“I’m not sure that’s a very writerly thing to say.”
More eye contact. Now that we’re in the rhythm of things, I remember how much I liked Helen.
“I told you, I’m not sure I have what it takes.”
“Really? I’m beginning to gather a credible pile of evidence that tells me you just might.”
“This is just talking. You can’t tell if someone is a good writer just by talking.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you can if you really pay attention.”
She doesn’t reply, and I can tell she’s starting to clam up, but I want this friendship towork, damn it, so I change the subject.
“How does Professor Travers have time to grade all those stories?”
“That’s the good news. I don’t think she does. Grades are based on class participation, and as long as we do the assignment and write a new story every week, we get A’s. But the class is a workshop, so she picks two writers at random each week and sends their stories out for everyone to read and give notes on. And you won’t know you’ve been chosen until she sends your story out, so Murphy’s Law says it’ll be the week you decide to half-ass it.”
As she’s talking, I hear a familiar laugh—a laugh that fills my stomach with both butterflies and dread.
It can’t be.
I turn, and it is.
Ellie walks through the door. He’s with someone, a guy who isn’t familiar.
For a moment, I just stare.
This is my worst nightmare.
The moment is almost the exact opposite of walking into Intro to Film yesterday and realizing I had signed up for a class with Alex. I’d been sort of amused by the idea of Alex thinking I’d added the class because I’d developed a sudden obsession with him.
With Ellie, that prospect terrifies me. I know how this looks. I slept with Ellie, he didn’t text me after, so I… signed up for one of his classes? All the worse if he did see me yesterday. There’s no way he’ll think it’s a coincidence. He’s going to file for a freaking restraining order.
I’ve been hoping to find a way to get Ellie to pay attention to me, but something tells me this isn’t the kind of attention I want.
I focus on the podium. I will not look at him.I will not look at him. I will—
Ellie takes a seat in the front corner directly opposite me, but I don’t think he’s seen me yet. I dart a glance at the door. Is it possible to slip out undetected? Drop the class so he never knows?
“Joey? Are you okay?”
Helen’s voice pulls my attention back to her.
Helen. If I drop this class, it’ll make it harder to cement our friendship. I don’t even remember how we met the first time—at a club meeting, maybe, but not one we stuck to. If I drop this class, I wouldn’t even know how to begin re-creating that meeting. Five minutes in class together don’t make us friends. If we’re not friends, I can’t keep an eye on her. Can’t connect with her. Can’t save her.
That makes the choice easy.
I care more about keeping Helen alive than I do about making sure Ellie doesn’t think I’m a freak.
She glances at Ellie and his friend with concern.
“Is something wrong? You look…” She narrows her eyes. “Do you know those guys?”
I take a deep breath. How much to say?
Hell, I decided I wanted to solidify this friendship as quickly as possible. What better way to do that than with some self-deprecating gossip?
I lean forward, careful to keep my voice down.
