Undercover Fangirl

Chapter 11

@FictionalEl:Can we acknowledge the fact that Hallie and Cole are the perfect rolefor Reagan Turner's book?

Anotherthreat to reveal my identity comes to me on Twitter again. I shrug itoff; it's probably someone trying to rile me up for the sake ofseeing me break down. Unfortunately for them, that won't behappening. At least not today because today I will be handing Reaganmy rough draft. Today is also the last day of classes forThanksgiving break. That also means that I won't have to work withReagan on Thursday. No doubt she'll have me work extra hourstonight to make up for missing our regularly scheduled Thursdaysessions.

Dadis finally home and awake after a week in the hospital. He's doingfairly well, well enough to move around. He won't be able to goback to work for another couple of weeks. I can practically imaginehow hard that must be for him. Ever since I was a baby, he was alwaysworking. It kept him busy and sane. He loved his job and the studentshe works with. Teaching is his passion.

Thedoctor has him on meds. His right arm is broken, but the mostimportant thing is that he doesn't have any serious head trauma.That is what I was most afraid of. He would never be able to teachagain if his brain was damaged. Like I said, teaching is his life andI don't think he could bear without going into school each day.Teaching is ingrained into him.

OnSunday I had coffee with Hallie where I divulged my Luc drama; Ihaven't seen her for the past couple of weeks. She almost spit outher latte at me. Thankfully there were no paparazzi around. We sharedstories of our childhood for two hours until she had to leave toattend a photo shoot. How different her life was from mine.

Istand at Reagan's door, considering burning the manuscript I holdin my hand. Last night I finally finished my story. It was rewardingto lean back in my chair with a finished book flashing at me on thescreen. The process was long and stressful: nearly a year of maulingcharacter development, plot development, and everything in between. Ifeel relieved knowing that I wrote almost one hundred thousand words.No, it isn't the next best seller, but I wrote it. I wrote a book.

Suckingin a breath, I ring the doorbell. Reagan opens it, yelling into herphone. I squint; I guess I will be handling annoyed Reagan today.Probably not the best day to have her read my manuscript, but I needto do this. For myself, to prove that I can.

"Okay,I am done with this conversation. My assistant is here, I need tohang up. Have a nice day." Reagan throws her phone onto the counterin annoyance. "My mom."

Istand across from her as she takes a sip from her wine glass. I takethe manuscript back out from my purse. She watches me extract it withan arched eyebrow.

"Ihave something that I have been writing. I was wondering if you wouldhave the time to read some of it. I understand if you can't, thatyou're busy. But it would mean the world to have my writinginspiration take a gander at my book."

"Youwant to be a published author, Eloise?" Reagan sets her glass down,taking the manuscript from my hands. She reads the first line,nodding her head. I wring my hands, nervous that she might think itsutter trash.

"That'smy dream. Ever since I was a little girl," I watch as Reagan comesaround the counter and I continue, "I have wanted to walk into abookstore and see my name on a book. I know it's a longshot, butit's something that I would love to happen."

"Don'twe all? I didn't wake up one day and decide to write a book. Ithought about it; I dreamed it; and I wrote it. And damnit if itdidn't work out the way that it had, I wouldn't be where I amtoday. I was lucky. Blessed, I was so blessed when I got a book dealall those years back. Perhaps your fate will be the same as mine."

Irest my hands on the cool granite counter, "so you'll read it?Tell me what you think?"

Reagansets it next to her wine glass. "I would love to read it. When Isee you on Saturday, I will come with my opinions on it."