Afterworlds Read Free

Nisha joined in. The idea of the elder Patels recognizing their children’s independence at eighteen—or any age—was hilarious.
    “Don’t worry about them,” Nisha said once they’d recovered. “I have a plan.”
    “Which is?”
    “Secret.” A crafty smile settled onto Nisha’s face, which was about as reassuring as the shredded contract.
    It wasn’t only her parents’ reaction that was making Darcy nervous. There was something terrifying about her plans, something absurd, as if she’d decided to become an astronaut or a rock star.
    “Do you think I’m crazy, wanting to do this?”
    Nisha shrugged. “If you want to be a writer, you should do it now. Like you keep saying, Afterworlds could tank and no one will ever publish you again.”
    “I only said that once.” Darcy sighed. “But thanks for reminding me.”
    “You’re welcome, Patel. But look—that’s a binding legal contract. Until your book officially bombs, you’re a real novelist! So would you rather blow all that money as a writer in New York City? Or as some freshman churning out essays about dead white guys?”
    Darcy dropped her gaze to the torn contract. Maybe it had ripped because she wanted this too much. Maybe her hand would always slip at the last moment, tearing what she desired most. But somehow the contract was beautiful, even in its damaged state. Right there on the first page, it defined her, Darcy Patel, as “The Author.” You couldn’t get much realer than that.
    “I’d rather be a writer than a freshman,” she said.
    “Then you have to tell the elder Patels— after those are in the mailbox.”
    Darcy looked at the return envelope and wondered if the Underbridge Literary Agency provided stamps for all its authors, or only the teenage ones. But at least it made sending off the contract as easy as walking to the corner, which took less effort than resisting Nisha. If her little sister had a plan, there would be no respite without compliance.
    “Okay. At lunch.”
    Darcy lifted her favorite pen, and signed her name four times.
    *  *  *
    “I’ve got something to tell you guys,” she said. “But don’t get upset.”
    The expressions around the table—including Nisha’s—made Darcy wonder if she should have started differently. Her father had paused in midbite, and Annika Patel was staring wide-eyed.
    Lunch was leftovers from takeout the night before—fried red peppers, chickpeas cooked with tamarind, all of it swimming in garam masala and served straight from the styrofoam containers. Not an auspicious setting for important announcements.
    “The thing is, I want to defer college for a year.”
    “What?” her mother asked. “Why on earth?”
    “Because I have responsibilities.” This line had sounded better in her head. “I need to do the rewrites for Afterworlds , and write a sequel.”
    “But . . .” Her mother paused, and the elder Patels shared a look.
    “Working on books isn’t going to take all your time,” her father said. “You wrote your first one in a month, didn’t you? And that didn’t interfere with your studies.”
    “It almost killed me!” Darcy said. She’d dreaded coming home some days last November, because she knew that two thousand words of novel awaited her, on top of homework, college application essays, and studying for the SATs. “Besides, I didn’t write a book in a month. I wrote a draft .”
    Her parents just stared at her.
    “There’s no good writing, only good re writing,” 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