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I was still mid-panic when the professor called me to go first. When I walked to the front of the room, my feet felt heavy. I took the paper that the professor handed me, and the class seemed hazy. I took a deep breath and read, softly at first, and then stronger as I absorbed the words. I felt the emotion of the character, her goals, and fears. She was strong underneath her weaknesses. When I said the last word, the class was quiet.
Finally, the professor clapped. “Great job, Hailey. You really captured her pain and skillfully crafted her goals based on it.”
“Thank you.”
“Does anyone else have anything they’d like to say?” the professor asked the rest of the class.
A girl in the first row raised her hand. “I want to read more.”
“That’s exactly what we’re going for in this assignment. How to pull in a reader with emotion,” the professor said.
“I felt like I could identify with what she was going through,” another girl in the middle of the room said.
“All good things,” the professor said.
After a few more comments, she called the next student to the front. I sat in a daze, not believing what just happened. It didn’t mean I’d be successful as a writer, or make a career of it, but ever since I started writing this morning, I’d felt good. The act of releasing words on paper eased the tension inside. And when I was done, I felt like I was on a high.
Maybe writing would heal the pain inside me. I liked that idea. For once, I was doing something for myself. I deserved this. I wanted to follow my dreams.
Determined I was making the right decision, I went from class to Nana’s house. Inside, I found her knitting in her chair.
She set it on the side table. “I didn’t expect you to stop by.”
I sat on the couch. “I need to talk to you about the store.”
“Oh?”
“I think you should sell it. My heart isn’t in it. I’ve been thinking a lot about my future, and I want to work with Brooke at her store and write on the side. I don’t know if writing will be my calling or not, but I have to try. And thinking about working with books and writing makes me feel good in a way that working at your store didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You helped me for years, and now it’s time for you to pursue your dreams.”
I moved across the room to hug her. “Thanks, Nana.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
Sitting down, I said, “I will be.”
With or without Ryan, I’d pursue my dream of being a writer. I’d give myself the time and space to see if it was what I was supposed to do.
* * *
When I got in my car to drive home, a text came in from Jake, asking me to come to the garage. Wondering why he needed me, I headed there. When I pulled into the lot, I didn’t see any vehicles. There was a motorcycle under the small overhang on the side. I wondered if Jake had finally bought one. He’d talked about it forever.
In the waiting area, there was a vase of sunflowers on the desk, the walls were freshly painted, and the framed photos had been hung in neat rows.
There was a new counter along one wall with a coffeemaker and sleek fridge. It looked professional and inviting.
“You came.” The deep rumble of that voice was so familiar it made my heart ache.
Ryan stood in the doorway, shrinking the space.
“Jake asked me to.” I fiddled with the strap of my purse, unsure what was going on.
Ryan shook his head. “He’s not here.”
My heart rate picked up. “I don’t understand.”
He held out his hand. “Come here.”
