Words & Whiskey

EDITED VERSION: Chapter Five

"I'm going to hold you to that," Nathan mimicked the words I had uttered only moments before and sat forward on the bike. He reached behind him, grabbing my arms in an effort to get me to hold on to him. Obeying his silent command, I wrapped my arms securely around his waist. I was not going to die. He revved the engine up loudly and released a chuckle. "Hold on tight, princess."

I was not going to die, I repeated internally before Nathan sped us off in the direction of the university.

***

Today was turning out to not be a good day. From Nathan figuring out my new status of single to feeling like I was going to die on Nathan's motorcycle, it simply was not fun. Add in the fact that one minute the sun was shining brightly and the next minute, clouds loomed the sky — taking away my sunshine and replacing it with rain. The rain was cold and I lacked the protection of an umbrella, which in turn, made me very cold.

And then another thought crashed into my brain — Darian is going to kill me for getting his beanie wet.

I finally reached the building where my Introduction to Creative Writing class was being held. By the time I got there, I was absolutely drenched and I really did not want to be sitting there for three hours in soaking wet clothes.

Taking a moment to decide, I breathed out. I can't miss class, that would just show a lack of dedication and it's the first day of this course. Sighing, I turned the doorknob and entered the room.

This classroom was nowhere near as intimidating as my previous ones. This room actually looked cozy. There were multiple long desks forming one giant table, and nice leather-bound computer chairs were placed, surrounding it as if it were a conference room. Some students were already seated, again, with laptops at the ready.

Getting a good look at the few students that were in the room, I let out a breath of relief. I wasn't the only one soaking. There were at least four others. Four is better than none.

Taking a seat beside a girl with beautiful dark skin and curly crochet dreads, I gave her a small nod, to which she responded with a dazzling smile. Looking at me with her warm brown eyes, she leaned over. "I have an extra sweater in my bag, you can wear it if you want. I don't think it'll be very comfortable wearing a wet hoodie all of the class."

Taken aback at her kindness, even to someone she doesn't know, I gave her a nice smile. "It's okay. Thank you, though."

"No way," she shook her head, making her hair bounce up and down. "I'm not going to let you just sit there soaking wet. You look like a drowned poodle."

Before I could protest once again, she reached into her bag and pulled out a nice emerald green hoodie that smelled freshly washed with lavender detergent. She placed it in front of me, arms crossed, waiting for me to cave in.

"Fine," I sighed, peeling off my wet hoodie and replacing it with the dry one, "Thank you, I'll wash it and give it back to you next week."

"Take as long as you need, sweetie," she leaned back in her chair. "Green is so not my colour."
I laughed at her response. "My name is Audrey, Audrey Holland," shrugging, I continued, "Just so you know who you gave your sweater to."

"Audrey," the girl said slowly as if testing it out loud for the first time. "I like that name, never met an Audrey before, unless you count Hepburn, but I never actually met her. My name is Samara Jones."

At that moment the professor walked in, stealing all of our attention. And she too was also very wet.

"Sorry about that ladies and gents," she huffed, slamming her briefcase down at the head spot of the table and plopping in the seat in front of it. She quickly attempted to move her soaking brown hair out of her face, but it proved to be difficult as it took multiple attempts to peel it from her face. Getting a good look at her, she couldn't be more than thirty. She took out her laptop and powered it up. "It's seriously pissing cats and dogs out there."

That comment earned a laugh from the rest of the class. Looking up she smiled. "My name is Katherine Smith but you guys don't need to be super formal with me. You can call me Kat or Katherine, whichever you prefer," clapping her hands together enthusiastically, she beamed. "Welcome to Introduction to Creative Writing. This course will make you want to rip your hair out, but I promise it'll be worth it."

Earning another collective laugh from her last remark, we continued on with the class.
This class was the basic first-class to any course you'd expect. All she talked about was some housekeeping items and a few of our assignments.

I almost zoned out but then she changed her tone from less monotone, to enthusiastic. "Alright everyone," she started, her now semi-dried hair was thrown up into a messy bun and big thick-rimmed glasses now rested upon her nose, "I want you all to pick one person in the room to be your editor. This means with every assignment, they will edit your work and in return, you'll edit theirs. When it comes to handing in assignments, I want both the final product and the peer-edited product. I will be grading you on the work you have written and the work you have edited. Have a good rest of the day and see you next week!"

Samara looked at me with a grin. "Well, seeing as we sort of know each other, wanna be each other's editor?"

"Sure," I smiled, giving Samara a nod. I fumbled for my post-it packages in my bag and scratched my number on a piece of paper. "Here's my number, call or text any time. I don't really go out much so I will most likely answer right away."

"Girl," Samara started. "I feel you so much on that one. Maybe we can get together Saturday to get started on the first short story?"

I nodded my head, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Aside from Darian, I just potentially started a new friendship, and after the hell I've been dealing with since I moved, I could use all the friends I could get.