Page 32 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

SUBJECT: Library

He is not an idiot. He has an early shift at the cafe before class. And I don’t need him to hang around and babysit me after dark.

FROM: Jack Bennett

TO: Emily Walker

DATE: Tue, Dec 9 10:00 PM

SUBJECT: Library

Fine. You may not be scared of the bogeyman, but I am, which is why I plan to walk right behind you all the way to our cars and let him get you first. See you outside.

Chapter Ten

Emily

I’m on the floor and a little drunk.

I didn’t mean to get drunk. I was perfectly sober before I started drinking.

But Madison didn’t come home. I got all her favorite things, and I cleaned her room and I felt hopeful and excited for the first time in a while and…she canceled. At the last minute she was offered an opportunity to shadow a big-time chef in a famous kitchen. She couldn’t pass it up. I don’t want her to pass it up. But I also want her to come home. I need her to come home—but she doesn’t need me. No one needs me. And when they don’t need me, they don’t come around anymore either because I am a utility sponge. I am useful. And if I’m no use to someone anymore, they throw me under the sink.

Ugh.I press the bottle of wine straight to my lips but there’s not a single drop left. But before anyone is too concerned about me, the bottle wasn’t full when I started.

I tried everything to distract myself from the ache. I cleaned my fridge and completely rearranged my closet and then scrubbedmy floors with a toothbrush because usually that makes me feel better when nothing else does, but none of those things worked this time. As a last-ditch effort I turned on an audiobook for a little background noise and the next thing I knew, I was sobbing on the floor and clutching a bottle of wine in my pajamas because the hero loved the heroine and I’m never going to be loved! No one wants me! I’m all alone in this life!

Oh, this cat bed is on sale.

I set my empty wine bottle aside so I can clickBuy Nowon the cat bed. Ducky purrs on the floor beside me, curled up against my legs. “You love me right, Ducky? As long as I feed you and snuggle you and shower you with gifts, you’re not going to leave me behind for a better life somewhere?” A hiccup jumps out of me. “And it’d be great if you could not die. I hate when people die.” I lean my head back against the wall. “Dying sucks because it hurts so bad in here…” I slap my hand against my chest. “And there’s nothing I can do about it.” I close my eyes and then get struck with another thought. “You can’t get married either. That’s against the girl code. If we’re going to live out our lives as thriving spinsters, you can’t ditch me for a hot alley cat you meet in the city. And listen…I like to crack the eggs, okay? Because I don’t like eating shells, so you’re going to have to be okay with that.”

Ducky is sound asleep. Not listening to a word I say.

“Fine. Get your beauty sleep. I’ll just make myself busy until you wake up.”

I click around on my laptop some more and then find myself staring at my manuscript. I aimlessly scroll through all eighty thousand words of it and wonder for the millionth time what I should do with it. Is it any good? I have no idea. And that really, really scares me. The idea of sending this out for submission and epically failing scares the shit out of me. What if this little mustard seeddream has sprouted into a giant beanstalk-size dream, but I’ll never catch it?Beanstalk,of course, has me thinking of Jack, which has me imagining his taunting smile and telling me I’m braver than this.

And then I think of Madison facing a huge city by herself and going after her dreams. I think of Annie opening a flower shop all on her own. I think of Noah taking a chance on love and getting freaking married. To a pop star. And then I zoom out and find me, on the floor, drunk and with no plans for my future. Suddenly this thought is unbearable. The darkness I keep running from opens up in front of me and offers to keep me warm for the next few days.

Instead, I fight.

I don’t want to be consumed with loneliness. I don’t want that to be my secret defining characteristic. I want to look forward to something. I want to chase my dreams. I wrote a book! I wrote a book that I love and enjoyed every second of creating. I found a balm for my soul, and I want to keep pursuing it. So here we go…I’m going to submit it to an agent for representation!

Yes, this is suuuuuch a good idea.

And because I’m me, I don’t even have to worry about being too drunk to write something coherent. I’ve been toying around with the idea for a few days now and so in true Emily style, I have crafted a query letter based on advice from many different online articles and tinkered with this book until I’ve felt like it’s maybe not complete junk. So you know what? Armed with liquid courage, now seems like the perfect time to send it off. If my siblings are going after their dreams, I can too.

I’ve researched hundreds of literary agents and narrowed down my list to the ten that I felt would most like my story. One at the very top of my list: Barbara Morgan. She isn’t the biggest agent in the business, but the books she’s sold so far are incredible, and Ilike how in her bio she says she loves stories and getting lost in them but loves the humans behind them more and enjoys getting to bring their dreams to life. My gut says we’d be a good fit.

The Internet told me to write one query letter and to just change the name for each agent before sending, but that feels lazy and half-assed to me. So I’ve written ten unique emails spelling out why I am reaching out to each individual and the exact reasons I think my book would be a good fit for them.

I open the first one now—get ready, Barbara—and attach the query letter. The Internet says not to include the full manuscript unless asked to do so, but this just feels like a silly oversight to me, so I include it anyway. Save Barbara a step.What a good decision.

Before I have time to second-guess, I click the little white arrow and listen to my email whoosh through the interwebs. I bask in the glow of a monumental moment and turn my eyes to Ducky. “Well, I hope you’re happy. You missed my potentially life-changing event.” She squints her eyes tighter trying to block me out. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

Just for kicks and giggles, I open the email I just sent and reread it. It all looks great. Flawless, even if my slightly drunk brain does say so itself. Yep, everything is in order. Except…wait.Something feels off. I keep reading it over and over again trying to figure out what the prodding sensation is in the back of my head. Like I’m seeing something wrong but can’t register it. I get closer to the screen and mumble as I read. “Hello, Barbara, I am seeking representation for…blah blah blah…from Emily Walker…to…” I gasp. “No.”

No, no, no.

---