The Writer | #4✓

Chapter 2

"Hey, Xander. I just got told that the dance team is actually talking to people at the main dance studio. They don't have a stand here on the central quad," Ollie told me in the midst of all the noise. We were both at the main quad that was presently flooded with students. Clubs and groups had canopies and stands set up, and were constantly calling out to the students who passed by, asking them to check them out. 

"Okay," I muttered, turning to face Ollie. He was standing next to me, squinting down at his phone as he scrolled through it.

"So I can leave? Should we meet up later today? Are you even sure there are writing groups around here?" Ollie asked, looking around the field to observe the stands.

"I think so, it's not like there's a central writing group run by the school or anything," I said, looking about the place as well, wishing in my mind that the sun would take it easy on us a bit. It was September — you'd think the weather would have started catching on to the fall spirit. 

"Okay, bye then. I'll call you when I'm done," Ollie said, before disappearing into the crowd. When he was completely out of sight I turned my gaze to the flood of students, tents, stands, and tables ahead. I took in a deep breath, heading to wear there was a central sign where we could sort of figure out where each group was located across the field.

I let out a sigh of relief when I spotted a couple of writing groups on the list. Now, to find their stands. I thought to myself as I started my search for them. Along the way I stopped by some stands, pretending I was interested in joining them just to pick up some free stuff. Before I made it to the center of the field where the writing groups were supposed to be, I already had a bag filled with free pens, notebooks, highlighters, and other free things. 

"Hey, how are you?" The dark-skinned girl behind the table asked me as I stopped by it. I smiled at her, looking at the setup to be sure I was at the right one. 

"Is this a writing group?" I asked, noting the people at the corner holding on to books as they talked.

"Yup," she said with a wider smile, pushing a flier towards me. "You don't have to sign up now. There are also a bunch of other writing groups on campus, the only difference being the days we meet. You can copy our blog link and get back to us later."

"Okay," I muttered, typing the link into my phone's notes. I read through the link again to check that I hadn't copied down the wrong link. 

"Hello."

"Hey, are you here to sign up?" the girl asked, making me look up from my phone to turn behind me. I felt my face warm up when I saw Maxwell standing right behind me with a smile on his face. 

"Yes, I am," he said, smiling at the person behind the desk before walking to stand beside me to pick up the sign up sheet that was attached to a wooden clipboard. I watched him write down his name in his messy handwriting that could only remind me of the comic sans font. When I realized I wasn't really doing anything but standing and staring, I found myself scanning the wooden table to look for what to busy myself with. For some reason, I didn't want to leave the desk—leave Maxwell.

"Hey." Although I had been expecting Maxwell to say something, the sound of his voice still made me jump a bit — so much so that I dropped my bag that I'd been holding under my arm all this while.

"I'm sorry," he said, bending down to pick it up for me. I just stood there, watching him pack everything back into it before getting up and handing it over to me. "Sorry for startling you."

"It's okay," I muttered, taking my bag from him before watching as he put his hands into the pockets of his cargo jeans. He was wearing a loose button-up shirt, with muddy sneakers.