Her parents just stared at her.
“There’s no good writing, only good rewriting,” she quoted, not quite certain who’d said it first. “Everyone says this is the hard part, turning my draft into a real novel. According to the contract, I have until September to turn in a final draft. That’s four whole months, so they must think revisions are pretty important.”
“I’m sure they are. But September is when college starts,” Annika Patel said, all smiles. “So there’s no conflict, is there?”
“Right,” Darcy sighed. “Except once I finish Afterworlds, I have to write the sequel, and then revise that. And my agent says that I should be promoting myself already!”
Nisha held up both hands, her fingers silently indicating nine “my agents.”
“Darcy,” her father said. “You know we’ve always supported your creativity. But wasn’t the main reason for writing the novel so you could put it on your college applications?”
“No!” Darcy cried. “Where did you get that idea?”
Annika Patel placed her palms together, as if praying for quiet. When she had everyone’s attention, her look of long suffering softened into a sly smile.
“Is this because you’re afraid of leaving home? I know that Ohio seems a long way away, but you can call us anytime.”
“Oh,” Darcy said, realizing that her announcement was incomplete. “I’m not staying here. I’m moving to New York.”
In the silence that followed, all Darcy could hear was Nisha chewing on a samosa. She wished that her little sister would at least try not to look so amused.
“New York City?” their mother finally asked.
“I want to be a writer, and that’s where publishing is.”
Annika Patel let out a slow, exasperated sigh. “You haven’t even let us read this book, Darcy. And now you want to give up college for this . . . dream.”
“I’m not giving it up, Mom, just deferring it for a year.” The right words finally came to her. “A year of studying the publishing industry. Learning all about it from the inside! Can you imagine what that would look like on a college application?” Darcy waved her hands. “I mean, except I won’t need to apply again, because I’m only deferring.”
Her voice took on a guilty quaver at the end. According to the Oberlin student manual, deferment was allowed only under “exceptional circumstances,” and the definition of “exceptional” was up to the school. They could say no, and then she’d have to start all over.
But being under contract to write a novel was pretty exceptional, wasn’t it?
“I don’t know about this, Darcy.” Her father shook his head. “First you don’t apply to any universities in India, and then—”
“I’d never get into a good school in India! Even Sagan couldn’t, and he’s a math genius.” Darcy turned to her mother, who actually read novels. “You guys thought it was awesome when my book sold.”
“Of course it’s wonderful.” Annika Patel shook her head. “Even if you won’t let us read it.”
“Just until I do the rewrites.”
“That’s up to you,” her mother said. “But you can’t expect every novel you write to make this tremendous amount of money. You have to be practical. You’ve never lived alone, or paid your own bills, or made your own food. . . .”
Darcy didn’t trust herself to speak. Her eyes stung, and her throat was tight. Nisha had been right—now that she’d uttered her dream aloud to her parents, it had become real. Too real to lose.
But at the same time countless other things had become real, all the nuts and bolts of food and shelter. Darcy had never even done her own laundry.
She looked pleadingly at her little sister. Nisha placed her fork down with a little tap, just loud enough.
“I was thinking,” she said as everyone turned to her. “Moneywise, it might be better if Darcy takes a year off.”
No one said anything, and Nisha played the silence for a moment.
“I was looking at Oberlin’s financial aid forms. And of course the main thing they ask is what the parents earn. But there’s another place where they ask for the student’s income. Turns out, whatever Darcy makes comes straight off the top of any aid they offer.”
Still no one spoke, and Nisha nodded slowly to herself, as if she were realizing all this just now.
“Darcy’s going to make more than a hundred grand this year, just by signing that contract. So if she starts college now, she won’t get any financial aid at all.”
“Oh,” Darcy said. Her two-book advance was about the size of a four-year education. By the time she’d finished college, every penny would be gone.
“Well, that doesn’t seem fair,” her father said. “I mean, maybe there’s a way to change the contract and delay the—”
“Too late,” Darcy said, marveling at her little sister’s deviousness. “Already signed and mailed it.”
Her parents were staring at each other now, communing in some unspoken parental way, which meant that they would discuss the matter in private, later. Which meant that Nisha had opened the door a tiny crack.
Now was the time to seal the deal.
“New York’s a lot closer than Oberlin,” Darcy said. “I’ll only be a train ride away, and Aunt Lalana lives there, and there’s a much bigger Gujarati community than in—”
Annika Patel raised her hand, and Darcy stammered to a halt on the word “Ohio.” Maybe it was best to save a few arguments for later, in case this battle went to round two.
But already something momentous had happened here at this table. Darcy could feel her course in life, which had been set so determinedly since she was a little girl, bending toward a new trajectory. She had changed the arc of her own story, merely by typing a couple of thousand words each day for thirty days.
And the taste of that power, the power of her own words, made her hungrier.
Darcy didn’t want this interruption to last only a year. She wanted to see how long she could stretch this feeling out. To be dizzy with words again, like in that glorious week at the end of last November when everything had fallen into place. Darcy wanted that feeling not just for a year.
She wanted it forever.