“Why don’t you tell me about it first?” she said gently.
“Okay. Well. You know how a lot of fairy tales have wishes in them? You know, wishing wells and genies’ lamps and things like that?”
Kate nodded.
“Do you know the story about the monkey’s paw?”
“Sure. That’s the one where a couple uses the monkey’s paw to ask for three wishes, but they end up having terrible consequences. Right?”
“Right. There are other stories like that, too, about how people don’t really know what they’re doing when they make wishes, and how things happen that they didn’t mean to have happen. So . . . you know how people sometimes talk about what superpower they would want if they could pick one? Like flying or being able to turn invisible or have superstrength or whatever?”
She nodded again.
“Okay, so, here’s my idea. There’s this guy who can give you any superpower you want, for a price. But you can only pick one, and you can’t ever change it, and he won’t tell you the price until after you agree to the deal. So you might have to steal the Hope Diamond or something, and you won’t know until you’ve already said yes.”
Kate was impressed. “That’s a really cool idea, Jacob.”
He bounced a little on the bed, and she remembered his bouncing like that at the baseball game. “That’s not even the cool part. The cool part is, the people who get the superpowers they’ve always wanted don’t always like the way it turns out. Sometimes they do, but not always, because there are—”
“Unintended consequences?”
He nodded vigorously. “Exactly. So . . . do you want to see it?”
“Of course!”
She took the book from Jacob, settled back against the headboard, and started to read.
She would have found something nice to say even if it had been the worst thing she’d ever seen, but it was wonderful. The drawing was rough, but Jacob had a real instinct for line and form, and there was an energy to the panels that made up for their lack of polish. She almost forgot he was there, waiting with bated breath for her verdict, as she turned the pages and met the five main characters whose lives would change by the end of the story.
“Oh, Jacob. It’s fantastic.”
He flushed up to the roots of his hair. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Absolutely not.” She closed the book and handed it back to him. “This is incredible. In fact . . .”
And just like that, inspiration struck. She actually felt goose bumps on her arms.
“In fact, I have a proposal for you.”
“What is it?”
“You don’t have to answer right now. But I’ve got an appointment at a network next week, and I haven’t decided what to pitch yet. The development executive I’m meeting with is known for taking risks with quirky, original projects. I want to pitch him your idea.”
His eyes were huge behind his glasses. “You mean . . . you think it could be a TV show?”
“Yes—or a movie or miniseries. I should warn you, though, that networks say no to most of the projects they look at. And if they do pick it up, you should also know that you’d be giving up creative control. They’d have the rights to develop the story in whatever way they choose.”
“Would you be a part of it, though? Like, as a writer or director or whatever?”
“Yes, if we get that far. But we probably won’t. Even if they like the initial pitch, the project would still have to make it all the way up the chain of production approvals. In other words, Jacob, don’t get your hopes up.”
“It’s totally too late for that,” he said, and she laughed.
“Okay, I guess that’s too much to expect. But even though you’re excited now, I want you to think about it for a few days. There are a lot of things to consider. You might decide that TV is too commercial for you, and that you’d rather keep your idea as a graphic novel. You could submit it to a publisher or even self-publish it when you decide it’s ready. I could help you do that.”
He was bouncing on the bed again. “I’ll think about it, but I already know my answer. I want you to pitch it at your appointment. Can we talk more about it when I get back?”
“Of course. That’ll give you time to talk to Ian, too.”
He stopped bouncing. “About that,” he said, his tone more subdued.
“What?”
“I don’t want to tell Ian. Not yet, anyway. When I first moved here, I used to work on my book out in the living room, and he’d say I should be outside in the fresh air, instead of cooped up inside, drawing. So then I started working on it in my room, so I could say I was doing homework if he knocked on the door.” He paused. “It’s just . . . I know he thinks comic books are stupid and he wishes I’d spend more time doing sports or whatever. So I don’t want to say anything to him unless this actually turns into something. You know?”