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I’m lounging leisurely and regally on the couch, watching my roommate Anabelle Smith frantically try to get ready for the interview that I’m cruelly putting her through. Out of the sheer wickedness of my heart, I’ve caught the flu[i], and must lie around recovering – alas, lackaday! This grievous affliction has rendered me incapable of interviewing Christian Purple for our school-newspaper-that-doesn’t-have-a-name! Purple's the CEO of Purple Enterprises Holdings Initiatives Capitals ThisisaRealCompany Inc.[ii], and it took me nine months to schedule that interview. So I’m making my roommate take care of it for me[iii]. Still, it’ll be a nice dash of color on her resume. Ana drags the comb through her messy hair one last time and looks to me for confirmation. “That’s right, bitch. Go get that interview for me,” I sneer. She meekly nods, and I take the opportunity to describe her face, because that’s what good books do. And, dang, what a face! Sure, I might be over six feet tall with golden cascading hair and legs for days, but what’s this Hollywood bombshell beauty compared to Ana’s natural charms? Pfft, cheap. Ana’s special. She’s cute, natural, in an everyday sort of way, with her wide blue eyes, soft brown hair and delicate porcelain skin. She’s got this innocent charm that it takes a truly special man to see and to love her for. A real beauty. Me? Next to the glorious herbal remedy of Anabelle Smith, Katherina Krystallia is an ordinary sangria. That’s my name, in case you couldn’t tell. Ana doesn’t use my full name in casual conversation, so I had to find some other way of slipping it in. I let her borrow my car to get there faster. Hopefully she at least read the questions I gave her, and the file on Purple, so she knows what she’s up against and doesn’t completely screw up any chance I had at getting the best story my paper would ever print. But then again, I suppose I can’t be too mad if she does. It’s not about me, you know; it’s all about Ana’s bad, bayerd romance, isn’t it? We all know this plot device – excuse me, interview – isn’t the important part of this book[iv]. Ana drives off, and I sit back, martini in one hand and an expensive cigar in the other, contemplating my relaxing schedule of no obligations other than recovering from a debilitating illness[v]. I snicker at the thought of Ana doing my dirty work for me on top of all her other obligations. But little did I know that my cruelty would only bring Ana happiness, for, like the stepsisters in the classic Cinderella story, I was driving her toward the prince of her dreams. [i] Because who catches the flu accidentally? [ii] Originally “Inc., LLC & Co.”, but Christian, the sensible businessman, decided that was too long. [iii] You could argue that it was a stupid decision to send Ana when someone from, say, the journalism department would have been a better choice. To which I reply: But plot! [iv] Except the part where the person getting interviewed fantasizes about doing the dirty with Ana over his desk, of course. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. [v] My college has somehow produced the magical unicorn of me, a student with no finals, papers, or projects due in the last week of school.
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In a bizarre time-skip, Ana’s already pulling back into my place. It’s a pretty neat place, an apartment near the WSU[i] university campus. My parents bought the entire community, so I get this apartment at a reduced price[ii], but I’m making Anastasia fork over an unholy two bucks a month on her end[iii]. Hey, I never said I was a good friend, and income is income. Anyway, I’m still on the couch where she left me[iv]. But by now I’m hoping she hadn’t actually read the interview questions[v] before showing up at Purple's office[vi]. I’d put some pretty big shockers in there, and premeditation would ruin the surprise. I hear the garage door closing, so I set down my third martini and get up to meet my pathetic roommate. She’s blushing and biting her lip even more than usual when she comes in, which I absolutely have to know about. First things first, though. “You’re late,” I snarl. She heaves a tiny sigh at my pink bunny pajamas, which I ignore automatically. She doesn’t even give me the I’m-so-oppressed puppy-eyes at that, taking it in stride. Which is unfortunate. My life would be a lot easier if all it took to be an oppressive roommate was to wear whatever the hell you wanted. “What exactly happened to make you late, Anabelle?” “It-it’s a long story, Kate. And why are you asking?” That was a very good question[vii]. But answering would make it seem like Ana had any actual power in this friendship. “I’m the one asking the questions here, Ana. Now tell me why you’re late.” After a copious amount of ellipses and lip-biting and unnecessary em-dashes, Ana gets out this crazy story about a nice old lady who stopped her in the middle of the road and asked for a drink. Which is probably the point of divergence of every fairy tale quest ever. “So did you buy her a drink?” I would’ve. No sense in pushing your luck. “Well…” she bites her lip again. “I went to the 7-11 and bought her a bottle of water. And when she drank it…”“She turned into a fairy?” “No. She just… she was still an old lady, but all of a sudden she wasn’t a little old lady anymore; she was a powerful elderly lady with an agenda.” “Wow.” “Yeah.” We pause for a moment, Ana for some more lip-chewing action and me to think about whether or not I believe this. “So what did she want?” Ana furrows her brow. “She wanted to make me an offer.” “And what was she offering?” “This.” She pulls something out of her pocket and holds it up. The bottle gleams, sapphire blue, its hundreds of facets sparkling in the light. I stare at it, at the gold cursive ‘M’ shining proudly in the middle. “No way. There’s no way that’s-" “Mary Sue serum? Yes. It is. And it’s mine if I want it.” Time itself seems to hold its breath as my brain struggles to process this surprise. Every character knows what Mary Sue serum is. We hear about it from the moment of our conception, whispers as to who might be the lucky one, the Chosen One, the one to receive the mystical serum that turns ordinary girls into Mary Sues. It’s always the protagonist, obviously, but no one knows who that is until they reach the point where their story starts and the heroine gets to make the once-in-a-lifetime-decision of whether to swig some serum. If she’s too lifeless, she becomes one automatically. I’m not sure how, but somehow Ana passed that bar[viii]. Of course, this means Ana actually is the protagonist, and not me. Bummer. Life really wasn’t fair. “I- I tried a sample,” she says, after the silence gets kind of awkward. “Apparently Mary Sue serum is like ice cream and you can try a little bit before deciding to take it.” Oh, now this was interesting. I raise my eyebrows. “How’d it go?” “Well, the person I interviewed? The business tycoon Christian Purple? He turned out to be a young man. A young man who was extremely attractive. And even though I tripped over things a lot and said things to deliberately antagonize him, he still asked me to stay a bit longer so he could show me around the building.” “Wow.” That was impressive. This was some powerful serum. “What did you think of him?” “He was aloof, but nevertheless the pinnacle – nay, the very flower – of courtesy! However, he was formal, grandiloquent, and verbose in a mildly stuffy manner. I daresay he seemed rather unlike a man of twenty-something; far more like a man with a venerable soul, old well before his time. His manner of speech surprised me – it was most unlike that of any young man or woman I had ever encountered.” “Alright, now for the less-important part: How’d the interview go?” Wordlessly, she hands me the recorder. Halfway through listening, I had to stifle a snicker at her panicked reaction to the “Are you gay” question. I’d added the question “Are you gay?” to the list of interview topics for shits and giggles[ix]. Thank god that prank actually worked. Homosexuality is just so hilarious, isn’t it[x]? Ana’s timid voice shakes me out of my reverie. “Is it alright?” Oh. Right. She’s worried that she’s failed to please me. I wave a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve made articles out of worse. Could use some pictures, though. And I’m not gonna settle for ripping off some already-used stills from the internet. Let’s try for some originals, alright?” She gasps. “Originals? From a millionaire like Christian?” Is she seriously questioning me? “Ana. We’ve roomed together for three years now. You know me well enough to know that I always get what I want. And once I’m done with them, you can put them under your pillow or tape them to your bedroom ceiling or do whatever the hell you want with them. Anyway, does artsy boy Josie still have a thing for you?” “His name’s José. But… um… I think so.” “Sweet. Get him to meet up with us some time. We need to talk shop. And by that I mean I need to use your body to manipulate him into taking pictures for my article.” I roll my eyes at Ana’s scandalized look. “What? All the good editors do it.” I was totally done with talking about Josie, though. “So. Ana. On a scale of one to Andrew Scott, how hot do you find Christian?” Ana flushes and throws her hands up helplessly. “I don’t want to talk about how hot I find him,” she protests, because all American college students hate talking about the hot people they’re attracted to. I wait patiently while she takes forever to think about it. “I’d give him a… nine-point-five?” “Hmm. Not bad. I guess it’s worthy of a Mary Sue. Do you think he’s good enough? Because once you drink that serum, you won’t have to settle for him. You can have whoever you want. Hell, you can have a harem of guys like him if you want.” Ana visibly hesitates. “Are we- are we actually doing it[xi]?” “Um, hell yes? Why wouldn’t you? It’s a package deal for the perfect life! All you have to do is chug this and you get the guy of your dreams along with a nice fancy life. What more could you possibly want?” Ana looks down, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She mumbles something. “Sorry; couldn’t catch that.” “I- It just- I just- I wanted…” After some more lip-biting and nervous hand-wringing, she finally spits it out: “I wanted to be a good literary heroine who deserves a good literary hero. If I take this potion, I’ll never be a quality character. I’ll always be that one awful spoiled brat who never had to lift a finger to get what she wanted. Who had everything made for her. If we ever find a way to cross to other universes, the protagonists there will look down on me. And my story will never be a classic.” I have to give her credit – those were thoughts I didn’t expect from her. Maybe she isn’t just a passive little sod after all. Still, though, her delusions of grandeur were just that - delusions. I had to give her a dose of reality. “Ana, not to be a jerk about it, but… have you taken a good look at yourself lately? Done some introspection?” She looks at me blankly. “Okay. Let’s try this: Describe yourself.” She closes her eyes and recites: “Brown hair; wide, innocent blue eyes like the sky on a cloudless day; crystal skin like unsoiled linen…”“I meant your personality. Describe who you are as a person.” The aforementioned innocent blue eyes open at that. The expanse of crystal skin between them furrows. “Um… shy? A little… insecure? Erm, I like books, but only literary classics, and only popular literary classics that everyone’s read…” she trails off. “Exactly. You’re empty. A tabula rasa.” How she turned out to be the protagonist was beyond me. “I’m not trying to be mean. You know I’m fine with you no matter what; you’re my slav- friend and all that. But we have to think about this logically. You can stay the way you are now - pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, but with nothing going on upstairs. And you’ll be truly yourself, the way you were created. But you’ll never be a literary hero. You’re boring. Doomed to die in obscurity. And you’ll never find a literary hero to like you. Or even look twice at you. Not with that attitude.” I hold up the bottle. “Or, you can become an all-powerful and amazing Mary Sue. You’ll still have no personality, but everything you want will suddenly be granted to you. Sure, you might have to struggle a bit for it, or at least do what passes as ‘struggle’ for you, but in the end you’re guaranteed to get it, no strings attached. Stuff you’ll never get otherwise. Like, well, Christian Purple.” Hey, I wasn’t being completely selfish. I was looking out for her interests. It just so happened that they coincided with mine. When your friend turns out to be the Protagonist of your story, which is basically your whole world, you drop everything to help them so that things turn out the way you want them to. Especially if they’ve got a bottle of stuff that’ll turn them into a Mary Sue. Then, poof, their life is magically perfect, and guess who gets carried along for the ride? I’m hoping this Christian has a sexy older brother they can introduce me to. Maybe we’ll even make it a double-wedding. Anabelle thinks about it for a few more seconds. Her ambition to become a great literary heroine clashes with the fires of her burning passion for Purple. But her character was created to love deeply, and hard. Purple wins out. Of course, there’s also the matter of my logical persuasion. But if Ana’s to become a Mary Sue in a Love Story, friends’ opinions don’t matter. It’s a sad fact of Love Stories. Regardless of what impact my suggestions actually have, they’ll be edited out so that the only important parts that gets told are Ana’s ambitions and Ana’s love. And with the way Ana is, it’ll always be Ana giving up her ambitions for her love. All of her decisions from now on are going to be based on the men in her life. But at least, with this potion, it’ll be for the man she wants. Finally she comes to a decision. Looking me dead in the eye, Anabelle Smith uncorks the potion and chugs it like a shot. [i] White Student Union[ii] They still make me pay rent, those lazy, greedy, ungrateful parents. [iii] A good, solid five percent of what I have to pay. [iv] In exactly the same position I was before, because, if we’re honest, nothing really happens in scenes without Christian or Ana[v] Because why would anyone actually prepare for an interview? [vi] In… Portland? Seattle? I don’t know which, but neither does E.L. James, so that’s okay[vii] It’s not like I had any reason to be curious. Surely I wasn’t invested in this article or anything, as the Editor-in-Chief of our newspaper, and I sure as hell wasn’t concerned about Ana’s safety. [viii] The idea that there are protagonists out there with less life than Ana is seriously terrifying – she makes a wet blanket look deep and introspective. Maybe it’s just that lifeless protagonists die unless they drink Sue serum. Which means, hey, maybe I'll have saved her life in this chapter! [ix] My biggest regret being that Purple’s last name wasn’t “Grey” – hearing Ana say “Are you gay, Mr. Grey?” would have made it even more ridiculous[x] To be fair, it is kind of funny when a guy’s masculinity is so fragile that he can’t stand having his sexuality called into question. I bet Purple’s stocking up on Bronuts and Mangria right now. Maybe he’ll have to eat an entire raw steak to make himself feel better. [xi] That’s what SHE said! …sorry. Ignore me.
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There was no dramatic flash. No loud noises; no Ana doubling over in pain, facial features bubbling like melted wax. Nothing special to mark the momentous change that occurred. But I look again, and suddenly Ana’s gorgeous. Nothing about her appearance changed. But while previously I’d thought she was sweet-looking, cute in a way that was hard to notice but definitely there, now her face seems so aesthetically pleasing I can hardly take my eyes off it. What an intense mind-screw.“What?” Ana frowns. “Do I have something on my face?” “Only beauty, love.” I wink at her and the frown deepens. “What?” “You’ve never told me I’m pretty before.” “It wasn’t true before.” She doesn’t even react, instead turning to look at everything. “Whoa!” she exclaims. “What?” “I can see lines! Lines leading to people from me! This is cool!” Before I can ask her what the lines did, she realizes something more important. “Mary Sues can pick their own names, right?” “Pretty sure that was in the handbook.” “Well, then. Enough of this ‘Anabelle Smith’ business. I want something more exotic. Spicy. Like… Anastasia.” “Sounds like a winner, sweetie.” Five minutes later, she settles on Anastasia Rose Quartz as her new name[i]. At this point, I realize that there’s not much left for me to do. Maybe I can be the bridesmaid at her wedding. But my friend’s still leaving me for greater things, and, as much as I hate the idea, I’m resigned to it. I guess I’ll keep pursuing a career in journalism, maybe meet with Ana for Sunday brunch every now and then, see how her story turns out. But our paths are diverging. Wow. The potion’s kicking in already, reshaping our world, and it’s only been five minutes. I shake my head, start catching the stray thoughts before they form. Gross. Ana isn’t my friend; she’s my slave, and I’m the miserable parasite leeching good things from her[ii]. And there’s no way in hell I’m dropping out of this story. I want to share in every bit of good fortune her new Mary Sue status snags her. Sex, money, power – I want it all, baby[iii]. I need to start working on my article, though, and Ana figuring out her new Sue powers without me would be a terrible development, so I order her to head over to work to keep her busy. She drags her feet a bit more than usual but eventually gets her lovely bum out of my apartment, leaving me some space to think. Christian, I think, toying with the tape. Christian Cool-medieval-name-that-gets-ignored Purple[iv]. Maybe I don’t have stills of him just yet, but I can get a sense of what he looks like from using those lesser sources for journalists who lack ambition. Normally, Ana’s absence is my cue to skip past the boring details of my life and focus on the riveting details of hers[v]. But screw that. This is my time to write, and I don’t care if I have to go against four books’ worth of precedence of not telling readers anything they didn’t already know from reading the first book. Actions are happening in my life right now apart from the Sue’s story[vi]. Eight years of studying journalism and features writing coming down to this final farewell to the paper I’ve run for what feels like forever. My fait accompli. I almost resent Ana for making it about her. Writing is something that even a hard-hearted evil blonde like me can enjoy. Except when I can’t. I stop typing and actually read my attempt at a lead: “Business tycoon Christian Purple stands at a floor-to-ceiling window, hands behind his back, confidently overlooking the vast empire he built in a mere…” Shit. Misleading. I ignore my internal critic yammering on about bad writing – it’s a first draft. Harder to ignore is the implication in the text that I’d been there. I can’t use descriptive or anecdotal text for this article, which hamstrings me. Not for the first time, I curse the plot device that sent me the goddamn flu. Maybe a quote lead, then. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the perfect quote will fall through my door in a tangle of limbs like a clumsy young interviewer. I play the tape and pray for luck. And immediately decide that there is no God. Seriously? This is the “verbose” businessman Anastasia described? To be fair, she never said he was good with words, but all the “oh, he’s an old soul” stuff kind of led me to believe that he’d be capable of giving good sound bites. “I work hard, very hard,” the recorder buzzes, and I’m instantly reminded of Donald Trump telling us he’s “really rich”[vii]. Purple talks about doing things with “people” for the sixth time and I pause the playback. “Business is all about people”? His answers seem canned, rehearsed, and admittedly that should have been obvious – he’s not about to divulge deep personal secrets to a school newspaper. So what can I do to make this piece different from everything that’s already been written about Purple and his formulaic answers? If only I’d been there. If only I wasn’t sick. Ana was just reading the questions off of my list, occasionally throwing insults at Purple with all the subtlety of an enraged rhino. Had I been there, I could have wrestled something from him, some important takeaway to center my article around. But that level of nosy prying needs practice. This was Ana’s first time interviewing anyone[viii]. I press Play again; my feverish mind can’t come up with anything good, and I might as well give my subconscious something to work with[ix]. “You sound like a control freak,” says Ana’s voice. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Dang. Gutsy. How had I missed that the first time around? “Immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” says the Scottish-accented voice[x]. I sit bolt upright. That. That was good. Creepy, but when it comes to journalism, creepy counts as good. It wasn’t a lead, but I’d definitely be using that quote. Purple settles back into his boring way of talking, and I settle back into my expensive recliner. “I have varied interests. Very varied,” he says. I, too, have varied interests. They include likes and preferences. Thank god I have three more days to write this. The Rules of Sue Stories finally kick in and I whirl through a dizzying time-skip. When the spinning finally stops, I check the date on my laptop. It’s a week later. I guess Ana didn’t have any interactions with Christian that week. When the door opens, I expect to hear Ana moaning and whining about her day after finally finishing her shift at the DIY shop. Instead, she walks in with a bounce in her step, humming to herself, smile on her face and everything. Jesus, Ana’s actually happy! “What the hell?” I demand, frantically retyping the last paragraph of my article. Time-skips are murder on quality. “Guess who I ran into at work today?” Ana sing-songs, dropping her bag on the couch and twirling around. Nauseating. “You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?” “Christian Purple! He came over all the way from Portland just to visit the university! And he happened to stop by my shop! It’s destiny! Ooh, this is so romantic…”It was probably just the Sue serum, but if he’s here… “Did he say how long he was staying? I’m just about done with my article, and if I can just get an hour or two of his time, I’ll have original stills for my front page article.” Because, you know, not to brag or anything, but it’s going to be on the front page. “No, but I can probably find out! He gave me his number, you know. He thought I might call.” Holy double-crap! “His number? That’s awesome! Ring him up, get some if you want, but make sure you let him know I want to set up a photoshoot with him some time soon.” “Not right now!” Ana protests. “I still have to tell you all about my interaction with him to stay consistent with the other books! Aren’t you interested?” “Quite frankly, no,” I say, but she’s already talking. I make a legitimate effort to pay attention, but it’s deadly boring. “…and then I showed him around the corner of Aisle 7 back to the cash register made from metal and glass and steel, and then he bought stuff. And I memorized his order! He bought rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties.” “Uh, that’s a little creepy, honey.” “It’s not! It just means that I’m devoted, that’s all.”“No, I meant for him. Rope? Masking tape? What is this, a kidnapping? You sure he didn’t buy a chainsaw, burlap bag, and some lead weights, too?” “It is a bit of an odd purchase,” Ana admits. “But maybe he just wasn’t sure what to get, if fate brought him there to meet me again?” “Or if he drove three hours to that store just to see you. And how does he know where you work? This is getting even creepier.” “No!” Ana protests passionately. “It’s not! It’s a sign that he’s devoted, is all! It’s a good thing! I like that!” Ana has seriously weird taste, but… “Whatever floats your boat?” It’s her call. She knows what she wants, and there’s no possible way this budding romance could go wrong. [i] A name that bears no resemblance to the main character of any other books, meaning that this is a completely original work and not at all derivative. [ii] Like the miniscule bit of rent she pays, and her tales of woe and loss and… and… Well, I’m sure there’s something I get out of this friendship. [iii] But it is for her own good. If she’s happy, it’ll be worth it for everyone. She’d be miserable otherwise. Not having a personality is a pretty huge handicap in life. [iv] Trevelyan, in case you were wondering. [v] Like just how much she enjoys Christian’s voice or how his jeans hang off his hips[vi] Well, more or less.[vii] Ugh. Now I’m imagining Purple as Donald Trump and it’s revolting. Not that I care about Ana’s well-being or anything; it’s a matter of principle – Mary Sues need to end up with characters who deserve them. [viii] See footnote iii from Chapter 1[ix] My subconscious, unlike Ana’s, doesn’t raise an eyebrow or fold its arms or anything. I’m not special enough to have a sentient subconscious. [x] Belonging to a definitely-American businessman