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THIS CHAPTER IS CALLED PROFESSOR👨🏽‍💼

"Of course Mr. Ambrose" I said to the nearly 50 year old man.

From across the room I set my eyes onto the wooden podium. Slowly walking towards Mr. Ambrose who stood next to the old thing. You can tell it was old due to the creeks you hear when you moved it, or the slight cracks on the side.

But Mr. Ambrose says "if it isn't broken don't throw it away". He normally says that when someone wrote an okay paper and got a C on it. But you get the point.

I finally made my way over to him and said "you wanted to see me sir".

The way my professor looked at me was with care. "Indigo is everything okay" he says while deeply looking at me. Yes my name is Indigo Nova Anderson, my mother thought it was unique but the kids in my elementary school thought it was stupid and called me space crayon . Lets just say that I may have gotten sent to the principal's office a lot for "correcting" my peers.

Instead of looking at him I looked at the podium on which he was leaning on. That god forsaken podium that looked like it could give out any minute.

I slowly look at him and nodded my head yes. "I was just nervous that's all. I never read one of my poems out loud before and I was afraid of what people would say about it".

"You shouldn't be afraid of what someone would think of your poems. What you wrote for this class was amazing. You wrote more than what I expected."

"Thank you" I softly said. He then gave me a hug and sent me on my merry way.

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