Chapter Six ‘Collage’ Is Dead
CHAPTER SIX COLLAGE IS DEAD
Now they all sat in a loosely formed circle of chairs Mal had helped Emerson commandeer from other rooms around the Haus.
It was surprising how easily the space came together—not just because no one seemed to mind two teens stealing chairs from various parts of the Haus (one really nice couple in the garden offered to help, even), but because Emerson was surprisingly easy to work with.
She communicated clearly what they were meant to do, and then they did it together.
She worked like Mal worked: an experience Mal had never had before.
Well—no, she didn’t work like Mal worked.
But the way she worked was symbiotic with the way Mal worked.
Last night, for example, they had prepared notes for the meeting, co-working in the same Google Doc which Emerson had named—of course in all caps—DUMP DOC.
At Emerson’s suggestion, they had called each other on the phone.
Talking on the phone was not something Mal liked to do…
but talking on the phone with Emerson wasn’t so bad.
Over the phone, they discussed the agenda Mal had sent out—or at least they started there, then worked their way in a series of spirals away from and back to it as their thoughts led them.
Emerson’s job had been to fill the shared document with all those ideas and plans and considerations.
It was a thing of wonder to watch the sheer number of thoughts and facts and what-ifs appear on the screen beside Emerson’s blinking cursor as she laughed and chatted with Mal.
Then Mal came in, gathering and organizing the mess into neat lists that made sense.
Their process worked so nicely that they didn’t even mind when Emerson changed all the color-coding to bright Post-it colors “to match the colors I already use for planning stuff.”
It sent a thrill through Mal’s chest, seeing how Emerson’s brain worked in real time. She was much messier—and certainly louder—than Mal was, but for the first time they could remember, Mal thought that maybe the way their brain worked wasn’t so different after all. Not from Emerson’s, at least.
By the end of the call—which ran so long that Maddie popped her head into the bedroom twice and Mal had to tell her they’d visit her Animal Crossing island later—Mal felt strangely secure in the direction they were going.
Emerson made Mal feel like she understood them.
Like they were on the same page (or Google Doc, as it were).
But they should have known better than to think things might go their way.
At first, Mal picked up a few wins. The folded zine format Emerson had mocked up for Mal went over well with the group and officially became the style they’d be using.
The gathered staffers seemed equally interested in keeping the zine serious, in publishing work they were proud of. Everything was going to plan.
Until it really wasn’t.
Parker was the first person to suggest they expand the accepted formats from Collage’s poetry, prose, and drama categories to whichever formats they wanted, and Nylan happily jumped from that to including images for some of the pieces.
To Mal’s great surprise, it was Stella who latched onto this idea—“I commissioned some art of Talia and Xarrett; I can check with the artist about using it for such an insubstantial print run,” she said—and before Mal could do anything about it, it was officially A Thing.
And then there was the issue of how often to publish.
Mal thought sticking to the established once-a-semester model was best, but Kodi thought since they were handling production on their own rather than going through a printer (which, as Mal knew, took weeks), they should be able to publish more frequently.
Once James said he’d always wished Collage was a monthly magazine, it became one.
And then suddenly Mal was left with the feeling that the magazine—zine—the room was chattering excitedly about wasn’t even Collage at all.
“I mean,” Stella said, speaking over Parker, who was chatting about the possibility of a color cover, “this all sounds good, but what should we rename it?”
“What shou—” Mal started repeating the words automatically, trying to process them. “I’m sorry, what?”
“A new name, Mal.” Stella rolled her eyes, exasperated. “For our new magazine.”
“It’s a zine,” corrected James. “There’s a difference.”
“Rude,” said Stella, “but exactly. This isn’t really Collage anymore. We should have a rebrand to indicate that.”
Could Stella hear their thoughts, or did their face just broadcast them plainly? Mal had to do something, and fast.
“But that’s the whole point,” they countered. A hot panic rose in their throat like bile. They tried to swallow both back. “This is Collage. We’re keeping it going. Same crew, same mag—uh, zine.”
“I don’t know,” Parker chimed in from one of the office chairs closest to Mal.
In the stark plainness of the back room, her bright pink-and-blue sweater looked especially vibrant.
“It feels different to me, too.” Then at the look Mal gave her, she rushed on: “Like, in a really cool way! Like it’s our own thing, not some stiff, rules-y school thing. ”
Mal bristled. They liked that Collage was stiff and rules-y.
“Yeah,” Kodi added. “Plus, the name Collage was kind of… not it, you know?”
“Collage is what we do,” argued Mal. “We take a bunch of different pieces and put them together to make a larger picture.”
“Oh dang, really?” Kodi shook her head. “Yeah, I definitely never thought of it like that. I thought of it like… collage collage.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nylan. “I was always a bit confused, because we never had anyone make actual collages.”
“Oooh!” Parker hummed. “I’m putting one on my to-do list for the first issue!”
“It’s a collage of forms,” Mal added, holding up their hands and weaving their fingers together for emphasis, in case they hadn’t been clear enough at first.
“But is it, though?” Stella asked, looking smug.
A strange feeling sank Mal’s shoulders, turtling them in on themself.
They had been banking on Stella to be on their side, because they knew she loved Collage the same way Mal loved Collage.
They hadn’t been friends for years, but surely she would still believe in the tradition of their literary magazine, like they both had freshman year.
“I—well, I—” Mal stammered.
“I think it’s worth considering,” Emerson said, finally speaking up.
Mal shot her a look. For someone so chatty and full of ideas on the phone last night, she had been exceptionally quiet this afternoon.
“It could be cool, to make it our own thing.” Under the weight of the withering glare Mal gave her, she shrugged and added, like an apology, “We could at least hear ideas?”
Mal raised an eyebrow. Emerson was supposed to be on their side too.
She gave them an innocent smile, bobbing her head to the side sweetly.
It was hard—not impossible, but hard—to keep feeling angry at her when she made that face at them.
It was much easier to feel a little warm around the edges with Emerson looking at them like that.
Stuck somewhere in between those two feelings, Mal said, “Fine.”
“How about Patchwork?” suggested Nylan. “It keeps the same idea as a collage, but it feels a little more… cozy.”
“It sounds like a quilt, though,” said Kodi. “Which, like, is a very specific vibe, especially here in Kentucky. I don’t know if it’s what I want to go for.”
“If we’re going to be rebels,” said Parker, getting animated, “why don’t we do something cool, like… Rogue One?”
“That’s a Star Wars movie, Parker,” Mal said flatly.
“I knowww,” Parker trilled, “but it’s the best one!”
“But it’s not a name for a lit zine,” Emerson chimed in. “Or, well. Not one that isn’t specifically focused on that fandom.”
“Is that a thing?!” Parker’s eyes went wide.
“Yeah! There’s all kinds of zines, actually. You can—”
But before Emerson could launch fully into her zine spiel, Mal redirected. “We’re brainstorming ideas for this zine,” they said firmly—then made a face that they, of all people, were trying to keep them on track about it.
“How about The Collective?” James asked, sweeping his hand through the air as if to illustrate it. “It’s professional yet mysterious.”
“Are we trying to be mysterious, though, James?” asked Kodi.
“I think something more direct works best,” Stella said matter-of-factly. “Something that makes it clear what we do.”
Mal mused darkly to themself: Last Resort Review, The Plan Killer, The Desperate Times.
“What about something liiike…” Emerson’s tongue peeked out from between her lips while she thought. “Mixed Media?”
“But that’s just Collage all over again,” James protested.
“And it’s pretty boring,” said Stella. When Emerson gave her A Look, she snapped, “What? It’s true.”
But Kodi said, “I don’t know, I like it? It’s a callback to Collage, but its own new thing.”
“It gives us space to grow into, too,” added Nylan, thoughtfully. “We could accept art submissions as well as stand-alone pieces—more of my photos, or some of Parker’s cartoons?”
“Oh.” This gave Parker pause. She looked at Nylan and grinned so broadly that it seemed Nylan couldn’t help grinning shyly back. “Oh. I never thought of that.”
“Because we never talked about that,” Mal hissed at Emerson.
“We could, though?” ventured Kodi. “I think that could be cool too.”
“I still think the name lacks… teeth,” James said.
“What if we did a cool spelling?” Parker asked. “Like, throw in some extra letters.”
Mal’s dyslexia pulled at the corners of their mind, giving them a headache. (The cup of black coffee currently sloshing in their empty stomach didn’t help.) “Please, no.”