In memory of Nicole Lewanski

Thirteen
T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
Sam came up to my desk and placed a book on top of a stack
of papers.
“Novellas are making a comeback,” she said, her tone matter of fact.
“They are? I thought publishers never touched them.”
“Well, this one is making waves at the moment,” she said tapping the cover
lightly with one perfectly manicured finger.
“Pretty.” There was an image of a snow-covered field with the title A
Snowflake in a Snowfield and the author’s name printed underneath. “Colorado
Clark?” I said. “Is that a pen name?”
“I don’t know, but you can ask him yourself. He’s your first feature.”
“Really?” I said, perking up. After weeks of pleading, Sam was finally tasking
me with my first feature article. I was ecstatic. I jumped up and hugged her.
“Yes, really,” she grinned. “April has set up a time and place for you to
interview him on Monday. She’ll e-mail the details to you. Make sure you read
the book this weekend.”
“I will,” I promised, clutching the book to my chest and grinning at her. After
sitting on the sideline for all these months, I was raring to go. I couldn’t wait to
see my name in print.
“The book has already made the Elliott Tate short list, by the way,” she said as
she was walking away.
“Seriously? A novella?”
She stopped and turned around. “It’s not the first time a novella has been
short-listed.”
“I know, but it’s rare.”
A paper airplane landed squarely in front of me. I looked up. Trinh, a senior
journalist, grinned at me from her desk. She got up and walked over.
“Congrats,” she said.
“You knew?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Sam asked me if I thought you were ready, and I said

---

‘hell yeah.’”
“Aw, thanks, Trinny,” I said, flashing her a grateful smile.
Since I started at See! Sydney, senior journalist Trinh had taken me under her
wing. She was in her midtwenties and already had an Ayres Award under her belt
—the Australian equivalent of a Pulitzer. She had a passion for politics and
wanted to write for the Washington Post one day. Like Sam, Trinh took pride in
her appearance and always looked like she’d just walked off a fashion shoot. I
envied women like that, the ones who could throw together an outfit and make
it work—who could coordinate their shoes, makeup, and jewelry and make it all
seem effortless.
“So are you excited?” she asked, her gold hoop earrings shimmering against her
jet-black hair.
“Yes. You know how badly I’ve wanted this.”
“I’ve read the book. It’s powerful stuff—hard to believe someone so young
wrote it. Word on the street is that he’s gorgeous too.”
“Is Colorado Clark his real name?”
“Apparently. It’s an interesting name, isn’t it? Sounds like a superhero.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. It certainly was an intriguing name.
“Anyway, I’d better get back to work. Good luck with the interview on
Monday. Can’t wait to hear all about it!”
“Y
OUR
MOTHER
HAS
been calling me nonstop,” said Lucy as I walked through the
front door. “She says you’re not answering your phone again.” She was sitting
upright on our royal-blue loveseat painting her toenails red.
I put my keys down on the kitchen bench and kicked off my shoes.
“God,” I moaned. “There’s a reason why I left home. When will she realize I
plan on avoiding her for the rest of my life?”
“Audrey, I know she can be tough on you, but she’s still your mother.”
“You have no idea,” I said with a sigh. “Your parents are perfect.”
“Anyway,” said Lucy, her face fixed in intense concentration as she dipped the
tiny brush into the bottle of red polish, “can you just call her? I’m tired of playing
gatekeeper.”
“Fine.” I grabbed a mug from the kitchen cupboard. “I’ll do it after I have my
cup of tea. Do you want one?”
“Sure.” She put the bottle of polish on the coffee table and looked up at me.
“Hey, want to go out tonight?”

---

“I probably shouldn’t,” I said, as I put the kettle on. “I’ve just been given my
first feature.”
“No way! Audrey, that’s fantastic. Congrats! You’ve been wanting this for
ages.”
“I know,” I said, beaming at her.
“Who’s the feature?”
“Some hot new writer. I have to read his book over the weekend. It’s a
novella, which is kind of neat. I can’t remember the last time I read one.”
“A novella? You should be able to finish it in no time. C’mon, Audrey! Freddy
and Duck are both free tonight. The four of us haven’t gone out together in ages.
Plus, now we have a reason to celebrate!”
“Okay. I suppose I can start the book tomorrow.”
L
ATER
THAT
NIGHT
, we met up with Freddy and Duck at Spag Bowl. It was
someone’s (probably drunken) idea to attach a small Italian joint to a bowling
alley. The food was awful, but it had a great atmosphere and the Bolognese was
passable as long as you drowned it with Parmesan.
Lucy and I were sitting at one of the tables draped in red-and-white gingham
and decorated with a small vase of fake red roses. The place was buzzing with
people talking over the offbeat notes of a piano sonata, occasionally interrupted
by the smack of bowling balls into pins. “Should we get a snack before joining
the boys?” I asked.
“I’m starving! Let’s have dinner. Besides, Freddy gets so competitive when he
plays against me. He’s such a bad loser.” She rolled her eyes.
I smiled. When it came to bowling, Lucy was formidable.
“Hi, gorgeous,” said Freddy, sneaking up behind Lucy and planting a kiss on
her cheek.
“Gross, you’re all sweaty,” she said pushing his face away.
“Hey,” said Duck.
“Hi,” Lucy and I said in unison.
“Are you two going to join us?” asked Freddy, picking up Lucy’s beer and
taking a swig.
“Maybe later,” said Lucy. “We’re going to have dinner.”
“Okay. I’m kicking Duck’s butt. Three strikes in a row.” He made a bowling
motion for emphasis.
“You’re amazing, babe,” said Lucy dryly. He grinned at her proudly, pounding

---

his chest, Tarzan style. He took another swig of Lucy’s beer before turning to
Duck.
“Ready for round two?”
“G
OD
, 
HE
’
S
SO
embarrassing,” groaned Lucy. “I can’t take him anywhere.”
“He’s got a sweet side to him, though,” I said. “Like the other day when you
stepped in dog poo and he spent the afternoon scrubbing your sneaker in the
courtyard.”
“That was really nice of him,” she agreed.
“Anyway, the two of you are disgustingly cute.”
“I know. We even make ourselves sick sometimes.”
I laughed.
“I’ll have the puttanesca.” Lucy shut her menu and put it down on the table.
“Pepperoni pizza for me.”
“Are you going to have some wine?”
I shook my head. “No, I want to stay off the alcohol tonight.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
“Says the girl in the T-shirt with a math pun on it.”
Lucy grinned.
We heard a shout of glee and turned our heads to see that Freddy had just
scored another strike. He gave us the thumbs-up sign as Duck grinned at us and
shrugged his shoulders.
“Duck looks happy,” said Lucy.
“He is. Things have been really great between us.” Duck’s mood had
improved dramatically once Rad was out of the picture. For him, it was a case of
out of sight, out of mind. It wasn’t that simple for me, but that was something I
kept to myself.
“Well, he deserves it; he’s a great guy.”
“I know. I’m lucky to have him.”
L
ATER
, 
THE
BOYS
joined us at our table, and Freddy helped himself to some of my
pizza.
“Did Audrey tell you? She got her first feature story.”
“No kidding?” Duck said. He put his arm around my shoulder and kissed me
on the cheek. “Way to go!”
“Congrats, Audrey,” said Freddy. “We should celebrate!” He flagged the

---

waiter down for a new round of drinks.
“I’m not drinking tonight.”
“Why not?” Freddy asked.
“She wants to stay sharp,” said Lucy, her eyes brimming with laughter.
“So who’s the feature on?” asked Duck.
“Some up-and-coming writer. I have to interview him about his new book on
Monday.”
“Well, you have the entire weekend ahead of you,” said Freddy. “A drink’s
not going to kill you.”
“I suppose not,” I said, caving in. “Maybe just one, then.”
L
ATER
THAT
NIGHT
, I found myself lying wide awake in bed. Duck was fast asleep.
I always envied how he could do that. Sleep was like clockwork for him.
I crept out of bed and went in search of my brown leather satchel. I found it
lying on the kitchen table, reached into the front pocket, and pulled out the copy
of