I stop immediately.
That’s not it.
I delete the sentence and try again.
Zach was easier to miss from far away—
No.
Delete.
My fingers hit the keys harder this time, frustration building beneath my skin.
Zipping across state lines hadn’t fixed anything.
I stare at the sentence for a long moment before deleting that one too.
The cursor sits there patiently while I sink lower into my chair. Every sentence somehow keeps drifting in the same direction no matter how hard I try to pull it somewhere else.
I hold down the backspace button again, irritation building with every disappearing word.
This is stupid.
It’s one assignment. One letter. That’s it.
So why does it suddenly feel impossible to write anything except leaving?
I press my lips together and start typing again.
Zero drafts ever feel good enough to share.
I keep it.
Then another sentence comes.
Zoning out is easier than risking failure.
And another.
Zippers, slammed doors, running shoes, escape routes.
The words finally start flowing after that, my fingers moving faster than my brain can second-guess them. I keep typing, writing something that I’m not sure even makes sense, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m writing.
“Alright, that’s all for today,” Professor Stephenson says, glancing around the room as students begin shutting their laptops. “Upload your assignments to the portal before next week’s workshop. Late submissions will make me deeply disappointed in you as writers.”
The end? Already? Where did the last sixty minutes go?
Around me, chairs scrape against the floor as everyone starts packing up, but I’m still staring at my screen. The document that started completely blank is now filled with fragmented thoughts and half-formed truths that have somehow turned into almost two pages.
“Are you going to leave?” Stevie asks, shoving her notebook in her bag, “or are you planning an extended stay in Professor Squat Machine’s classroom? Because if you’re staying, I’d like to apply for residency too.”
I look up so fast that my knee hits the underside of the desk. Professor Stephenson is still standing near the front while students filter around him toward the door.
“Miss Sanderson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Could you stay back for a moment?”
