Poemsia

by Lang Leav

  But Tom quickly dispelled my idea. “Ah, I would stay away if I were you. It started out as a place for booklovers to share books they love, but now it’s swung the other way. Many on the site read books purely to hate on them. It’s become a spectator sport. They seem to have a special vendetta against pop poetry.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be sure to avoid it like the plague.”

  “That’s probably best. It’s like certain reviewers are in competition to outdo each other when it comes to trashing books. For some people it’s a serious hobby. Others are making a career of it. Isn’t that right, Penelope?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t put me in with that rabble just because I’m the top reviewer on Reader. So what if I’m tough on books? I’m just being honest. That’s why they gave me the lit section on Billy.” She smirked. “I mean, it’s only the largest online news and media site in the world.”

  “It has nothing to do with the fact that Daddy golfs with the editor?” Teddy winked.

  “Shut up, Teddy.”

  “Bashing authors has become such a trend now,” Tom sighed. “There’s even a phrase for it. It’s called ‘hate reading.’”

  “Oh God, Tom, don’t even start with all that shit. Authors shouldn’t be so thin-skinned. If you put your work out there, you have to be open to criticism.”

  Tom drummed his fingers on the table. “That’s all great, honey, if it was an even playing field. But you know that you and your friends sometimes play dirty.”

  “Who me?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  “Remember what you did to Anna Suzuki’s latest book? You got your mitts on an advance copy and ripped it to shreds. Then everyone else followed in your footsteps, and her book ended up in the bargain bin. Which is a real shame—I liked it a lot.”

  “Oh, please, that book deserved everything I threw at it.”

  I gaped at her. “But I loved that book! It was definitely her best. I mean that twist at the end—”

  “Oh my God, I did not see that coming!” said Jess.

  Penelope let out an exasperated sigh. “That was the worst part of the book. It made no sense and was obviously written purely for shock value.”

  “On the contrary, I think it was genius, and it tied up the story nicely,” I insisted.

  Jess nodded in agreement.

  Penelope fell silent, eyes locked onto mine. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Verity Wolf.”

  Teddy looked up sharply. “Pen, don’t even think about it.”

  I looked from him to her. “Think about what?”

  “If I know Penny like I do, she’s just thought of writing a review for your book. But you’re going to leave this one alone, aren’t you, darling?” Teddy gave her a pointed look.

  “Pen, please keep your opinion to yourself this time.” Sash sounded wary. “Remember Verity’s been really kind, lending me the book for your collage.”

  Penelope smiled sweetly at him. “Anything for you, my love.”

  A short silence fell over the group, and I had to wonder about Sash and Penelope’s relationship. He referred to her as his friend, but I sensed an underlying tension between them, suggesting they were more than that. Not that it was any of my business.

  A waitress came over to take our order. “We’re drinking Deep Sea Diver,” said Penelope, winking at Teddy.

  “Ooh! I’ve heard about that beer, and I’ve been meaning to try it,” said Jess.

  The waitress grinned at her. “You do know these two adorable guys created Deep Sea Diver?” She waggled her forefinger between Teddy and Tom.

  Jess’s mouth fell open. “No way!”

  “It’s our baby.” Teddy took Tom’s hand, and they smiled at each other.

  “I know, right? My friends are wildly accomplished, and I’m making collages,” Sash said ruefully.

  “Teddy and Tom started up a microbrewery straight out of business school,” explained Penelope. “They worked like hell in the beginning, and now it’s taking off. That’s also great for me, considering I put up the capital to get the ball rolling.”

  “We’ll be forever grateful, darling.” Teddy blew her a kiss.

  “So Deep Sea Diver all ’round?” prompted the waitress.

  “Everyone except for me. I’m the designated driver,” said Sash.

  Penelope rolled her eyes at him and stood up. “Excuse me, I have to go to the ladies’.”

  Once again, I was struck by how gorgeous she was. Practically every head turned to watch her as she made her way across the bar.

  “She’s in a shitty mood tonight,” said Teddy.

  Sash sighed. “Pen submitted a manuscript of her poems awhile back, and she got the rejection letter today. She thought she had a chance this time because they took ages to get back.”

  “What’s her poetry like?” I asked.

  “Kind of like James Joyce, with a dash of Ayn Rand.”

  Teddy grimaced. “Not exactly the content that’s flying off shelves nowadays, but hey, it’s a sign of the times.”

  “I love that you’re all book nerds. I’m guessing that’s how you met?” Jess asked.

  “Nope,” said Sash. “We met at Jitterbugs Dance Academy. We were part of the same crew that won the state championships for three consecutive years.”

  “We ruled the nineties with our unique blend of ballet and hip-hop,” Teddy laughed.

  “Our teacher, Mrs. Parker, was an absolute tyrant. The world of competitive dancing is a dark, sadistic place. We clung to each other like bewildered circus children. There are stories we can tell.”

  “Like the time Parker caught Pen munching on a Hershey bar and the witch smacked it out of her hand. Pen was only nine!”

  “Or when I was the only one in our group who couldn’t do a perfect handstand and she brought out the gong,” said Teddy.

  “Oh, the gong!” Sash moaned, his head in his hands.

  “The gong?” I asked.

  “She’d wheel this huge gong out onto the stage, and each time we displeased her, she’d bash it. The noise was excruciating. It went right through your entire body.”

  “That gong still makes it into my nightmares,” Tom shivered.

  “I can’t remember having a free weekend from the ages of seven to twelve. We literally had our childhoods stolen from us but there’s—” Teddy started.

  “No time for fun if you want to be number one!” The boys joined Teddy in chorus. They broke into laughter.

  “It was Parker’s mantra. Crazy bitch.” Teddy shook his head. “But anyway, that’s how we all got together. We’re forever bound by the deep psychological trauma that was dance school.”

  “So what did I miss?” Penelope came back and took her seat.

  “We were just reminiscing about Parker and our dance school days.”

  “Jesus Christ, let’s not take that trip down memory lane. I still get panic attacks every time I catch my niece doing a pirouette.”

  At Last Chance, the next day, my eyes were glued to my phone, and Jess was trying to get my attention.

  “Vare! Hello?”

  “Just a second—almost done replying to a comment.” My thumbs went into overdrive.

  “But we haven’t had a chance to talk about last night.”

  “You mean Fidelio with Sash and his friends?”

  “Of course!” Jess clicked her fingers in front of my face. “Eyes here, Vare.”

  I grinned at her. “Sorry! But you’re the one who started me on this Instagram thing.”

  “I’ve created a monster,” she laughed.

  “OK, I’m taking a break from Instagram. I’m all yours, Jess.” I put my phone face down on the table.

  She gave me a wistful look. “I’ve missed you, Vare.”
>
  “Ha, ha, very funny.”

  “OK, so last night . . .”

  I bit my lip. “What do you think of Penelope?”

  “Well,” said Jess, brushing her hair back, “honestly? She’s kind of a bitch.”

  “Agree.”

  “I googled her this morning. She’s pretty influential in the book world, being the top reviewer on Reader. According to Forbes, she has the power to make or break a book.”

  “Great,” I sighed. “Hopefully, she’ll stay the hell away from mine.”

  “You know what I think? She’s jealous of you.”

  “Me? But why?”

  “She kept looking from you to Sash. And while we’re on that subject, I think he likes you.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Oh, come on. The guy could barely keep his eyes off you the whole night. And he kept defending you.”

  “OK, so let’s say you’re right. Why would Penelope have an issue with that? They’re just friends. Plus, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. She could have any man.”

  Jess shrugged. “No, no, don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got this sex kitten look about you.”

  “Especially when I’m coughing up hairballs.”

  “Moron,” she said, flicking a straw at me.

  I laughed. “Well, don’t stop there. Say more good things about me.”

  She squinted at me. “I would say your hair is your crowning glory. It’s thick and wild and makes you think of snow-covered forests and wolves howling at the moon. You always look like you just got back from a summer holiday—I need a whole bottle of bronzer to get anywhere near the perfection that is your skin. Not to mention you’re smart and funny. And you’re kind. You see the good in people, which is rare. You say the first thing that pops into your head; you have no filter.”

  “Except when I’m on Instagram.”

  She roared with laughter. “See what I mean? You’re so corny—I love it! And don’t even get me started on your luscious boobs.”

  “Swap you my boobs for your metabolism.”

  “Deal.”

  We giggled.

  “So do you like him?” Jess asked.

  “I don’t know for sure,” I said honestly. “I don’t not like him.”

  “When do you see him next?”

  “He’s coming by the store tomorrow. Pop found a book he was asking about.”

  “Pop likes him, and that is saying something.”

  A notification buzzed on my phone. Jess slapped her hand over it and looked me dead in the eye. “Stay with me, Vare.”

  “Teddy and Tom are cute, aren’t they?”

  “Total couple goals.”

  “Hope they’ll invite us to the wedding.”

  Jonesy came by with our coffees and a basket of fries.

  “Um, Verity? Sorry I couldn’t make it to the park yesterday, so, like, I was thinking that if you want, I could put some of your books on the counter.”

  Jess’s face lit up. “Jonesy! You’re such a sweetheart!”

  He gave her a nervous smile. “Su—sure.”

  “We love you, Jonesy.” I blew him a kiss.

  He smiled down at his feet before hurrying off.

  “See the power you have over men?” said Jess.

  I reached for my coffee just as my phone pinged. I grabbed it.

  “You addict!” Jess laughed.

  I glanced at the screen and let out a small yelp. “Jess! I’ve just been regrammed.”

  “What? By whom?”

  “Poetry Seen.”

  She clapped her hand over her mouth. “You mean the one with over a million followers?”

  I nodded, and she plucked my phone from my hands.

  “Jesus Christ!” she breathed. “Vare, your notifications are going off. You’ve put on, like, hundreds of new followers!”

  “I know, but the poem they put up—”

  “It’s the one from Poemsia,” Jess finished.

  I nodded. “And they’ve credited it to me.”

  Jess rolled her eyes. “You literally said it wasn’t yours—it’s right there in the caption!”

  “I know, but they’re so busy I guess they missed it. I should let them know.”

  Jess passed my phone to me. “Why don’t you leave a comment? Hopefully they’ll see it.”

  I tapped out a quick comment, feeling light-headed. It was a wild stroke of luck to be noticed by Poetry Seen—the largest poetry account on Instagram—I just wished with all my heart they had shared one of my poems instead.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jess said, peering at me from across the table. “You look pretty damn sorry for yourself for someone who’s just been discovered!”

  I bit my lip. “I know, I know, but—”

  “No buts! The fact is you made it crystal clear it wasn’t your poem, and you’ve left a message for Poetry Seen. There’s not much else you can do.”

  “I guess . . ”

  Jess plainly heard the uncertainty in my voice because she reached over and squeezed my hand. “Besides, look at what’s happening! People are liking and commenting on your poems! Your poems, Vare. Look at what this one girl said. ‘Just found your page through Poetry Seen. Your poems are beyond beautiful! New forever fan!’”

  I looked at Jess beaming at me, and I knew she was right. As usual, I was overthinking this. And Jess, God bless her, had worked so hard to make this happen—she had more faith in me, than I had in myself. I couldn’t ruin this moment for her.

  “Can you believe it, Jess?” I broke into a grin. “I have fans.”

  She squealed, and the couple at the next table shot us a fresh round of dirty looks. Jess threw her shoulders back and glared at them. “That’s my friend, Verity Wolf! Remember that name, folks; soon it will be on everyone’s lips!”

  Five

  By the next day, my following count had grown to a thousand, but it still hadn’t sunk in. I found myself compulsively checking my account to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. I’d been too wired to sleep, so I stayed up and wrote some new pieces, then posted them. The feedback was addictive. I got such a rush when someone liked a poem or made a comment. Messages were flooding in faster than I could answer them. It was exhilarating.

  Just before lunch, Sash came around and caught Pop staring despondently at a light fixture that had come loose—again. Right now, it was dangling from the ceiling. “Want me to fix that for you?” Sash asked.

  Pop looked taken aback. “You can do that?” He had always been handy around the store, but in the past few years, he hadn’t been able to keep it up—especially if it involved climbing ladders. He was under strict instructions from the doctor to avoid anything strenuous. The store was hardly earning enough for us to get by, so we couldn’t afford to hire anyone. The place had always looked a little worn—that was part of its charm. But now it was starting to look shabbier than ever since Zorro treated the place like his own personal scratch post.

  “Sure, I can fix it. You have a ladder and some tools?”

  Pop looked delighted. “Follow me, young man.”

  I left to pick up sandwiches for lunch. When I returned, Pop and Sash were flicking the switch of the newly fixed light. “Ah, that makes it less gloomy,” said Pop with satisfaction.

  “Awesome! We can actually see what we’re doing now.”

  “You know, if you put up a skylight, it would brighten up this entire room,” Sash said thoughtfully.

  Pop and I exchanged a look.

  “He’s quite a handyman, your friend,” said Pop, admiration in his voice. “You wouldn’t happen to be a builder, would you, son?”

  “My dad’s in construction and got me work on some sites during my summer break. I studied architecture at Sydney U, but I work part time as a drafting monkey now.”


  “Well, that makes a lot of sense. Thank you for helping us with the light.”

  “Anytime.” He was still looking intently around the store, no doubt making a mental checklist of all its safety hazards.

  Pop let out a dramatic yawn. “It’s time for my nap, so I’ll leave you kids to it.”

  “Don’t you want your sandwich?” I asked, surprised. Pop had never been this hospitable when it came to boys.

  He smiled. “I’ll take it upstairs with me.”

  I took Sash through a tiny window that led up onto the old tin roof of our store. I’d spent so much time out here, it was like my second bedroom. An awning stretched out underneath, and that meant you could watch the busy street across the road and be shielded from view. Further along the horizon, you could catch a glimpse of Centennial Park.

  “Tuna or egg?” I asked, unpacking our lunch.

  “Tuna.”

  We ate in silence, looking down at the tree-lined street across the road. It felt nice, sitting there with him, the cool wind against our faces. The sun kept ducking behind the ominous clouds, and it looked like a storm was brewing. Zorro hopped through the window and plonked himself squarely between us. Sash reached out and stroked him at the same time I did. My hand brushed his, and I quickly withdrew it.

  “I don’t have cooties, you know,” he teased.

  “How do you know I don’t?”

  He grinned. “I’ll take the risk, Wolf.”

  There was an awkward pause as I tried to think of something to say. “Thanks for helping Pop today. It meant a lot to him.”

  “It was the least I could do. He went through a whole lot of boxes before he found the book I wanted.”

  “What was it?”

  “The Black Tulip.”

  “I adore that book!”

  “I know. It had a bunch of passionate annotations written by a twelve-year-old kid named Verity.”

  I blushed, suddenly remembering how I had felt the need to express my thoughts and feelings at the end of every chapter.

  “It was cute,” he said, seeing the look on my face. “I love coming across old notes in books. It’s like a message in a bottle.”