A Novel Idea

by Aimee Friedman

  When I glanced at the front row, where Audre and the rest of the book group sat, I saw them smiling and waving at me. It was kind of calming to know I had their support, though Scott giving me the thumbs-up was making me even more anxious. Then I looked at James. He was watching me, his blue eyes warm and thoughtful, and suddenly, I felt safe. Like I couldn’t mess up if James was out there.

  “Hi,” I spoke into the microphone. The sound of my own voice boomed in my ears, loud and crackly—ugh. But I kept going. “i’m Norah Bloom, and I’d like to welcome everyone to this glorious event.” A few people laughed, but not in a teasing way. Say a few words about why you like to read Philippa’s stuff, Griffin had said. “Reading Philippa Askance is …” What could I say? I remembered meeting the author on Seventh Avenue, and how easily we’d been able to talk.

  “Like hanging out with a friend,” I finished. “A really smart, cool friend you wish you could take with you everywhere. And I feel like that s what the best writers should be to their readers—friends. People you can rely on and come back to again and again.”

  That was even true about Irene O’Dell, I realized—and my real-life friends. I smiled at Audre and Scott, feeling the tiniest bit choked up. “By now, it’s almost like Philippa Askance is a member of our book group,” I added on a whim. “We talk about her enough. And”—I was remembering how I’d almost ended the group before we decided to take on the Philippa mission—“we’d probably have broken up a long time ago if it wasn’t for her.” Everyone laughed again.

  “Go, Norah!” Scott whooped. I’d have to yell at him for that afterward.

  I was wondering how to wrap things up when the door to the Book Nook opened. Relieved, I turned, expecting to see Philippa in all her punky, bleached-hair glory.

  But it wasn’t Philippa at the door. It was a tall, skinny teenage bike messenger holding a padded envelope. Griffin hurried over to attend to him, but I listened to their exchange.

  “This is kind of weird,” the bike messenger said, his eyes darting around the store, “but Philippa Askance asked me to deliver this to”—he looked at what was written on the back of the envelope—“‘The Girl from the Book Group with the Long Dark Hair and Dark Eyes who followed me and quoted Bitter Ironies’” he read out loud, then let out a breath and glanced up in confusion. “Is there anyone here who thinks that’s supposed to be them?”

  I swallowed hard. That was supposed to be me.

  “That’s got to be Norah,” Griffin said with a grin—clearly, he’d been filled in on my Philippa stalkage by possibly Francesca. He signed for the package and walked it to me.

  My pulse was racing as I stood at the podium and tore open the envelope. I could feel the whole crowd watching me, holding their collective breath.

  Inside the envelope was a thick stack of typed pages, and on top of that, a typed letter:

  Dear girl who followed me,

  As you’ve probably guessed by now, I won’t be coming to the reading today. In the end, it’s just not my style. But it’s also not my style to blow off a devoted reader who understands all about being better one-on-one. So, enclosed, you’ll find the manuscript for my second novel. It will be in bookstores exactly a year from now. Besides my agent and my editor, no one has seen this manuscript yet. I ask that you please not read this out loud at the Book Nook. I’d rather you just read it alone—or share it with other members of your book group if you’d like.

  I’m calling the novel Innocent Abandon. It’s a love story.

  Your friend,

  Philippa Askance

  I read the letter a couple times more, to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. The fact that Philippa wasn’t coming today suddenly meant nothing. I had this note—and the knowledge that I’d inspired her second book. What more could I ask for?

  I looked up, and spoke into the microphone again. “Philippa Askance can’t make it today,” I said, hugging the secret manuscript to my chest.

  “No way!” a guy hollered from the middle row.

  “I demand a refund!” a girl screeched, even though the reading had been free.

  “But didn’t she promise?” I heard Audre ask from the front row.

  I grinned, feeling immune to all the chaos. What was it Philippa had told me? I’ll be there in some form. I promise. And she’d certainly made good on her word.

  After Philippa’s agent and editor had replaced me at the podium to do some damage control—and hand out the presigned copies of Bitter Ironies—the store finally cleared out.

  When my book group gathered at a table in the café to unwind, and I told everyone about the manuscript. Of course, I kept parts of the letter—and the story behind the title—to myself. But I promised to make copies for everyone—as long as they promised to keep the new novel under wraps until it came out in bookstores next year. Though we were all kind of drained from the morning’s events, everyone was totally blown away by the news. The general consensus, as Griffin thoughtfully brought a tray of iced drinks to the table, was: It sucked that Philippa had blown off the reading, but her giving us a sneak peek at the new manuscript was pretty tremendous.

  “It’s all thanks to Norah,” a suddenly angelic Francesca declared. She was sitting in Neil’s lap—a sight that would still take some getting used to.

  “Who also happened to make a great speech today,” Audre added, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. All the embarrassment I’d managed to fight off during that speech rushed to my face on the form of a major blush.

  “Here’s to Norah!” Scott exclaimed, and everyone toasted with their iced mochas.

  “You guys, we did it as a group,” I insisted, hating the whole center-of-attention thing. “And, speaking of which, do we still want to have our last group meeting today?” I waved my copy of Bitter Ironies.

  James looked out the window, shielding his eyes from the bright May sun. “On one condition,” he said, and turned back to the group with a smile. “We hold it outside.”

  “In Prospect Park!” Neil nodded, wrapping his arms around Francesca’s waist. “Let’s do it!”

  “Pretty please, teacher Bloom?” Audre teased.

  “Of course,” I said, getting to my feet, pleased by the idea of an outside meeting. “It’s practically summer.”

  Francesca, Neil, and James were all quick to gather their stuff, and the three of them started heading toward the front of the store.

  “Wanna come with us?” Scott asked Griffin, who was still hovering by the table, and still looking semi-stressed.

  Griffin smiled ruefully. “I wish. I’ve got to work for a couple more hours, at least.” And then, unexpectedly, he reached over and touched Scott’s shoulder. “I don’t want to keep you here now,” he added. “But maybe we could hang out some other time?”

  Excuse me? I glanced over sharply.

  “Just the two of us?” Scott asked, looking as shocked as I felt. I turned to Audre, who had gone rigid and was staring at Griffin in bewilderment.

  Griffin nodded, grinning at Scott. “I’ll have more free time this summer, since I’m not taking any classes. Maybe we could go to a movie or an art exhibit or something.”

  Audre finally returned my gaze, her eyes enormous. I knew we were both thinking the same thing:

  Griffin is asking out Scott!

  “Give me one second?” Scott said after a long pause. He took Audre’s arm. “Hey, Aud, urn, can you come to the bathroom with me? I’m having contact problems again, and you know how you’re good with that stuff.”

  Just a newsflash: Scott has 20/20 vision, and Audre gets completely grossed out by anything involving eyes.

  But, luckily, Griffin didn’t know that.

  While they were gone, I went over the past several months in my head, just as I had last night after Francesca’s confession. Again, things fell into place once I really thought about them: Griffin coming to Audre’s party because he “couldn’t pass up this chance to see”—Scott. And he’d even left the party when he found
out Scott wasn’t there! It also explained why Griffin had been so curious about Scott’s blind date yesterday. But was Griffin gay? I remembered Francesca saying she and Eva weren’t Griffin’s type. At the time, I’d figured she’d been talking about looks or personality. But maybe she’d meant that Griffin wasn’t into girls at all—which was certainly unexpected. I’d definitely need to find out more, from either Scott, or, if possible, Francesca.

  Scott and Audre reappeared; to my relief, neither one of them was crying or bearing any bruises. They looked … chill. It was obvious (well, to me) that they’d had a quickie heart-to-heart about Scott dating Griffin. Audre still seemed sort of unsteady on her feet, but she also looked resigned. I knew my BFF had told Scott she was cool with it—even if she wasn’t quite yet. But, knowing Audre, she’d move on somehow. She nodded at me, and I nodded back, understanding. We’d talk later.

  Scott, meanwhile, was chatting easily with Griffin, saying he’d stick around until the end of Griffin’s shift that day. I wondered if Scott might not have suspected the truth about Griffin all along but had ignored his suspicion, sticking to his break-from-love plan. Though I was feeling Audre’s pain, part of me was cheering for Scott; after Chad, he deserved a sweetie like Griffin in his life.

  Francesca, Neil, and James were already standing by the door, so I linked my arm through Aud’s. We were turning to leave when Griffin called out to her.

  “Dude, your lemon pie was the hit of the reading,” he said. “Well, the nonreading. Even the Teen Vogue editor asked about it.”

  Audre smiled with her lips closed. I knew she was still a little hurt, even if she wanted to accept the compliment. I squeezed her elbow for support.

  “Anyway,” Griffin went on, “I have this great idea—something I’ve been thinking about for the past few months. How would you feel about being the snazzy new baker for the Book Nook café? We don’t sell pastries right now, but my boss has been thinking about changing that. And I told him I know the perfect person for the job.” Griffin pointed at Audre, beaming.

  Audre blinked. “Me?” Her dimples were starting to show. It’s sort of hard to stay mad—even at the boy who’s blown you off for your gay best friend—when you get an offer like that.

  “It can just be a summer gig, for now,” Griffin went on. “But if your stuff sells well, we could probably offer you a part-time position when school starts.” He paused, and gave Audre another one of his slow grins. “Whaddya think?”

  Audre glanced at me, her eyebrows raised. She hadn’t miraculously recovered from the Griffin-and-Scott shock, but her face was slowly starting to glow, her dimples about to emerge full force. And why not? Getting a chance to create her own edible masterpieces for the Book Nook was ten times better than an assistant position at Ozzy’s. And best of all, this opportunity might finally prove to Audre’s parents that her baking might lead to a real career (or at least show them how serious she was about trying).

  Plus, I realized with a shiver of gladness, Audre might feel boy less now, but there was always Derek Dawson waiting in the wings….

  I took her hand and squeezed it hard to show her I thought Griffin’s suggestion was the best plan ever.

  Audre finally smiled fully at Griffin and nodded. “You’re on,” she said simply.

  Scott looked relieved to see Aud happy, and blew her—and then me—a quick kiss.

  Griffin slipped an arm around her shoulder, and Audre stiffened just a bit. But when he told her that his boss wanted to meet with her that very day to discuss the details, Audre was all smiles again.

  “I’m sorry, Nors,” she said, giving me a hug good-bye. “I’m going to have to skip out on Bitter Ironies for this. Enjoy the last meeting of the Brooklyn book group, okay?”

  The last meeting. It seemed so final. And with Audre and Scott busy in the Book Nook, it would just be me, Francesca, Neil, and James. I had no idea how the four of us, on our own, would get along. But I hurried to the front of the store, where the others were waiting, to find out.

  Fourteen

  Francesca and I fell into step ahead of the boys, leading the way toward the park. Despite her ten-inch cork-soled sandals and tiny tennis skirt, Francesca seemed more laid-back than I’d ever seen her—she wasn’t even wearing makeup. I wondered if now that she was with Neil, she’d slowly morph back into her old self. Or, even better, maybe she’d work out a happy balance between Physics Girl and Wannabe Plum. Either way, I noticed that walking next to her felt surprisingly comfortable; once she’d stopped giving off those hostile, secretive vibes, Francesca Cantone was semicool.

  As we crossed Seventh Avenue, Francesca told me she’d be working in a research lab during the summer (which was obviously why she hadn’t told us her summer plans back in April) before packing up for Dartmouth in the fall. New Hampshire is pretty close to New York; I kind of hoped that when Francesca came back to the city—as she surely would—to visit Neil, the two of us could meet for coffee sometime.

  And now that the Griffin mystery was cleared up, she and Audre might even have a shot at being friends.

  “I don’t get it,” I said then, as we headed up Eighth Avenue toward the park entrance. “So Griffin’s not straight? He’s always so touchy-feely with girls—you, me, Audre, that girl Eva…. And I’ve noticed him checking out different girls in the Book Nook.”

  Francesca shook her head, laughing. “Oh, Griffin is just … Griffin. He likes girls and boys. Totally bi-curious. He told me that the first time I met him, at that Guggenheim exhibit in the fall. He was actually there with some random guy he was going out with at the time, and I bumped into them and we all started talking. I think Griffin s doing the whole I’m-in-college-and-ril-experiment thing, so who knows what sexual preference hell eventually decide on.”

  “I guess we’ll find out someday,” I said, shrugging. Hmm. That was a side to college I hadn’t ever thought about.

  When we reached the park, our four-some staked out a shady spot on a grassy hill. Neil, still getting his gentleman on, spread his jacket on the ground for Francesca. James didn’t offer to sacrifice his gray cotton hoodie for me, but it was fine—I didn’t mind sitting my butt on the warm grass. I let the sun toast my hair, and I closed my eyes. I felt deliciously lazy in an end-of-the-year way, but I still wanted to get into Bitter Ironies.

  Francesca and Neil, though, wanted to get into something else.

  Before I’d even opened the book, Neil had slipped his arm around Francesca’s waist and she’d wriggled back into his lap—clearly, her new favorite spot. Rolling my eyes, I asked that classic book group question—what people’s favorite part of the story was—but got no responses. When James started to answer me, I couldn’t even pay attention to him because Francesca and Neil now had their hands all over each other, kissing and whispering, “That feels so good, baby.” I wanted to puke.

  Talk about bitter ironies. Neil and Francesca, who I’d never have guessed could work as a couple, suddenly couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Meanwhile, James and I, who I’d been imagining as a couple forever, had about a mile of grass between us and could barely look at each other.

  Take my word for it: Watching two people seriously make out while your crush is sitting nearby ranks very high on the list of Life’s Most Awkward Moments.

  “Does anybody want to discuss the book?” I finally asked as Francesca and Neil tumbled over onto Neil’s jacket, panting.

  James cleared his throat. “I do,” he said. Then, glancing at Neil and Francesca’s makeout marathon, he added, “But can we walk and talk at the same time?”

  I was relieved we were on the same page. “Definitely,” I said, jumping up just as James leapt to his feet. We waved good-bye to Neil and Francesca, who, needless to say, didn’t notice us at all.

  James and I half-walked, half-ran away from them, our elbows bumping as we hurried down the hill. When we got to the bottom, we looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Think they’ll ever come
up for air?” James asked, his eyes dancing.

  “Hmm. Maybe in November?” I giggled.

  “I feel bad for all the other people in the park. There are kids around here.”

  On cue, a little boy and girl holding ice-cream cones ran up the hill, right toward where Francesca and Neil were hooking up.

  I grinned at James. “We should’ve warned them, huh?”

  James tilted his head to the side, looking mischievous. “They have to find out about that stuff someday, I guess.”

  We were still laughing as we wandered down one of the emptier park paths. Though I was having fun mocking Francesca and Neil’s, uh, enthusiasm for each other, a tiny part of me felt grateful toward them both. If it weren’t for Francesca luring Neil to the book group, James would never have joined either. And today, Francesca and Neil had once again inadvertently brought me and James together.