Chapter 2
Teaching creative writing to college freshmen—particularly to freshmen who were already convinced of their own genius—had its ups and downs.
On the one hand, these college freshmen were, undoubtedly, smart and determined and high achievers.
On the other hand, they knew it. Which meant, in the span of an hour, a class could go from argumentative to devastated to elated and back to argumentative again.
Especially when we did critiques—their egos were on the line, after all, and everyone had something to prove.
And then, every once in a while, I got a student like Andrew Ferreira.
He was smart. And on top of being smart, he was a good writer—especially for an eighteen-year-old.
He was polite and responsible and friendly.
He had a sense of humor, and he managed to keep it even when people were ripping his work apart.
The first time we’d done critiques, I’d said something about a choice made by one of his characters.
Something like, That decision really turned me off.
And without missing a beat, he’d murmured, Then I definitely won’t do that again.
Everyone had broken up laughing, and Andrew had flashed a big, white smile.
We were doing critiques again when my phone buzzed. I glanced down to where it lay in my bag and saw a message from Hugo.
“—I understand what you’re trying to do,” Roderick was saying, “but as cat owner myself, I just didn’t believe a real person would act that way—”
My phone buzzed again. Another message from Hugo.
“—this story would be better if he kissed the cat directly on the mouth and then told the cat that he loved him and that he’d never leave him and that the cat was his special little guy and that he couldn’t trust anyone else in the whole world—”
I managed not to say, Good Lord, out loud, but I thought anyone who glanced my way would see it in billboard letters above my head. Fortunately, Roderick’s time was almost up, and we’d move on to someone with, uh, a slightly different focus to their feedback.
But my phone buzzed again.
The student next to me, Stephanie, glanced over. She didn’t make a face or anything, but my face still turned red. I grabbed my phone. I caught a quick glimpse of the messages:
Hey babe, how’s your day going?
Where are you?
What are you doing?
And then it vibrated again: Hey, just checking in.
I turned off my phone. When I looked up, the classroom was silent, and every set of eyes was staring at me.
A prickling rash of heat. Flop sweat. “Sorry about that,” I said.
Andrew gave me a quick grin and a roll of his eyes.
I smiled in spite of myself. “I think Cameron was next.”
Things went smoothly after that, and before long, the bell rang. As students filed out, I packed up my papers.
“Hey, Mr. Dane.”
“Hay is for horses, Andrew.” I slung my bag over one shoulder. “And you know you can call me Dash.”
“Right.” I got that big smile again. He was fumbling with the straps of his backpack. A flush rode under the olive tone of his cheeks. “Thanks.”
“What’s up?”
“So, um, remember that story I gave you at the beginning of the semester, ‘Broomings?’” He plunged ahead like he was afraid to wait for a reply.
“Well, I sent it to the Pawcatuck Review, and they asked me to revise and resubmit.” He said it like he’d won the lottery—which, to be fair, was how I’d felt the couple of times I’d managed to sell a short story.
“Andrew, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”
His face lit up, but he mumbled, “It’s not like they bought it—”
“Nope. None of that. This is a big deal—it means they like it; they just want you to show them you can take it to where they want it. You should be proud of yourself. This is huge!”
For a few moments, he made incoherent noises that still managed to be surprisingly cute—a lot of ums and yeahs and vocalizations. Finally he got around to “So, um, I was wondering if you could help me. Revise it, I mean. Not if it’s too much trouble. And not if you don’t want to. And not if—”
“I’d love to,” I said through a laugh. “Really, Andrew. It’d be an honor.”
I noticed, for the first time, that he had a dimple when he smiled. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Okay, well, I know this fire coffee shop that just opened, and they have the best pour-over you’ve ever tasted, and, like, if we get hungry, there’s this little Thai place next door—”
“Hey.” Hugo’s voice was a little too loud. “There you are.”
I turned in time to see Hugo already leaning in for a kiss. My mind went blank, and my body froze. Hugo pressed his lips to mine and stayed there, lingering, the kiss getting longer and longer. When I finally recovered enough to pull back, he wore a grin.
“Is everything okay?” Hugo asked. “You weren’t answering my texts. I got worried.”
“Mr. Dane?” Andrew said.
“Mr. Dane,” Hugo said with a little laugh. “That’s so cute.”
“Everything’s fine.” I directed the words between them. Then, in a lower voice, I said to Hugo, “I was in class.”
“Oh shoot. I forgot your schedule changed.”
We’re twelve weeks into the semester, I almost said. My schedule hasn’t changed since January.
But I didn’t.
“I was wondering,” Hugo said without missing a beat, “if you wanted to grab a late lunch.”
“Actually,” Andrew said, “we were about to get coffee.”
Hugo didn’t say anything. He looked at Andrew, and Andrew stared back, and then Hugo put his hand around my elbow and said, “Could I talk to you for a minute?”
Under the shade of an oak that was just leafing out, he said in a low voice, “I don’t want you spending time with that kid outside of class.”
“Wait a minute, Andrew just got a revise and resubmit—”
“And he’s obsessed with you.” Hugo spun a finger next to his temple. “Psycho. You don’t want to put yourself in a situation where something could go wrong.”
“I would never—”
“I know.” He squeezed my arm and smiled. “I know, dummy. But what if he said you did? You’ve got to think about that stuff. About how things look. You’ve got to be careful—there are a lot of crazies out there.”
For a moment, the thought came to me: how did you know where I was? How did you find me if you’d forgotten my schedule had changed?
“See?” he murmured, brushing my hair back and giving me that boyish grin again. “This is why I have to worry about you.”