What is the point of me?
CHAPTER 38
School is a terrifying beast.
You spend seven hours a day walking around inside it, and when the day ends it grows small so it can hitch a ride home with you. It burrows into your ear and whispers all the things you can expect for the next day. Your clothes won’t fit right. Your hair won’t behave. You’ll forget your homework. You’ll get more homework. You’ll have to fight for your lunch table.
Everyone everyone everyone will judge you.
There are only two more weeks until graduation. I have no options.
What I want: to stay home. In my room, specifically, with the shades drawn and the TV on, but the volume low so I can doze to the murmuring, mind-numbing voices of Dog Days. I want Davy around to hug, and I don’t want to talk to or see any people. Not in real life, and definitely not online. I don’t want to think about the pages I haven’t finished, and Wallace’s face, burned into my memory, when I told him I can’t.
What will happen if I get what I want: I stay home for the last two weeks of senior year and my parents make sure I visit that therapist until my brain is scrubbed squeaky-clean and I get popped back out like a plate from a dishwasher. That could take months. Or, heaven forbid, years. I don’t want to be this way for years. I don’t want to feel this way for years. Even going to college won’t make this better, because there will be people there too who know who I am. There’s no escaping it now.
So I go back to school.
This spring is too hot for sweatshirts. I make do with a technique for shrinking myself I perfected years ago when I got tired of being picked for activities during sport camps. Never make direct eye contact. Dress in drab colors. Move at the same pace as the rest of the crowd. Disappearing is an art form, and I am its queen. Or at least I used to be.
As soon as I step inside the doors, my knees lock and heat rushes in behind my eyes. I control my breathing. When I’m sure I can move again without falling over, I do. One foot in front of the other.
I will not trip and knock myself out.
I will not trip and knock myself out.
I will not trip and knock myself out.
I reach my locker. Forget the combination. Have to pull out my phone for the first time since Wallace came to my house so that I can find it in my notes.
The door swings open and folded papers spill out onto my feet. More perch precariously on the locker shelf below the slats in the door. I scoop one up and unfold it.
Hi, Eliza,
You don’t know me, but I’m a big fan of Monstrous Sea. Probably like the biggest fan. I’ve only been reading for six months, but it’s my absolute favorite thing. I love your art, and I hope I can draw like you one day. Get better soon!
Listria_Dreams
P.S. I know you like asking who our favorite characters are—mine’s Rory!
This person stuck a note in my fucking locker.
I drop it and bend to shovel the rest back inside before anyone sees. They burn my skin like they’re on fire and slip back out. There are too many of them.
A finger taps my shoulder. I jump to get away from the person and slam my head and shoulder against the locker door.
It’s Wallace.
He bends down and starts loading notes into one big hand. He doesn’t try to put them back in the locker; instead he takes off his backpack and shoves them in there. I bottle my questions, my panic, and my tears, and go back to what I meant to do, which was get my textbooks for the first part of the day. Wallace slings his backpack over his shoulders and walks away, to homeroom.
I haven’t talked to him since he came to my house last week. What would I say to him? “I tried and I still can’t finish the comic and I’m sorry I ruined your life?”
I don’t know how my identity has impacted his involvement in the fandom, but it must’ve. People on the forums knew rainmaker had a thing with MirkerLurker, though we didn’t make it obvious. When it came out that LadyConstellation and MirkerLurker were the same person, did he have to convince them he had no idea who I was? Has anyone linked rainmaker with Wallace himself? My own anonymity stripped away is bad enough—I don’t know what I’ll do if I have Wallace’s on my conscience too.
I can’t begin to think about Cole, Leece, Chandra, and Megan. I missed their meet-up at Murphy’s last weekend. I couldn’t face them. I lied to them like I lied to Wallace, and they’re Wallace’s friends first. They’ll be as angry as he is—maybe angrier.
When I get to homeroom, Wallace’s expression is carved in stone. He doesn’t look at me.
A few heads do turn to look at me, but most mind their own business. Wallace pulls out a paper and starts writing. Mrs. Grier, at her desk, keeps her head down and her eyes focused on the book between her hands. The very tip of a tattoo pokes out of her right sleeve. If I didn’t know to look for it, I wouldn’t have seen it there.
I’d hoped it was a nightmare. The tattoo. Some messed-up vision I’d had because everything was so weird that day.
But no, it’s not. My homeroom teacher has the most popular phrase of Monstrous Sea tattooed on her arm in all capital letters, like a battle cry. THERE ARE MONSTERS IN THE SEA. Yes, Mrs. Grier. Yes, there are. You are one of them. You are one of the ones that was supposed to stay beneath the surface, but you didn’t. You came up to the top, and now I can never forget that I saw you. I can never forget that you exist.
I turn my attention to my desk and cup my hands around the back of my neck. Creators shouldn’t feel this way about their fans. I shouldn’t want them to disappear. They’re the reason I have . . . the reason I have anything. They’re the reason I can pay for college, for my pen display, the reason I can spend so much time doing what I love.
I hope Olivia Kane would never feel this way about me.
Olivia Kane.
I don’t know exactly what happened to her, but I know I don’t want it to happen to me.
I rip a notebook out of my backpack and open it to a blank page. Before all this I never would’ve attempted to contact Olivia Kane. My heart would’ve exploded with the effort, and I would’ve been too afraid of the answer I might have gotten.
But desperate times.
Mrs. Kane,
My name is Eliza Mirk. I’m not writing to you to talk about Children of Hypnos, though I am a fan of yours. I’m the creator of the webcomic Monstrous Sea, and recently my identity was revealed to my fans. The day this happened, I had a panic attack, tripped, and knocked myself out on a cafeteria table.
I’m pathetic, I know.
Since then, I have been contacted constantly and by any means possible, including online messages, emails, and even notes shoved into my locker at school. Some are very nice, and some are not. I feel like people are always watching me, always aware of me, even if I’m sitting alone in my bedroom. I haven’t been eating or sleeping well, and I don’t know what to do with myself.
After two weeks home, I’m back in school now, but my skin is constantly crawling and it feels like I’m teetering on the edge of breathless dizziness, like that panic could reach out and grab me at any second. I want to go home. I never want to leave my room.
I know this isn’t exactly the same as your situation, but the worst part of it all is I can’t finish Monstrous Sea. I was so close to the end, and now the motivation to do it is gone. Like a dried-up well. I don’t know how to refill it, and I don’t know if I want to, but I have to. There are so many reasons why I have to finish. I shouldn’t feel like this, should I? I shouldn’t feel so attacked. This is what public figures deal with. I’m afraid something’s wrong with me, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m scared I’m going to be like this forever. I’m so scared, all the time.
I don’t know if you can help me, or if you even know what I’m talking about, but you were the only person I could think of who might understand.
Thank you for your time.
Eliza Mirk
P.S. Sorry, I know I said I wasn’t going to
talk about Children of Hypnos. You don’t have to answer this, and I’m sure you get this question all the time, so if it makes you uncomfortable, please ignore it. Do you know how you would have ended the series? I don’t need specifics; I was just curious if you knew and couldn’t finish it, like me, or if there was no end.
CHAPTER 39
I get through the rest of the school day with the letter to Olivia Kane folded carefully in thirds and clutched between my hands.
At lunch in the courtyard, Wallace hands his conversation paper to me over his loaded tray of food. At least someone’s appetite hasn’t been disturbed by all of this.
What is that?
They’re the first words he’s said to me, spoken or written, since my bedroom. Even after looking at his face, his body language, I have no idea of his tone. Is he upset? Curious? He couldn’t be worried, could he? I don’t even know why he’s sitting with me right now. Habit, probably.
A letter to Olivia Kane, I write back. There are other students in the courtyard today, and I don’t feel like speaking aloud.
Wallace frowns. Can I read it?
I run the folded letter between my fingers. It wasn’t meant for Wallace. He’s not waiting with his hand out or anything. It wouldn’t do any harm to let him read it. Maybe then he might understand what I was trying to explain to him before. He could even tell me if I could make it better—he’s the writer, after all.
No, it’s kind of just for her.
He reads this and says nothing else.
When I get home, I find an envelope and a stamp in Mom and Dad’s office and take the letter down to the mailbox. A few years back, the Children of Hypnos forums came up with an address for Olivia Kane’s publisher, where they were accepting mail on her behalf. I don’t know if they’re still collecting it for her, or if they send any of it her way. The odds of her reading my letter are slim to none, and the odds of her actually replying even slimmer. But I don’t care if she chases people off her property with a shotgun, screaming like a banshee.
I at least have to try this.
CHAPTER 40
“Eliza, why don’t you go ahead and take a spot on the couch? Make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay.”
“Would you like anything to drink?”
“Um, maybe water.”
“Water it is. I’m glad you decided to come talk to me.”
“I wasn’t going to. I mean—my parents wanted me to. I don’t really like talking. I just want to get past all of this.”
“Of course. I’ve been reading over the questionnaire you filled out for me, and matching that up with what your parents told me—it seems like you’ve had quite a roller coaster of a school year.”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Why is that?”
“Everything’s gotten worse. Well, not worse. Kind of worse? I don’t know, worse doesn’t sound right. More intense?”
“Intense might be a good word for it. Where do you feel like it started going downhill?”
“It went uphill before it went down. I don’t know. Maybe October.”
“What happened in October?”
“Um. That was when I met Wallace.”
“Wallace is your boyfriend, correct?”
“Yes. Or he was. I don’t know anymore.”
“Okay, so when you met Wallace. How did things change for you then?”
“We started hanging out. I didn’t hang out with anyone in school . . . or outside of school. Wallace is a Monstrous Sea fan, and it was the first time I’d ever met one in real life. I met his friends too.”
“Did you get along with them?”
“Sure.”
“Did Wallace meet your friends?”
“Technically, yeah. Max and Emmy are both on the Monstrous Sea forums, so he’s probably seen them before.”
“You don’t know Max and Emmy in real life?”
“I know them in real life. It’s not like they’re pretending to be somebody else just because they’re online.”
“I mean face-to-face, as in you could reach out and touch them.”
“No. One of them lives in Canada and the other’s in school in California.”
“So you’re used to interacting with people mostly on the internet.”
“I guess. Before Wallace I mostly only interacted with my family. Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily. Many people, especially teenagers your age, find their closest friends and communities online. I apologize for saying ‘in real life’—I didn’t intend to sound like I thought they weren’t valuable relationships.”
“That’s okay. You’re better than my parents were.”
“What do your parents say?”
“Lots of things. They used to say they were okay with the online stuff, but I don’t think they were. They were happy when Wallace came around, though. I guess they thought I was breaking out of my shell, or whatever.”
“Were you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I started doing more stuff outside my house, but it still wasn’t the same as being online.”
“How did you feel online?”
“Like the creator of one of the most popular webcomics in the world. I was invincible. It’s so much easier to deal with people when you feel like they can’t touch you.”
“It’s normal to experience those kinds of power differences. Did you feel that way around Wallace all the time?”
“No. Sometimes, but not all the time. I pretended to be a fan too. Wallace is the most popular Monstrous Sea fanfiction writer.”
“Why don’t we talk a little more about Monstrous Sea?”
“Like what?”
“Why don’t you tell me what it’s about?”
“You haven’t read it? Ugh—sorry, that sounded bad. I mean like, all of this is about Monstrous Sea, I thought you might’ve gone online to look at it . . . sorry, I’m not pretentious, I swear.”
“That’s okay. I did look it up, but I wanted to hear you describe it.”
“It’s . . . hard to explain. There’s a boy and a girl and—have you read Faust? Or seen it? You know the Faust legend, right?”
“Yes, I know Faust.”
“Okay, so the boy and girl have basically sold their souls for great power. Kind of. It’s weird. They live on this huge, distant planet called Orcus, and it’s mostly ocean. The boy and the girl are the only ones who can kill each other, and they’re pitted on opposite sides of a war—I’m not explaining it well.”
“You’re doing a fine job.”
“So the girl finds out she’s been misled by her side, and the boy tries to influence her over to his, but he turns out to kind of be the monster everyone always said he was, just in a different way. . . .”
“How long have you been working on this?”
“A long time.”
“Do you think about it often?”
“Every day. Sometimes it’s all I think about. But I haven’t been able to work on it since . . . a few weeks ago.”
“When it was revealed that you created it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The motivation is gone. It used to be part of me, something I did all the time. I don’t even know if I miss it or not.”
“Have you been working on anything else?”
“No. I’ve tried, but then I feel guilty about not working on Monstrous Sea.”
“Why do you feel guilty?”
“Part of it’s the fans, I guess. They’ve been reading it so long, and it’s so close to the end, I feel like I’m letting them down. I am letting them down. But the other part is the story itself . . . never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Nothing’s stupid, Eliza. What about the story?”
“I feel like I’m letting the story down. Like I’m not worthy of it because I couldn’t finish it.”
“Does that bother you often?”
“I’ve had a few nightmares about it.”
“Nightmares?”
?
??Like . . . ‘getting eaten by sea monsters’ type nightmares. So that’s normal, right?”
“It’s normal to have nightmares when you’re stressed, yes. I’ve met artists before who have experienced similar feelings—not feeling worthy of their own work, guilt over an incomplete piece, anxiety about what their fans want and how they might deliver it. It’s normal, but that doesn’t mean it’s always healthy. Eliza, your worth as a person is not dependent on the art you create or what other people think of it.”
“Then . . . what is it dependent on? What is there beyond what we create and leave behind?”
“Do you believe the people of highest worth are those who only do excellent work?”
“Well . . .”
“Let me put it this way: your brothers are athletes, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“If they lose a game, don’t they risk also losing supporters?”
“I guess.”
“Does that make their lives worth less than those of two boys who only win?”
“Of course not. That would be ridiculous. It’s just a game.”
“They might say the same of Monstrous Sea. It’s only a comic.”
“It’s still different.”
“I think you might be surprised how thin the lines between art and sports really are—some artists consider their craft a sport, and some athletes consider their sport an art. My point is, we ascribe value to the things we care most about, but sometimes we don’t stop long enough to take a look at the bigger picture. You are able to see who your brothers are, separate from what they do and accomplish, but you have trouble doing the same for yourself.”
“I . . . maybe . . .”
“Worth as a person is not based on any tangible evidence. There’s no test for it, no scale. Everyone’s got their own idea of what it is. But I can tell you that Monstrous Sea is not the measure of your value in life, Eliza. Whether or not you finish it does not determine if you should live or die.”
“But . . . Wallace. Wallace was offered a book deal for his transcription of the story, and it would completely change his life, but the publisher doesn’t want it unless it’s done. If I don’t finish, he’s going to lose everything.”