The Lucy Variations by Sara Zarr Read Free Book Online

nudged her. What right did Aruna have to
nudge
her? They’d just met. Lucy shook her head. “No.”
No, no, and hell no
.
    She’d
just said
to Will in the parlour that she didn’t play any more. Not for “fun”. Not for “herself”. And most definitely not in front of
them
.
    She got up, staying turned away from her grandfather. She imagined him saying,
Didn’t you hear that our Lucy is a quitter?
    On her way out of the room, her father reached to gently hold her arm. “Stay, Luce.” She freed herself. Why couldn’t he be sweet to her like this without the help of excess wine?
    Will stopped playing. Lucy’s mother said quietly, “Our guests.”
    Lucy took a deep breath and turned to face the room. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well. Goodnight.” It sounded so fake. She didn’t wait for them to reply.
    In the hall she bumped into Martin, who’d been standing in the shadows and listening to the whole thing, she guessed. She brushed by him and climbed the two and a half flights of stairs to her room. And, too far away for them to hear, slammed her door.

 
    “What made you choose Alice Munro?” Mr. Charles asked. They were having their one-on-one meeting about the semester project, Lucy in the chair next to him at his desk while the rest of the class met in their critique groups.
    “Um.”
Because you like her?
“She seems direct. The people in the stories seem…real.”
    Mr. Charles brightened. “I studied her in grad school, you know.”
    “Oh. Really?”
    “So I can point you to some good resources if you hit a wall. Otherwise I’ll stay out of it.” It wasn’t his best hair day. He’d either just gotten it cut or needed to. Lucy wanted to smooth down a piece of ashy blond that tweaked out to the side, over his ear. “Have you decided how you’ll choose which five stories to write about?” he asked. “Because you could do a broad selection spanning decades, or you could hone in on a particular collection or time period.”
    Lucy studied his wrists, which were crossed and resting on his knee. She imagined him with a pen in one hand, reading her paper after she turned it in. She imagined him as a college student, hunched over a dorm desk, his dog at his feet. Then she pictured herself doing the same. Maybe English could be her new thing. What would it take for that to count with her mom? A PhD then tenure at an Ivy League school, probably. That should take only, what, twenty years?
    “Well, I’ve started writing some stuff,” she said. “But I don’t totally have it narrowed down to five. What do you think?”
    He answered, but Lucy didn’t have her usual intense ability to concentrate on him. She kept reliving the night before, that hopeful expression on Will’s face when he tried to get her to play. No one had mentioned it that morning, except Gus, who’d only said, “Will is neat,” over their hurried cereal.
    Lucy’d made an
mm
noise through her food and avoided his eyes.
    “…the scope of a career,” Mr. Charles was saying. “Taking, maybe, her first published story and comparing it to her most recent. That’s one way. Up to you.”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    He swivelled in his chair, away from her. “Whichever way you go, I’m sure you’ll do a good job.”
    “You are?” Lucy asked, snapping her attention back to him.
    “Of course,” he said. “You’re not worried, are you?”
    “It’s my first really in-depth paper since coming back to school. In a normal class, I mean, without a tutor.”
    “Lucy.” His eyes scrunched in this way he had of smiling without actually smiling. “You’re very bright. And your insights in class are always on point and thoughtful. I can’t wait to see what you do with Munro, and if you need help, I’m here for you.”
    Her chest warmed, and she put Will and piano out of her mind. It could be a depressing thing to believe, at sixteen, that your best years were behind you. The promise Mr. Charles saw in her gave her a little