Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 35

I get off the airplane and go right to the studio. LA is three hours behind Ohio time, so the writers' room is taking a late working lunch when I walk in. Everyone except for Vic and Tina is surprised to see me, and even Andy's face flashes with confusion before it returns to its usual state of generally bored and slightly amused.

Everyone in the room starts clapping and cheering.

Oh. Oh no. I was not expecting this. I forgot about the whole promotion thing. I am not in the mood to be clapped for.

A few writers pat me on the back and sing my praises, telling me I deserve this. Blah, blah, blah. I suddenly feel like I'm standing in a wind tunnel, and I need to get out of there. I back the hell out of the room with profuse thank yous directed to no one in particular, and definitely not to Andy, who doesn't say a word.

My little cubicle feels like a safe haven. I sit down and pull out my laptop.

Home sweet home.

Vic and Tina stop by with a bottle of champagne and hugs, even if I can still feel all their questions underlining every line of banter they throw my way. We clink glasses and I take a single pathetic sip before I sit back down to my laptop, searching for a distraction. Vic and Tina take the hint, and with another gentle hug from the latter, they leave me in solitude.

I glance at my phone.

Mark hasn't called or texted again. I think Mom must have given him my notes on his script. That means he got my other note. He might even be reading it as I sit here, watching celebratory champagne bubbles dance in my glass.

My hair prickles up on the back of my neck as I feel a presence looming behind me. "Hi, Andy," I say without turning around.

"How's your follow-through, Jenkins?" he asks. I suck in a deep breath and turn around. He leans against the cubicle with a cup of coffee in one hand and a script tucked under the other arm.

I know that part of this challenge was to see if I cared enough about this job to see it through to the end. Every showrunner worries that their best writers will get poached by better, more critically-acclaimed shows. Shows that pay more or are more satisfying creatively. And honestly, before Operation Ellie is Cool Now, I would have taken any job that so much as batted its eyes in my general direction. Post-Ellie is Cool Now? I like my job. I like my boss and my work friends. My work, this show, this job — it all has the meaning I give it. Just like high school — how I feel about high school and the people I went to school with — it's all up to me. I decide.

I choose to believe it's all leading toward my destiny. No matter what.

"Most Artistic is in Berlin," I say and hand him a crappy sketch of my parents' cat. "So we Skyped this morning at two AM Eastern." I smile. "I'll send you my bill for supplies."

He examines my "art." A single brow shoots up.

"I said I could write, not draw, okay?" I snap. He tucks the sheet of paper under his arm next to his script, eyeing me for a second as he sips his coffee.

"What about number nine?" is his next question. All business. If he notices my mood, he doesn't let on. Thank God. I couldn't handle anything that even smelled like sympathy from Andy Biermann.

"Glad you asked," I say with a triumphant crack of my knuckles. I spin my laptop screen around the face him. A "YOU WIN" pop-up flashes across my screen over a game of online chess against — you guessed it — Most Athletic.