“It’s a testament to how good of a writer she is, because she’s pretty much the only person I know who found a full-time position that quickly and has been able to keep it.” Seth smiles at me, nothing but pride in his eyes.
I think I actually blush from his praise.
“My career hasn’t been as straightforward.” Seth leans back against the teacher table, his arms crossed over his chest. “I went to community college after high school because, while I got into a number of renowned schools, I couldn’t afford any of them.” His eyes dart to mine for a half a second but give away nothing. “So, I stayed home, got a job, ultimately went to state school, and as soon as I graduated, I hit the road.”
I listen intently, first noting how he glosses over the money he was offered and turned down, and second, realizing I don’t really know much about Seth’s life after I left home. Sure, I’ve read everything he’s published, but he never really wrote personal pieces. Following his work mostly just allowed me to keep tabs on where he might have been living at any given time. It didn’t give me a ton of hints as to what his life was actually like.
“I wanted to focus on more investigative pieces, so I found people who had interesting stories, and I exploredthose. I’d saved enough money by living at home and working through school that I was able to spend about six months on the road, meeting people, talking to people, writing their stories, before I really felt the pressure financially. Luckily, at the end of those six months, I was able to sell my first piece.”
The group of teens is way more impressed by Seth’s career trajectory than they are by mine. Not that it’s a competition or anything. I’m a little bit in awe of him myself.
“It did well, and then I sold another, and another. Before I knew it, I had spent more than six years living on the road. Most of that time was in hotel rooms or short-term rentals, sometimes crashing with friends or colleagues if they were local.” He grins, shifting on his feet a little. “I’m not going to lie, it was amazing. It was also awful. Living on the road is hard, not having a home base is hard. But I did some of my best work during those six years, and I don’t regret any of it.”
Our eyes meet once again and a shadow darkens the blue of his, like maybe there aresomeregrets somewhere in there. My chest squeezes and for a second, I can’t seem to make my lungs function.
“Hold up, are you two dating or something?” a voice calls from the back of the room.
The rest of the group titters, and the laughter brings me back to my senses.
Seth looks to me to answer the question, the jerk. My cheeks heat and I’m sure they’ve turned a bubblegum pink. “Um, no, we’re not dating. We did, in high school, but we haven’t been together for a long time now.”
Seth punches my arm like he’s my older brother. “Now we just work together. And we’re friends.” His voice rises a bit on the wordfriends, like it’s a question.
I nod. “Yes. We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh.” The sarcastic muttered response comes from somewhere among the crowd.
“Anyway,” I barrel on, determined to not let a bunch of teenagers make my life any more awkward than it already is. “For today’s program, we were thinking we’d split into two groups. You could all then share what you wrote and do a workshop so that everyone can give some feedback and get some feedback. That sound good?”
I quickly realize my mistake when I’m met with fifteen uncertain stares.
Seth stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, sharing your work with other people is hard. We get that. But we’re all going to take the plunge together, and this is a safe space. No judgment, no harsh critiques, no red pens circling your typos.”
This earns him a small laugh and seems to relax the room just a tad.
“Parker, why don’t you take the front of the room and I’ll take the back. You’re free to come to whichever group you feel most comfortable in. At the end, we’ll all come back together for final thoughts.” Seth claps his hands together in dismissal and heads toward the back of the room.
I find an empty desk and try not to freak out, low-key anxious that none of the kids will choose my group since Seth is obviously more personable—and much cooler—thanI am. Adjusting the desk so I can separate myself from the other group, I avoid looking at the room at large for as long as I can. When I finally do look up, I’m met with eight anxious faces. I breathe out a sigh of relief and gesture to the other desks around me. “Let’s make a circle.”
The teens comply, shifting around until we can all sit and face each other. It immediately brings back memories of every writing class I’ve ever taken, and I remember how nervous I always was to read my work in front of other people. It was maybe my least favorite part of writing classes but sometimes the most helpful.
I settle into my desk, noticing that Seth’s own seat ended up positioned just behind me and a little to my left. If I shift in my chair I can see his profile, but his attention is solely focused on his students, and I turn mine to my own.
“Okay, I know you guys are going to hate me for this, but before we get started, let’s go around the circle and introduce ourselves and tell everyone what you’re reading right now.” I clasp my hands in front of me on the desk. “I’ll start. You already know I’m Lana Parker, and right now I’m rereadingGet a Life, Chloe Brownby Talia Hibbert because it’s one of my absolute favorites.”
We go around the circle and I meet Izzy, Madison, Maddy, Addison, Mackenzie, Sophie, Finley, and Dylan. And I pray I can remember their names and keep them all straight. Once the intros are done, they all look at me expectantly.
“Okay, now let’s get to reading.” I paste on a self-deprecating smile when I hear a few groans. “It was always my least favorite thing to do too, after get-to-know-you icebreakers of course.”
This earns me a couple of chuckles, probably out of pity.
“But I will say, reading your work out loud is a really helpful trick. It lets you know what parts of your writing are flowing well, where your voice is strong, where your descriptions are hitting. It’s also the best way to catch typos and awkward sentences. Even though it feels mortifying, it’s a good habit to get into.” I look around the circle and see varying degrees of terror. “Does anyone want to be brave and volunteer?”
There’s that expected moment of absolute silence, but then one of them, Izzy, the girl who arrived first, tentatively raises her hand.
I flash her an encouraging smile. “Awesome. Why don’t you tell us what it is you brought, and then whenever you’re ready, read it out loud to us.”
She sucks in a big breath. “Okay. This is my college admissions personal essay. And I’m really hoping to get a scholarship, so I need it to be good.”
