when she slept during the day.

Cath sat up, miserably, and realized her phone was ringing. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Cather?” It was a man’s voice. Gentle.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Hey, Cather, it’s Kelly. Kelly from your dad’s work.”

Kelly was her dad’s creative director. The panda bear guy. “Fucking Kelly,” her dad called him. As in, “Fucking Kelly is making us start over on the Kilpatrick’s campaign.” Or, “And then fucking Kelly got it in his head that the robot should be dancing.”

Kelly was the reason her dad still had a job. Every time Kelly switched agencies, he talked Cath’s dad into following him.

Kelly chalked up all her dad’s extreme behavior to “the creative mind.” “Your dad’s a genius,” he’d told the twins at one Christmas party. “His brain was specifically designed to make ads. He’s a precision instrument.”

Kelly had a soft, wheedling voice—like he was trying to talk you into something or sell you something, every time he opened his mouth. “Have you girls tried the cocktail shrimp here? The cocktail shrimp are amazing.”

Hearing Kelly’s soft-sell voice now sent an unpleasant chill scrabbling up Cath’s spine.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey, Cather. I’m sorry to call you at school. It’s finals week, right? My Co

“Yeah,” she said.

“Look, I got your number from your dad’s phone, and I just wanted to tell you that he’s perfectly okay, he’s going to be fine. But he’s spending tonight—maybe the next day or two—here at the hospital. Here at St. Richard’s Hospital—”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened, he’s okay. I mean it. He just needs to get his balance back.”

“Why? I mean, what happened? Why did you take him there—did you take him there?”

“Yeah, I did. I brought him here myself. It wasn’t that anything happened. It’s just that he was really caught up in work, which you know, we all are. It’s a fine line sometimes for all of us … but your dad didn’t want to leave his office. It had been a few days since he’d left his office.…”

How many days? she wondered. And was he eating? Was he going to the bathroom? Had he shoved his desk up against the door? Had he thrown a stack of ideas out the seventh-floor window? Had he stood in the hallway and shouted, You’re all limp-dicked sellouts! Every one of you! And especially you, Kelly, you fucking brainless hack! Did they have to carry him out? Was it during the day? Did everyone watch?

“He’s at St. Richard’s?” she asked.

“Yep, they’re just checking things out. Helping him get some sleep. I think that’s really going to help.”

“I’m coming,” she said. “Tell him I’m coming. Did he hurt himself?”

“No, Cather—he’s not hurt. He’s just sleeping. I think he’s going to be fine. It’s just been a rough couple of months.”

Months. “I’m coming, okay?”

“Sure,” Kelly said. “I’m probably going to head home soon. But this is my cell number. You call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. Anything at all. You know how I feel about your dad, he’s my lucky pe

“Thank you.”

She hung up before Kelly did. She couldn’t stand any more.

Then she immediately called Wren. Wren sounded surprised when she answered the phone. Cath cut to the chase—“Dad’s at St. Richard’s.”

“What? Why?”

“He lost it at work.”

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. Kelly said he wouldn’t leave his office.”

Wren sighed. “Fucking Kelly?”

“Yeah.”

“Dad’s going to be mortified.”

“I know,” Cath said. “I’m going up there as soon as I can figure out a ride.”

“Did Kelly tell you to come?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s finals week, and you know that Dad is probably tranqed into oblivion right now. We should call tomorrow and see how he’s doing.”

“Wren, he’s in the hospital.”

“St. Richard’s isn’t exactly a hospital.”

“You don’t think we should go?”

“I think we should finish our finals,” Wren said. “By the time we’re done, he’ll be just coming out of the haze, and we can be there for him.”

“I’m going,” Cath said. “I’m go

“Grandma’s in Chicago.”

“Oh. Right.”

“If you really have to do this, I know that Mom would drive you. If it’s that important to you.”

“No. Are you kidding me?”

“Fine. Whatever. Will you call me when you get to the hospital?”

Cath wanted to say something mean, like, “I’d hate to interrupt your studies during finals week.” But instead she said, “Yes.”

She called Reagan next. Reagan had a car; Reagan would understand.…

Reagan didn’t answer.

Cath crawled onto her bed and cried for a few minutes.

For her dad. For his humiliation and his weakness. And for herself—because she hadn’t been there to keep this from happening, and because even something this shitty couldn’t bring her and Wren together. Why was Wren being so cool about this? Just because it had happened before didn’t mean it wasn’t serious. It didn’t mean he didn’t need them.

Then she cried over the fact that she hadn’t made more friends with cars.…

And then she called Levi.

He answered right away. “Cath?”

“Hey, Levi. Um, how are you?”

“Fine. I’m just … working.”

“Do you usually answer your phone at work?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, um, later when you get off, is there any chance you could drive me to Omaha? I know it’s a big hassle, and I’ll give you gas money. It’s just, sort of, a family emergency.”

“I’ll come get you now. Give me fifteen.”

“No. Levi, it can wait, if you’re at work.”

“Is it a family emergency?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“See you in fifteen.”

There was no way Snow would see him here, up on the balcony. Snow was too busy trying to learn his steps for the ball. Too busy stamping all over Agatha’s silk boots. She looked lovely today—all golden white hair and creamy pink skin. That girl is opaque, Baz thought. Like milk. Like white glass.