by Lianne Oelke
AP and I went outside after the show, just the two of us. I felt strangely grown up. Like his equal. The air was clear and the shadows were sharp and the setting sun framed his profile perfectly. No cameras were in sight, and it was a relief to know this moment would never exist outside our memories.
AP
Jane, I want to ask you something.
JS
Shoot.
AP
The show turned out how I hoped it would, more or less. Better than anyone else expected, though.
He took a sip of iced tea and turned the glass around in his hand, spilling some on his expensive shoes. It took me a moment to realize he was nervous. It was so absurd, I wanted to laugh.
AP
I’ve had an offer from another television network. They want to pick up the show for another season in the fall. We’d have more equipment, a proper budget, more exposure . . .
JS
That’s great! You’re going to do it, aren’t you?
AP
I want to, but . . .
Oh god, no.
JS
No. I’m not coming back. I can’t do it. I can’t.
He laughed.
AP
That’s not what I meant.
He met my eyes. I didn’t realize until then that we were the same height.
AP
I want you to be my coproducer.
JS
What? No. Why?
AP
I’m serious. You’d be good at it.
JS
I’m flattered, but I don’t know if I could.
AP
Part-time, of course. I know that you’re thinking of continuing psychology in the fall. And you can leave the technical stuff to me, but I want you to help plan challenges and do interviews and promote events. You’d be calling the shots.
It was weird to think about. Being on the other side of the camera? Holding all the power, watching other people squirm?
JS
I really don’t think so.
AP
I know you haven’t forgiven me for leaking your journal. If you want to tell everyone the truth and hold off making a decision now, I understand.
JS
I’ll think about it.
AP
Thank you, Jane. It would mean a lot to me.
He smiled and we finished our drinks. Maybe I could get used to feeling like his equal.
WedAug24
After today, I’ll be able to look strangers in the eye and introduce myself as Jane Sinner, high school graduate. Nice to meet you. Not to be confused with Jane Sinner, the Girl Who Tried to Kill Herself or Jane Sinner, the Girl Humiliated Repeatedly on Local Television. Please, just call me Jane. Jane is enough.
Watch out, future employers. You’re about to meet an individual who isn’t perfectly well adjusted, but let’s be honest: who is? She excels at written communication, interpersonal strategy, and advanced doodling techniques. Her media-focused education at a trendy com-munity college has equipped her for navigating high-pressure situations in the modern world. She can’t give you any references from her previous employer, but officially she was laid off, not fired, so relax. She doesn’t have a BA in anything but is definitely maybe considering getting one in the future.
My resume is going to be the shit.
Jane settles down on the tired sofa, hands on her lap, head tilted back. She has only a couple hours before she graduates high school. She closes her eyes.
DFS
I wish you wouldn’t put your feet on the table.
JS
Who cares? It’s not real.
DFS
It’s the thought that counts.
JS
So how long do I have to keep coming back here?
DFS
A while. The rest of your life maybe. Probably for sure.
JS
(Sigh.)
DFS
What did you expect? That at age eighteen you’d have all your shit together?
JS
Yes.
Silence.
DFS
So how’s nihilism treating you these days?
JS
Oh, you know. It’s not the worst.
DFS
Can I tell you something super enlightening?
JS
Yeah, okay.
DFS
The past doesn’t exist. It’s just a story we tell ourselves. And stories change each time you tell them.
JS
Oh, wow.
DFS
If you don’t like what you’ve written, write something else.
JS
That’s a bit heavy-handed, you know.
DFS
Doesn’t make me wrong.
Jane absorbs this as she sinks farther into the couch. She closes her eyes once more, and the couch is now a lawn chair in her parents’ backyard. Carol offers her a balloon, and she ties it around her wrist because the balloon is lifting her up and she wants to keep it that way. She floats above the house, above the high school, above the city, above the atmosphere. Space is cold, but at least she’s in good company. Her balloon pops but doesn’t make a sound. She floats.
Graduation wasn’t much of a ceremony, but it still involved getting up on that stage again in front of a crowd. It was way less nerve-racking than the time Alexander Park called my name and I got back on the show. That says a lot about my priorities, I suppose. Still, I walked onto the stage with the odd realization that everyone there knew me (or at least knew of me), and knew why I came to Elbow River in the first place. They’d watched me study, socialize, manipulate, and embarrass my way through school. They knew I tried to kill myself.
The parents sat front and center, grinning stupidly. Despite whatever they thought of what I’d done to get here, despite how I’d scared or disappointed them, they came.
I expected the parents and Carol to be there, but I didn’t expect Marc, Chaunt’Elle, Holly, Raj, Jenna, AP, and the whole crew of HOO to take up the rest of the front row. And Bonnie. Bonnie somehow made it down for the day; one look at her and I knew she wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
I recognized a lot of faces from school, and it took me a second to register that both Elbow River and James Fowler students were there. Only fifteen other people received diplomas, but the auditorium was full.
We didn’t have music or robes or roses, but AP made me a HOOcap with a tassel, and after handing me my diploma, Mr. Dubs moved the tassel from one side of the brim to the other with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen him wear. And that’s saying something, considering how radiant he was at McNugz Club with two cameras pointed at him.
I turned to face the crowd. Everyone rose. Everyone roared. And there I stood, a pimped-out ball cap on my head, a GO #HASHTAGS shirt on my back, a piece of paper in my hand that had cost me way too much trouble to get.
I felt like a motherfucking idiot.
R wasn’t looking at the hat. He wasn’t looking at the shirt or paper. He was looking at me, cheering louder than anyone else.
Fuck it.
I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I had nothing to hide. No reason to act differently just because cameras were pointed in my direction. Cameras didn’t matter today. I had done it. I saw this through. Sure, I was just a high school graduate a little sunburned after her fifteen minutes in the spotlight, but it was enough.
And yes, I can be a motherfucking idiot sometimes, but today I was something else.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to:
My editor, Anne Hoppe. I never dreamed I’d find someone else who understood Jane Sinner so thoroughly and cared about her the way I do. My agent, Brooks Sherman: Jane’s original champion. I can’t thank you enough for guiding me through the new and overwhelming world of publishing, and for being the first to celebrate every success. The B-Team: agent siblings extraordinaire. You all inspire me more than you know. Tara Sonin, for your tireless enthusiasm. You’re the
best publicist a girl could ask for. All the unsung heroes at the Bent Agency and Clarion Books.
Becky Albertalli. You found me lurking in the obscure corners of the internet and encouraged, supported, and believed in me until I was ready to come out of the writing closet. I wouldn’t be where I am without you.
My early beta readers and everyone who offered feedback on Absolute Write. The 2017 and 2018 YA/MG debut authors, for being such an incredible community in which to learn and ask dumb questions.
My parents. You took the late-night “Surprise, I wrote a book and it’s getting published!” phone call rather well. Dad, thanks for instilling in me a love of fantasy. Mom, thanks for thinking I’m funny (though please stop with the joke about Egyptian food because I’m not that funny). Even when we don’t agree with or understand each other, I’ve always known I’m unconditionally loved and supported. That means the world to me.
My older sister, Dana, who loves books just as much as I do. You’re one of the strongest people I know, especially when you think you’re not. Together we can do some pretty substandard things.
My younger sister, Goose, AKA Erin Bosker, the Second. Your truly bizarre sense of humor has inspired me, as has your life motto: “I can do what I want.” You are one of the strangest people I’ll ever have the pleasure of knowing.
Kevin and Evie and Toby and Sir Pips-A-Lot, for all your love. Thanks for letting me sleep in your basement.
Friends and family both in Alberta (shout-out to Andrea for her passionate and unhealthy love of McNugz) and Vancouver (if we’ve ever enjoyed an IPA or gone camping together, I’m talking about you). You all keep me sane.
Brian, the love of my life. You’ve supported me through every step of the publishing process, even if YA isn’t your thing (although I’m glad you found “parts of my book entertaining”). I’m forever grateful for celebratory beers, movie nights, and epic outdoor adventures. One day we’ll have our cabin in the woods.
And finally, thank you to Margo and Bitey and Alley and all cats for existing.
About the Author
Photo by Brian Shaw
LIANNE OELKE has a degree in philosophy and works in the film industry—which may explain a lot about her debut novel, Nice Try, Jane Sinner. Or not. She lives, camps, and thinks about cats in Vancouver.
Learn more at www.lianneoelke.com
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