Over the next month, I did nothing but work, write, and send updates to Professor James, Cara, and Jase.
One morning, after I finished the full first draft, I got an email from Andrea. She told me that Professor James had reached out to her about my book, and that she wanted to talk. I sped all the way to campus and ran through the halls to the professor’s office, where Cara was chatting with him eagerly.
“Hey, girl,” she said. “Looking for me?”
I didn’t look at her. “Professor,” I said, out of breath.
Before I could get anything out, he said, “I knew she was J. Colby’s agent and that she’d probably give it a look if you’d let her. You’re a better writer today than you were five years ago, and that means my job here is done.” He got up.
“Wait,” I said.
“Really there’s nothing to say. Cara is well on her way out, and you . . . you have a book in its infancy, but a book nonetheless. Go forth and write, my dears. You’ve got the whole summer ahead of you. If you want to remain here, Emiline, I will gladly keep you on staff, but I have a feeling that won’t be happening.”
“Thank you, thank you so much!”
“Go, both of you, get out of here.” He chuckled a husky, warm laugh from his belly.
Cara looped her arm in mine as we headed toward the parking lot. “See, I told you.”
“Thanks for putting up with my shit this year, Cara. You’ve been a really good friend.”
She stopped walking. “What do you think about moving to New York with me? Let’s do it, Em. Let’s totally live the life and be writers.”
I laughed. “It does sound amazing. But you’re moving in with Henry, no?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be with Henry, but we’re not moving in together right away. He’s busy becoming a surgeon, and I’ll need some time to get myself established there. What do you say? Roomies?”
“I’ll definitely think about it.” It did sound enticing, the freedom to finally be able to be me.
And I did think about it. I thought about it until there was no other answer.
I was going.
