Chapter 6: The Editor

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My alarm went off, filling the once silent room with the sound of an unflattering bell. Groaning, I struggled to find my phone to shut the thing off.

Today was a new class and unfortunately, Darian was not in it. Therefore, I need to fend for myself - something I don't particularly want to do. But that's the price you pay when you move away from home into a huge city on your own.

Getting out of bed, I got dressed in my favourite pair of leggings and baggy sweater that says NYC on the front. To finish off my outfit of the day, I borrow Darian's grey beanie, plopping it on top of my wavy mess of hair.

I grumbled all the way down my apartment hallway and all the way to the kitchen. The sent of coffee beans immediately caught me off guard. On the counter, a fresh cup of steaming coffee sat in my favourite mug that had the phrase Lit Happens  painted on it. Beside the coffee was a carrot muffin and note. Intrigued, I plucked it from the counter, "Audrey, I know you're not much of a morning person so I thought a nice cup of coffee and something to eat will help you start the day. Hope you have a good class. -Darian"

Smiling to myself, I took a large sip of the warm coffee.

Today was going to be a good day.


Today was not going to be a good day.  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. 

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. I was absolutely drenched - as if I just stepped out of a shower - and I really did not want to be sitting for three hours in soaking wet clothes. 

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

This classroom was nowhere near as intimidating as my previous one. 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 soaked. There were at least four others. Four is better than none. 

Taking a seat beside a girl with beautiful caramel skin and nice silky black hair, 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 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 swish elegantly back and forth, "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 smelt freshly washed with lavender detergent. She placed it in front of me, arms crossed, waiting for me to cave in.

"Fine," I sigh, 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 heard of it. 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 brief case 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. 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 Kathrine 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."

Giving a small snort to 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. However, she ended it with a twist.

"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 grin, "Well, seeing as we sort of know each other, wanna be each others editors?"

"Sure," I smiled, giving Samara a nod. I fumbled for my post-it package in my bag and scratched my number on the 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. Grey's Anatomy is probably the reason why I lack social skills."

I barked out a laugh, "McDreamy will do that to you, my friend."


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