The Fine Print: Chapter 18

After ruining Zahra’s team meeting, I did the same to Sam’s Alpha team. I don’t have the luxury of wasting time on subpar ideas and missed opportunities.

Yet you have time to waste on drawing.

Drawing invigorates me in a way I haven’t experienced before—like I can shut off the world and the demands placed on me for an hour. I’m not stupid enough to believe this could be a long-term activity for me. It’s only a means to an end.

I drop onto my bed and grab my phone off my nightstand. I’ve been avoiding Zahra since she sent her message about me hiding behind a screen. It pissed me off more than I cared to admit earlier. I don’t hide behind anything, least of all a stupid piece of glass. I’m merely observing.

I’m not hiding behind a screen because I’m scared. Me:

She doesn’t respond right away like usual. I add Zahra’s streaming account to my smart TV. If only she knew who helped produce her favorite duke show.

I choose a random show to pass the time. One episode turns into three, and before I know it, Zahra still hasn’t texted me back.

Is Rowan keeping you up all night?Me:

I wince when I reread my message, realizing how it sounds.

I expect some awkwardness on her end but my comment earns me a laughing GIF.

No. But I was busy working on a new idea! Zahra:

Great. That’s exactly what I need from her. Just maybe not at midnight when she should be sleeping.

Isn’t this what you expect? You’re the one who added four hours on to an eight-hour workday because you were pissed off.

Why? Did you miss me? Zahra:

My response is instantaneous.

No. Me:

Damn. Zahra:

Do you even have a heart? Zahra:

I don’t suffer from that kind of affliction. Me:

Who hurt you? Zahra:

Her question is meant to be a joke, but it sends a rush of bad memories to the surface. I grip my phone in a chokehold. It takes me five whole minutes to recover and think up a response vague enough to suffice.

Who else? Me:

A sucky ex-lover?Zahra:

Speaking from experience? Me:

The question leaves a sour feeling in my stomach. I never considered Zahra having a lover before, but the idea makes me want to chuck my phone across the room.

The idea of her being with someone else…it’s unsettling. Like the way someone feels right before a roller coaster drops.

There aren’t enough words in the human dictionary to explain that story. Zahra:

That bad? Me:

Why do you care?

All I can say is when one door closes, it’s usually because someone slams it in your face. Zahra:

I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.Me:

I like to put my own spin on things. Zahra:

I’ve noticed. Me:

Just like I’ve noticed a lot of things about her that I probably shouldn’t.

Does it stop me from continuing our conversation? It should yet it doesn’t.

Does it force me to shut off my phone and give in to sleep? Not in the slightest.

Instead, I keep Zahra company as she works through an idea via text like the stupid fool she’s turned me into.

“You’ve got a package.” Martha opens the door to my office with one arm. The other trembles as she holds on to the box. I get up and grab the box from her, afraid her wonky ankle might give out and smash the contents before I have a chance to use them.

Martha sees herself out without paying me much attention. I appreciate her more and more by the day because she gets her job done while ensuring only people with appointments bother me.

I place the box on my desk before slicing it open with a pair of scissors. It takes a few seconds to pull out the smaller box from the ocean of foam peanuts.

I run my hand over the Wacom drawing tablet picture on the front of the box. If my grandfather saw me using one of these, he would criticize me for giving up on the classics. My initial reason for buying the tablet was to send digital copies to Zahra without stopping by her cubicle.

The tablet caught my eye during online shopping. It has all the gadgets and features that graphic designers love to have. I open the box like a child on Christmas morning, ripping at the cardboard in my rush to pull the tablet out.

My heart races in my chest as I press the power button. I smile to myself as the screen lights up and the company logo flashes.

I pack away the paperwork I was reviewing earlier and pull up the texts Zahra sent me last night.

This is a means to an end.

You keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll finally believe it.

I wipe a hand across my five o’clock shadow after creating a pseudonym email and sending Zahra a copy of her newest design. My eyes burn from spending hours watching YouTube tutorials on how to use a hunk of plastic. I almost gave up halfway and assigned an Animator to help Zahra but the idea made me feel deflated. I’m not the kind of person who gives up and I wasn’t about to let a tablet beat me.

I check for her reply two hours later, after I went through another series of meetings with our foreign Dreamland Directors.

I see you’ve stepped up your game! Zahra:

It’s incredible. Seriously. Zahra:

Do you like the alteration to the original design? Me:

I should have asked her first before I tweaked her original plan. She wanted to feature a new castle for one of the original princesses, but I liked the idea of ditching the cookie-cutter one for Princess Marianna. I changed the classic design into something that matches Mexican culture.

I love it! It might impress Rowan. Zahra:

Okay, let’s be real. Nothing I do will impress him, but it felt good to say. Zahra:

Usually, I’m happy pushing people to their limits, but the way Zahra speaks about herself has me pausing. Does she really think that?

She doesn’t give me much time to consider anything else.

Wait!!! Zahra:

OMG. I think you gave me the best idea. Stop everything and help me! Zahra:

I run a hand across the smile that only appears because of Zahra.

What do you think about a ride that takes guests through the afterlife on ?Zahra: Día de los Muertos

Feel free to lie and tell me it’s amazing even if you don’t think so. Zahra:

Of course I think it’s a decent idea. It never dawned on me that a castle could lead to an entirely new ride about a princess who can speak to the dead.

I spend the next thirty minutes entertaining her because I’m interested in seeing where her creativity takes her. It has nothing to do with the way her passion sparks something warm in my chest. Just like speaking to her has no correlation with the sudden burst of energy I feel as I pull out the stupid tablet that’s given me nothing but issues all afternoon.

Absolutely nothing.