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“What? I’m just trying to be accurate. You said—”
“Really? You want to bring up the classes I failed in high school right now?”
She stopped and shrugged.
“I just wanted to be accurate, which you’re going to have to be if you’re an attorney.”
I glared at her.
“Fine. Read the poem to me and I’ll be honest and tell you what I would give it.”
“I don’t know. I’m embarrassed about it now. What if it’s not that good?”
“I’ll tell you if it’s good or not.”
“Fine,” I said. “Hold on.” I walked over to my desk and opened up my laptop and powered it on. “You better not laugh, though.”
“Why would I laugh?” she asked me, sitting on the side of my bed and picking up her hairbrush again.
“Oh my gosh. You’re going to keep brushing your hair?” I asked her, slightly annoyed.
“What? I got a blowout, and I think it looks good, and I need to brush it to keep it straight.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Whatever.”
“You going to read this poem to me or what? I’ve got to get going in a little bit.”
“Yes. I’m just bringing it up.” I opened Word on my laptop and then brought up the file. “Okay. You better not laugh, Chelsea.”
“I will not laugh.”
“Okay. So did I tell you about this creative writing class?”
“No. What about it?”
“So each week we’re given a prompt and everyone in the class has to either write prose or poetry related to the prompt.”
“Okay,” she said. “That sounds kind of fun.”
“Yeah, it is fun. And normally I write prose, but this week I decided to try my hand at poetry.”
“Okay,” she said. “And what was the prompt?”
I took a deep breath.
“The prompt was throbbing.”
“Okay,” she said. “Throbbing. Like a throbbing heart? Or?”
“I mean, I guess you could think of it that way,” I said, feeling embarrassed.
“Okay. Well, how did you think about it?”
“You’ll see,” I said. “Okay, here we go.” I cleared my throat. “‘Throbbing’ by Polly Campbell.”
“I thought the prompt was throbbing,” Chelsea interrupted me.
