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"Hi, GiGi!" I said when she answered.

"Emma!" she said. "Talk to me! Tell me everything."

I told her about my Women in Literature and Popular Culture and the Bechdel Test.

She began to laugh.

When she finally stopped, GiGi said, "I'm so glad you're enjoying school, but you don't need a class for that, Emma. It's called life. It's always been dominated by men. It always will be. We don't need a test to prove that. We need women who challenge those rules. And the best way for you to do that is to write the book you always wanted, a novel outside your parents' purview, a book that has the power to change a life. Isn't that why you're there? To write? To break the mold?"

She was right, but her tone irked me, mostly because her theory had already been proven correct today.

I mean, had anything really changed in life or literature over the years?

I read the passage in the Marcus Flare book to her. When I finished, I said, "GiGi, I believed you were a woman who tested the rules, not one who quoted misogynistic writers!"

She was silent.

She usually had a response at the ready, a story, a quip. After a moment, she said, "It must be nice to sit in college and critique books and the world at large. I never had that opportunity. I don't know much, Emma, but I do know this as a widow and a reader—there are difficult decisions to be made every single day in making art or just making it through another day. I think most people believe that creating art is either madness or salvation. One or the other. They're wrong. Art is both. And on the best days—for both authors and readers—art is salvation from the madness. Use that in one of your papers."

Her stern tone unnerved me. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know I would hit a nerve. We always debated everything.

GiGi took a ragged breath and continued.

"I want you to hear me on this, young lady. I do not plagiarize life. I am, and will always be, an original. You want an original GiGi quote? Well, here goes. A lot of people are like acorns—just plain nuts. And no matter how much you nurture them, they will never grow into a damn thing. Now, I suggest you grow into something that matters."

She hung up, and I sat there in stunned silence staring at the Tappan Oak. 

I was so deep in thought that I didn't realize a guy I knew from my class—a fraternity pledge decked out in Greek letters—had stopped in front of me. He was carrying our textbook and the Marcus Flare novel.

"Hi, Emma."

"Hey, Carter," I said.

"You know they have to cut down this oak, right?" he asked. "It's old and diseased."

"I heard. It's sad." Carter's face was dappled in sunlight. I thought of GiGi and one of her favorite writers. "You know, a book is made from a tree," I said to him. Carter looked at me, his head angled. I continued. "Carl Sagan."

"You're the smartest one in class," he said with a smile. He looked at the tree. "I wonder what they'll find buried underneath this when they cut it down and dig up the roots."

"Probably a lot of secrets," I said, again thinking of GiGi. 

"And beer cans," he laughed.

I nodded at the hardcover books he was carrying. 

"You're an old-school reader like me, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I like to remove myself from technology when I'm reading. I love Kindle when I'm traveling, but there's nothing like holding a book."

I smiled. Finally! One of the good guys, I thought.

"Are you enjoying Women in Literature and Popular Culture?" I asked.

"I am," he said.

"I was surprised to see so many men in class," I said. "It makes me feel like things are changing."

I told him about what the other guys had said earlier. 

He laughed as hard as GiGi had.

"You know why there are so many guys in class, right, Emma?"