‘You’re not leaving me, Scarlett; I wouldn’t let you,’ she says, playfully shoving me in the shoulder. ‘But I do know that this is an incredible opportunity for you and as your best friend and boss, I think you should take it and actually I’m demanding you take it – look at it like I’m sending you on a work course. You are wasted just being my personal assistant; from now on I’m pushing you. Consider this me pushing you,’ she declares, determination back on her face, confidence finding its way back in her tone. A small smile tugs at my lips but fails to fully form.
‘I can’t go to New York,’ I mumble, looking to the floor.
‘Sure, you can. Things are changing around here and, considering we’ve got six months to plan for it, I think we can make it happen,’ Hope counters. I look up and meet her gaze. So much has happened this past week and Hope has stood by me every step of the way. Being able to express myself and join in with talks of superheroes has felt like a piece of my childhood spandex being stitched back together but to create a brand-new costume. I don’t want to hide anything anymore.
‘I got so angry with him and pushed him away,’ I confess and for once I let Hope see the tears that fall as I explain what Devon had said about me pursuing my art and how I’d told him he didn’t know me and that I wasn’t good enough for him. Hope wraps her arms around me, and I feel closer to her than I have felt in ten years.
‘Well, that’s dumb,’ she says when she releases me, and I can’t help chuckle because actually when I say it out loud it does sound pretty dumb. ‘Scarlett, has Devon ever once made you feel not good enough?’ she asks.
I sit up straight. ‘No, no I don’t think so. He makes me feel like me but, Hope, he’s a movie star now – surely he needs someone womanly and glamorous the likes of Ruby or, as my mum would say, someone more feminine and elegant – and that’s not me.’ I tell her.
‘Wait, stop. Scarlett, what does your dad think about you?’ Hope asks, waving a finger in my face and then grabbing my hands and shaking me. I think for a moment, confused by her questioning.
‘Erm, I think he thinks I’m cool and fun.’ I stumble a little over the words.
‘And what do Jess and I think of you?’ she asks, tugging at my hands and sitting on the edge of her seat.
‘I don’t know – that I’m awesome and a creative genius,’ I say, blushing and shrugging but they are their words not mine.
‘Exactly. Look, I know Ruby gave you a hard time in school and she’s still not much better now and your mum can be a handful. There are always going to be people who put you down but you’ve got to stop letting those people in and shutting the people that love you out.’ I feel as though Thor’s hammer has just smacked me right in the face. Hope’s right. She’s right. It had been easy to shut out the negativity when Devon was right next to me because he was there, and he loved me, and in turn, I loved me. I loved my imagination, I loved who I was with him by my side.
When he left, I had no shield. I let the bullies get to me and I stopped loving me; I stopped loving who I was and became someone else entirely. For the past ten years I have kept all my childhood memories in boxes marked “do not open”, not forgetting to put the boxes marked “dreams” at the bottom of the piles, making them impossible to get to. I blamed Devon for so long and did what I thought I was supposed to be doing, becoming the person I thought I had to become, through fear of people not loving me. I lost all sight of the person I wanted to become, of the person I loved, until Devon came back into my life. It wasn’t his fault when I was sixteen that life got a bit messed up and it isn’t his fault now. He’s the only person who knew of all my hopes and dreams and who encouraged and supported them. I only have myself to blame.
I wipe at my tears and shoot out of my chair. ‘Hope, I think we have been going about this magazine all wrong. I was talking to Mrs Bride this morning and she said the magazine is boring. She said people want something fresh, something new and exciting. That’s the reason sales are dwindling, and people aren’t buying it anymore. Donations, raffles, and recipes are all well and good but there’s no longevity in that. This magazine isn’t Alfred’s anymore; it’s yours.’ I say, boldly, pacing the office.
‘It’s ours,’ Hope states, standing up to join me in pacing the floor. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying it needs a revamp. You read what the governors wrote the other day. A monthly magazine needs more content. We can still have sections dedicated to the village but let’s give them stories, colour, news they can’t see or hear on the street corner. I think you were on the right track looking into social media and bringing in new and fresh ideas. Putting it out monthly will give us more time to put it together, to research, write and source all kinds of information and give them something they can’t wait to get a hold of each month,’ I ramble.
‘That’s brilliant. You can do a monthly comic strip or an ongoing story that they want to know what happens next,’ Hope suggests.
I stop pacing, hands on my hips. ‘What?’ I object.
‘It’s perfect. Devon is on the front cover of the January issue. You should do a comic strip. I can get Clark and Becky to write a short story, oh gosh you could do a colouring page too. Maybe a superhero one for Devon. We can still do horoscopes because everyone loves them, but we can make it more inclusive for all ages,’ Hope says with a nod before running behind her desk and scribbling on her big open-faced notebook.
‘Seriously?’ I say, standing stock-still.
‘Seriously,’ Hope confirms, dazzling me with her grin. I start to feel the excitement bubbling in my gut; for the first time in ten years I feel like I’m getting the chance to really contribute to the magazine and, though a part of me is terrified, I feel a bigger part of me is thrilled at the opportunity. If Billy Batson can stand up to the seven deadly sins to become the superhero he was destined to be, I think I can pick up a pencil crayon and draw a comic strip for The Village Gazette. A laugh escapes my lips, but it is short-lived when I think of Devon.
‘Hope, I screwed up big this time,’ I say, not keeping my emotions bottled up and letting her know what I’m feeling. Her face softens as she registers what I’m talking about. She walks back around the table and pulls me in for a hug. I snuggle close and rest my head on her shoulder.
‘Did Steve Rogers ever give up on Bucky Barnes?’ Hope asks, brushing my long fringe out of my face.
‘No,’ I mumble as a tear falls and I sniffle.
‘Well then, I don’t believe you, Scarlett, are going to give up on Devon.’ She drops a kiss on my head.
‘I get to be Cap this time,’ I say softly, causing Hope’s shoulder to bob up and down as she lets out a laugh.
‘Yes, yes you do,’ she confirms.
21
Somewhere around the late afternoon, the cute flurry of snowflakes transforms into hail and sloppy rain bangs harshly on the office window. Hope and I had called a meeting around ten a.m. to discuss the change of direction with the magazine and to hear everyone’s thoughts and ideas going forward. By the end of the meeting the atmosphere in the office had drastically changed to a much more inspired vibe, yet an exhausted one. Everyone had pulled together to add a new element to our proposal for the governors. Some people had expanded on their skill and suggested how to spruce it up; for example, instead of just half a page with one crossword, taking two pages and including quizzes, dot to dots and puzzles. While others had spoken up of their passions and leapt at the opportunity to write short stories and worldly articles that didn’t focus on Springhollow.