by Chris Colfer
Topher looked around the table and smiled at his friends. They’d stuck to the promise they made Cash and had come a long way in just a month’s time. He hoped wherever the actor was, he was watching them with a lot of pride. He didn’t reminisce for very long, though, because the moment was interrupted when his phone began buzzing in his pocket.
“Someone’s calling me with a 323 number,” Topher said. “Anyone know where that’s from?”
“I think that’s Los Angeles,” Mo said.
“Hello?”
“Hi, am I speaking with a Christopher Collins?” asked a man on the phone.
“Yes, who is this?” Topher asked.
“I’m so relieved to finally touch base with you, Mr. Collins. I’ve been trying to track you down for a couple weeks. My name is Carl Weinstock, I was Cash Carter’s lawyer before he passed away.”
“Hi, Mr. Weinstock,” Topher said, and then covered the phone to address the curious looks on his friends’ faces. “It’s Cash’s lawyer.”
“What does he want?” Joey whispered.
Topher shrugged. “What can I do for you?”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mr. Weinstock said. “I’m the executor of Mr. Carter’s will and need to finish distributing his assets by the end of the week. He left a trust behind in your name—if I flew into the Chicago area tomorrow, would you be free to meet?”
“Oh, sure,” Topher said, then glanced at his friends. “Cash left me something in his will.”
“Fancy!” Sam said.
“You wouldn’t happen to be in contact with a Mr. Joseph Davis, a Ms. Samantha Gibson, or a Ms. Moriko Ishikawa, would you?” Mr. Weinstock asked.
“As a matter of fact, all three of them are sitting in front of me,” Topher said.
“What does he want with us?” Mo asked.
“That’s terrific!” Mr. Weinstock said. “Mr. Carter left trusts behind in their names as well. Could they accompany you if we found a time tomorrow that worked for everyone’s schedule?”
“Let me ask,” Topher said. “Sam, what time am I taking you to the airport tomorrow?”
“Not until four,” he replied.
Topher gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re free until around three o’clock,” he said into the phone.
“Super,” Mr. Weinstock said. “I’ll go ahead and book my flight this evening. I have an associate in Chicago who will let us use their meeting space. I’ll reach out tomorrow with a time and an address once I confirm it.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “We’ll see you then.”
Topher hung up the phone. His friends were staring at him like they had just watched a Hitchcock movie with the sound turned off.
“What was that all about?” Mo asked.
“Apparently Cash left something behind for all of us in his will,” he said. “His lawyer needs to meet with us tomorrow in Chicago so he can distribute the trusts he put aside.”
“Wow,” Sam said. “I wonder what he left us.”
“I hope it isn’t more of that weed he made us smoke,” Mo said.
At ten o’clock the following morning, Topher received a text message from Carl Weinstock with a time and address to meet him at. Topher passed the message along to his friends and at two o’clock they met him on the twenty-third floor of a towering office building in downtown Chicago. The floor belonged to a swanky firm called Meredith Brown and Associates and a receptionist at the front desk escorted them into a long and intimidating boardroom. Carl Weinstock was waiting for them inside with an open briefcase. He was a short and chubby man with a thick mustache.
“Thank you all so much for meeting me on such short notice,” he said, and shook their hands. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get through this as quickly as I can.”
Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo sat across from the lawyer and he passed them each a manila folder with their name on it.
“First off, let me tell you how sorry I am for your loss,” Carl said. “I’ve been working with Cash since he was just twelve years old, so this has been a difficult time for myself and others at my firm. Shortly before he died, Cash set aside some funds for each of you to help pay for your education. Go ahead and take a look.”
They each opened the folder in front of them and stared down in shock at the absurd amount of money the actor had left them.
“Holy fuckballs,” Joey said.
“This… this… is for us?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Carl said. “Mr. Carter wasn’t sure how much your specific tuitions would cost, as you all had plans to attend different schools, but he wanted to leave enough so you didn’t have to worry.”
“Where did he think we’re going to school?” Mo asked. “Buckingham Palace?”
“This is about three more zeros than I would ever need,” Topher said.
“There’s a second page,” Carl said.
The teenagers turned their pages and discovered another generous inheritance from the actor.
“As you can see, the second page is more individualized to your specific needs,” Carl said. “Mr. Davis, Cash has left you his apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, should you pursue performing arts in New York City. Ms. Ishikawa, Cash has left you the official rights to his life story, should you choose to write a biography of the actor someday. And as for Mr. Collins and Ms. Gibson, Cash has left you both an additional trust. The second trust for you, Mr. Collins, is titled the Billy Trust, which is enough to hire a full-time caregiver for your brother so you can focus on your education. Ms. Gibson, Cash left no instructions on how he wishes you to use the second trust under your name, but he’s titled it the Transitioning Trust.”
After all the bombshells the teenagers from Downers Grove had endured over the summer, they didn’t think anything could ever shock them again. However, all four of them stared down at the legal documents with wide eyes and open mouths—they weren’t used to happy surprises.
“I can see you’re all rather stunned,” Carl said. “I’ll leave you alone for a moment while you absorb this information. If you have any questions, I’ll be right outside the door.”
The lawyer left the boardroom to give them a few minutes of privacy. It took a while before Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo realized they weren’t dreaming and even longer for them to form words to speak to each other.
“Holy fuckballs,” Joey said again—as if all other words in the English language had escaped him.
“Can we even accept this?” Sam asked.
“Of course we can,” Joey said. “It’ll probably all go to taxes and stuff if we don’t, right, Topher? Topher?”
“Sorry, I’m really overwhelmed,” he said. “I never expected Cash would do this for us. How about you, Mo? You’re the creative one in the group. Did you ever imagine something like this could happen?”
Despite her overactive imagination, Mo was just as shocked as everyone else. The aspiring writer felt like she and her friends were living a ridiculous happy ending straight from the final page of one of her outlandish stories.
“Definitely not,” Mo said. “I don’t care what Cash said on the first day in the car—everything that’s happened to us this summer, well… it’s all been stranger than fanfiction.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Stranger Than Fanfiction is the story of five young adults who face unique social challenges. Several sensitive topics are discussed in hopes of providing comfort and inspiration to readers who have experienced similar issues, as well as awareness and understanding to readers who haven’t.
However, for the purpose of good storytelling, the characters’ opinions and choices are sometimes flawed. Please do not view their actions as generalizations or examples to follow, but as the mistakes and triumphs of individuals.
And if you’re a parent, I promise your child already knew all the bad words in this book.…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank Rob Weisbach, Alvina Ling, Alla Plotkin, Melanie Chang, Megan Tingley, De
rek Kroeger, Will Sherrod, Heather Manzutto, Rachel Karten, Nikki Garcia, Jerry Maybrook, Joey Garcia, Kheryn Callender, Collyn Dungey, Fox Benwell, Jen Graham, Karina Granda, Ruiko Tokunaga, and all my friends and family.
And, of course, to all the writers of fanfiction my likeness and I have had the privilege of being included in. Thank you for the inspiration… and for describing me with abs.
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