Page 42 of The Write Place

“To expand on that, is a monster defined by its physical characteristics, or by its behavior?” I write Physical characteristics? and Behavior? in smaller letters underneath my initial question. Now most of the students start writing, realizing they should be taking notes.

“Can’t it be both?” Justin asks, clearly joking. Neve chuckles loudly, and Daniel acknowledges the joke with a nod to Justin, but his face falls as his phone buzzes again.

“It sure can, Justin. Some monsters are, indeed, monstrous, but I think you’ll find in this book that the two characters—the monster himself and the doctor who creates him—act as foils for each other. Now, who can tell me what a foil is?”

A few hands shoot up, but Warren calls out the answer: “Two opposite characters who exist to highlight things in each other.”

“Thank you for raising your hand, Warren,” I say sarcastically. He shrugs and the rest of the class laughs. I write his definition on the board, and the students write it down, too. I check the clock, and the period is almost over.

“Okay, you have what you need to make it through Monday. Please read the first three chapters and answer the discussion questions I’ve posted online for you. Remember that you’ll have some time on Monday, but I expect it to be finished by the time I return on Tuesday.”

The bell rings, and the students file out. I organize some things on my desk and grab the novel with missing pages. I flip the pages in front of my nose and breathe in, smelling that distinct school-book smell and sighing slightly as I toss it in the garbage.

“You really need new books,” Daniel observes.

“We really do,” I admit. “It’s not easy trying to find money for novels in the digital age.”

“But kids need to read,” he insists.

“You’re preaching to the choir, my friend,” I say. It’s just an expression, but he seems to balk at the word. “It’s Friday,” I try to recover. “Do you want to go to Tony’s?”

“I would love to,” he says as his phone buzzes on his desk yet again. His nostrils flare as he taps the screen a few times. “But I can’t. My editor is breathing down my neck for more pages.”

“I don’t know anything about publishing, but your editor sounds like they’re no fun.”

“You have no idea,” he mumbles, typing a quick response, then putting his phone down and looking at me. “She’s awful, and I can’t wait until this book is finished.”

“Can’t you ask to work with someone else?”

“Under normal circumstances, I probably could, but this situation is touchy.” I can tell he’s holding something back, but I don’t press. He quickly changes the subject. “I won’t see you Monday, then?”

“No, I have an appointment,” I repeat, but I’m also holding back. He narrows his eyes slightly at me as if the omission of information is irritating him. I smile sweetly. Glass houses…, I think to myself, but he must also decide not to press, because he starts to pack up his things. I do the same, and we walk out together.

I decide to skip Tony’s tonight. Jenny pouts a little, but I tell her it’s been such a long week that all I want to do is curl up with a good book and fall asleep early. She seems understanding. I get home and change into my favorite oversized hoodie and jeans and start flipping through the books on my bookshelves. Nothing looks interesting, so I jump in my car and make my way to our local bookstore, All Booked Up. It’s owned by Aimee Olsen’s parents, and as I walk in, a blonde clone of Aimee looks up from behind the counter. It takes me a second to realize it’s Aimee’s mom and not her daughter—the woman must have drunk from the fountain of youth or sold her soul because she doesn’t look a day over twenty. She waves at me, smiling, and I wave back.

“Hi, Kathy,” I say brightly. I’m not usually on a first-name basis with my students’ parents, but I’ve been coming here since I moved to Leade Park. I knew Kathy well before Aimee was in my class. In fact, when Aimee got her schedule at the start of the year, Kathy was so overjoyed her daughter was going to be in my class that she discounted my entire order.

“Mac! Haven’t seen you here in a while.” She sets the book she was reading face-down on the counter, and I inwardly cringe a little at the thought of the poor book’s spine.

“I know. The start of the year is always so hectic. But tonight, my shelves are completely bare, and I need something to curl up with.” My hands are still a little cold from the walk from my car, so I rub them together to warm them.

“Oh, I have the perfect thing. How do you feel about holiday rom-coms?” Kathy’s eyes brighten as she grabs a copy of something behind her desk.

“It’s not even Halloween!” I protest. She shrugs.

“Oh, don’t be a Scrooge. It’s really cute,” she promises, holding it out to me. I take it, laughing, and tell her I also want to look around. “Of course. Stop by the café and say hi to Aimee, too, and grab something warm on me.”

“Thanks, Kathy.” I start walking through the stacks. I pick out two more novels and carry them back to the café. There are a few people sitting at tables, and Aimee is sitting behind the counter, her copy of Frankenstein propped open in front of her. When she sees me, her face brightens.

“Hi Miss Mac! Are you here to see Mr. Evans?”

“What?” I fumble the books I’m holding, but I’m able to recover them before they hit the ground. I scan the café, but I don’t see him. I look back at Aimee, confused.

“He went to the bathroom. His stuff is over there.” She indicates a table, and then I notice his computer and notebook open and his bag on one of the chairs.

“Oh. No, I didn’t know he’d be here, actually. I just came to grab a few books for the weekend,” I raise the stack in my hand, “and your mom said I should stop back here to say hi.”

Aimee tilts her head as if this answer isn’t entirely acceptable, but she says, “Well, I’m glad you’re here because I have a question. Who is this Walton guy and what does he have to do with Victor Frankenstein?”