Not in My Book

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

I vowed revenge when it was Aiden’s turn to be workshopped. And all the stars aligned—this was his worst chapter yet. Like me, he was struggling to figure out what he wanted his book to be about. I felt a lot better knowing I wasn’t the only one trying to find their footing. He was trying to imitate some stream of consciousness, Faulkner-style writing, but it made no sense. As we discussed his work, everyone had their brows furrowed, but I was smiling.

I patiently waited as the class went around the room sharing their thoughts until it was my turn. Aiden’s dark ember eyes settled on me. I ignored how my stomach flipped, a wave of uneasiness flowing through me. But there was no way I would lose my nerve.

“I don’t know.” I sighed heavily, gently placing the pages on the table in front of me. I tried to look casual despite my hammering heart and shaking hands. Confrontation wasn’t really my thing, but I had to stand my ground. I refused to let Aiden shame me for being a genre writer and walking around with this stupid air of superiority. I looked up at him through my lashes and lifted a single shoulder. “It’s a bit … derivative .”

Shock rippled across Aiden’s face for a moment before he rearranged his features to appear impassive. I bit back my smile and continued.

“I mean, I get that you’re probably a Faulkner fan, right?” I drawled, looking to him for confirmation, but I didn’t need it. Once, last semester, he’d gone on for hours about him, explaining the inspiration behind a short story. Aiden gave a terse nod, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “I figured. I mean, it’s so obvious and, God, the way it drones on and on, no offense. It seems like it’s trying so hard to be meaningful that it’s … lackluster. This reads more like Faulkner fanfiction than anything else. Fanfiction is great, though! I just didn’t know it was your thing.” I gave him a sickly sweet smile from across the table.

He looked up at me, setting his pen down. Aiden sat back in his chair, watching me intensely as I tried my best to appear cavalier.

“Above all else, it falls flat.” I said, repeating his words to me from workshop a few weeks ago. To hell with dignity and maturity. I wanted revenge . “This doesn’t seem like a feasible start to a novel, but instead feels like the ramblings of a guy on a blog from 2003. It’s nearly useless, I would say.” I folded my hands on top of the pages. The silence in the room was deadly as I turned to Ida, beaming. “That’s all from me.”

Aiden was glaring at me, his eyes hard, hatred seeping between us.

“Okay,” Ida said cautiously. “Any thoughts, Aiden?” She looked tentatively between the two of us, waiting for the bomb to go off. Honestly, I was waiting, too. I was longing to see Aiden lose his cool, to watch my words creep into his mind and stain it like his did to me.

Instead, Aiden sat up, cleared his throat. He looked at each of our classmates as he politely addressed their notes. I expected his voice to quiver, I craved tears .

But he was so obviously unbothered by what I had said, his eyes looked almost bored. Irritation flared in my chest. He had a way of doing anything and just making it seem like he was better than the rest of us. He was succinct, and I wanted to strangle him.

Finally, his eyes flicked over me for just a second before turning to Ida.

“I’ve responded to all the opinions that are worth acknowledging. Like I’ve said before, I’m not writing for lonely women who live out their fantasies through mass-produced paperbacks found in a Duane Reade. I’m writing for a deeper meaning.”

“Oh, c’mon,” I huffed.

Aiden barreled on. “I’m writing for an audience that cares about more than overdone tropes and unrealistic men.”

“Well, at least my book won’t be a coaster for some deadbeat forty-year-old who thinks Matt Rife is some sort of God,” I bit out.

“No, your book will be a coaster for a bored cat lady’s vibrator.”

I snorted. “Your wife’s vibrator because you couldn’t please a woman to save your life!”

“At least I’ll be married!”

“At least—”

“ Enough ,” Ida snapped. Half the class’s mouths were open in shock, the others were holding back laughter. “I don’t want to hear another word from you two for the rest of workshop.”

She shot us both a glare, and I shrank back in my seat as shame flashed through me. What was I doing? Trying to get back at a man whose opinion I didn’t even care about? I was in this class for me , not a petty, childish rivalry. I certainly wasn’t trying to disappoint Ida in the process. On our first day, Ida had emphasized the importance of respect during the workshop. Aiden and I had been toeing the line she’d drawn since day one of this class, but now we’d barreled past it.

For the rest of class, I kept my head down, too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone. And I knew the moment I looked at Aiden, I’d feel nothing but the uncontrollable need to smother him to death.

When class ended, I beelined it toward the door, hoping to avoid any more confrontation with Aiden. I had plans to meet up with my friends at Peculiar Pub for drinks after class today, but the last thing I wanted to do was relive the past few hours.

We met at the edge of the block on the corner of Fifth and 10 th . Jess and Logan were giggling as they walked toward me and when they saw me they laughed even harder. Tyler side eyed the two of them, his lips quirking up.

“It’s not funny,” I complained.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious .” Logan grinned. “God, that was so entertaining. Remind me to sign up for workshops with you and Aiden from now on.”

“He was being a dick, and I wasn’t going to stand for it,” I said defensively.

“To be fair, you started it,” Logan said.

“Hey!”

“You did! I love that you started it because it’s usually Aiden that starts these fights, but today it was totally you.”

Embarrassment flooded me. I looked to Tyler and Jess. “You don’t think Ida is going to hate me for starting it, do you?”

“No,” Jess said reassuringly. “Add/drop just ended; there’s no class you could move into. She might dock your participation grade or something, but I think you’re fine.”

“Let’s just go to Peculiar.” I sighed heavily.

Since I loved romance and I loved Jess, I got Logan to keep talking to me as we walked toward Peculiar Pub, giving Jess some time alone with Tyler. Every so often on the walk over, I heard her giggle.

The more I’d gotten to know Logan and Tyler over the past few months, the more they’d become really great friends. Tyler was always so serious and stoic, every word out of his mouth thoughtful, like in his writing. He wrote contemporary fiction that read like poetry and instantly captivated you. It was easy to see why Jess liked him so much.

Logan, on the other hand, was Tyler’s exact opposite. Logan wore every emotion and thought on his sleeve. He had no filter and didn’t care. He wrote horror comedies and was able to make our skin crawl on one page and have us bursting into laughter on the next.

The Peculiar Pub was aptly named: At the front there was the bar with plenty of room to stand around and talk, but toward the back was a different vibe, with booth seating and bottlecaps lining the walls. Once we had asked the bartender for the most peculiar drink on the menu, and she brought us a raspberry cheesecake flavored beer.

“I’ll grab the first round,” Tyler said. “The usual for everyone?”

We nodded as he walked off to the bar, and Jess’s eyes lingered on him.

“You know,” Logan said thoughtfully. “I think my favorite part of class today was when Aiden said vibrator.”

“Oh my God.” I hung my head low.

“You know, I’ve never had a vibrator. Do they usually come with coasters?” He looked between Jess and me, waiting for an explanation.

Jess reached across the table to smack him playfully and said, “Shut up.” She paused. “No. They don’t.”

Tyler returned with our happy hour drinks, placing margaritas in front of Jess and me and beers for him and Logan.

Logan sipped his beer and said, “I wish you two would fuck and get it over with.”

I coughed, chocking on my drink. “What?”

“Well, there’s an obvious amount of sexual tension between you two. You guys would probably be nicer to each other if you would just have sex. Then you wouldn’t hate him so much.”

I shook my head vehemently, nearly gagging at the thought. “No one would want to hear his complicated metaphors as dirty talk. Besides, I don’t hate him because I’m attracted to him.”

Logan’s eyebrows raised. “So you are ?”

“No.” I blushed. “I hate him because he’s elitist about romance. Right, Jess?”

Jess nodded in solidarity. “He’s harshest whenever we submit our stuff. We’re only a few weeks in, and he’s found something wrong with all of Rosie’s chapters.”

“But not yours,” Tyler said, frowning. “He’s not as harsh to you as he is to Rosie, and you write romance too.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I declared. “I want to enjoy tonight with my friends and not have to think about Aiden at all.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll drop it,” Logan said. “Tyler, what happens next in your book? I want spoilers, I have to know.”

We chatted for a while about everyone’s projects. Now that I couldn’t transfer out of Ida’s class, I had to stick with my current plot line. No restarting my novel or testing out new chapters. I didn’t have time to dwell anymore—I had to write. Especially now that Ida wasn’t the happiest with me.

When we finished our second round of drinks, Jess yawned and said, “I’ve got to get home. It’s a forty-minute train into Brooklyn for me.”

“I should go, too,” I said. Alexa was probably still at work, and it’d be nice to work in the silence of my apartment.

I lingered on my walk home, hoping to find inspiration in the eclectic streets of the Lower East Side. But nothing struck me. When I got back, I headed straight to my bedroom, changing into some sweats and a cropped tee and settling into my bed with my laptop propped on my knees. I scrolled through the Notes app in my phone, through the random scene ideas and the strings of sentences, hoping there was something good enough to fully develop and turn in.

There wasn’t. I groaned, frustrated, deciding it was better to just succumb to the writer’s block. I snatched my bag off my floor, digging through it to find my current read. Instead, I pulled out the crumbled flyer from outside Ida’s office door.

Everyone in the literary community knew about The Frost magazine, but I’d never heard of this fellowship before. Jess told me Tyler had been published in the litmag, and it had helped him get published in even more magazines since his name was out there a little more. But I hadn’t really thought much of it at the time.

Some quick googling revealed that this fellowship was a huge deal. Only ten MFA students in the country were selected, and a group of professors from different universities would mull over the submissions. The winners would receive a scholarship for an amount that, at NYU, would cover half the full-time tuition. That money would change my life.

I widened my eyes as I read the list of the few NYU alumni who’d won the fellowship. Most were now published authors or even editors at The Frost. All the archives were available online, too.

I was deep into an edition from a few years ago when my phone buzzed with an email from Ida. The blood drained from my face when I saw it was addressed to Aiden and me. The subject line: Class Today.

Rosie and Aiden,

I would like to discuss what happened during today’s class. It hasn’t been sitting well with me all afternoon, and I believe a conversation is necessary. Since we don’t have class tomorrow, please come find me at my office on Greene Street tomorrow at noon. If that time doesn’t work for you please let me know right away as I believe this is an urgent matter.

I immediately sent a screenshot of it to the group chat with my friends. The name of the chat changed nearly every week, and this week it was aiden huntington’s worst nightmare.

Logan: you’re fucked

Jess: you’ll be fine!! i bet she just wants to tell you two to knock it off

I bit my lip.

Rosie: tyler? what do you think?

Tyler was the voice of reason in the group. He would be truthful with me and tell me if it was as bad as I was imagining.

Tyler: Try not to worry about it.

I groaned. I was definitely screwed.

On the way to Ida’s office, I decided I would apologize. I was twenty-six years old; I could be the bigger person. I’d walk in, apologize profusely to her, then maybe mumble an apology to Aiden. Besides, Ida was my mentor . Nothing too bad could happen. She’d want me to succeed as her mentee, right?

Aiden and I approached Greene Street at the same time from opposite ends of the street. He rolled his eyes when he saw me and whipped open the door, stepping past me.

“I can’t believe I’m getting called to the teacher’s office like I’m in elementary school,” he muttered as we waited in the small elevator.

“You started it,” I said. The elevator dinged and together we walked down the hall to Ida’s office.

“What are you talking about? You insulted me last class.” He knocked on the door as we waited for Ida to answer.

“Because you trashed my chapter the other week!”

His jaw dropped in disbelief. “This is all over something I said two weeks ago?”

“And because you’re a snob about romance!” I narrowed my eyes up at him. Taking in our height difference, I stood on my tiptoes to make myself seem taller and more intimidating, but I still fell at least half a foot shorter than him. “You think you’re such a better writer than me.”

“Oh, here we go.” He rolled his eyes and leaned down to meet my eyes. “Rosalinda, I’m going to be very clear: I don’t think I’m a better writer. I know I am.”

All plans to apologize went out the window. Anger burst into my chest and my hands curled into fists. “I’m going to make you regret ever writing a word down. I’m going to put a curse on your family for generations. I’m going to—”

“Enough,” Ida snapped as she opened the door. “Come in.”

We walked in at the same time, getting stuck between each other and the doorframe. I elbowed him, trying to move forward, but he did the same. I twisted my shoulder to get through, stumbling as I stepped into the room.

I smoothed my top down before elegantly taking my usual seat in front of Ida’s desk, lifting my chin. Aiden sat in the seat next to me, and I made a point to scoot my chair away from him. I was comfortable being in Ida’s office since I spent so much time here. Aiden was on my turf now; I had the home field advantage.

She was sitting forward at the table, her lips in a thin line. She was as short as me, but she found a way to be as intimidating as Aiden. My confidence began to wane as I noted the severity of her expression.

“Ever since our first class you two have been incredibly rude, disruptive, and made us all subject to the Rosie and Aiden show day after day. I’d heard rumors from your professor last semester but assumed it wouldn’t be that bad. Then, when it turned out to in fact be that bad, I remained hopeful it would get better as the semester continued, but I’ve had enough.” Aiden and I shared a guilty glance, knowing she was right.

“You both are wonderful writers, but I can’t keep making excuses for you.”

I opened my mouth to object, but she held her hand up. “Rosie, I’m not arguing with you on this. I expected more from you. After all we’ve talked about wanting respect as a romance writer, this is how you respect other writers?”

She was right. I felt so small, mortified by how I’d acted.

Ida cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but I’m asking the two of you to drop this class and go into a different fiction workshop or elective. I know add/drop has already ended, but I can’t allow you two to disrupt my class further. I told the entire class my number one priority was a safe space to share our writing. I suggest you reach out to your advisors to see if there is a class they might be able to place you in.”

I sat up, alarmed. “Please, I’m so sorry. We’re so sorry. Please don’t do that.” I couldn’t face my parents and tell them the reason I’d failed a course was because of some stupid feud with Aiden. If I dropped the class now, there was no way I’d be able to get into another one. Since it was a yearlong class, I’d be shit out of luck for next semester, too. And I would lose all the money I’d already paid for the course. I could barely afford NYU as it was, I couldn’t throw away this money.

“I can be nice, look.” I turned to Aiden. I couldn’t tell if he was more startled by the desperate expression on my face or the bomb Ida had dropped. “Aiden, you have great sentence fluency and write beautiful prose, especially with your metaphors.” I turned back to Ida, my eyes wide. “See? We can change.”

“Rosie, I’m sorry. I know how much this hurts, but I can’t let you two set an example for what’s acceptable. The way you’ve been acting is not congruent with the standards of the NYU Creative Writing Program. I’m doing this so I don’t have to go to the Dean of Student Affairs.”

Aiden remained silent, but I knew it had to be getting to him, too. His hands had curled around the edge of the chair’s armrest, his knuckles white.

Ida was the best professor I’d ever had. Dropping out of this course meant losing her respect, her mentorship, and a lot of money I didn’t have. I couldn’t stomach the thought.

“There has to be something we can do,” I urged. “We’ll behave for the rest of the year, I swear.”

Ida gave us each a long, hard look. “I may have a proposition for you.”

My heart leapt. “Anything.”

“Great negotiating skills,” Aiden muttered. I shot him a quick, warning glare.

“You two don’t respect each other or each other’s writing. If you want to continue in the MFA program, you’ll have to learn to respect the people around you. Aiden, I know you’re struggling with continuing the plot of your project.”

Aiden gave a terse, reluctant nod.

“And Rosie, we’ve talked about how hard it’s been for you to start.” I flushed, nodding. “So. I’m willing to reconsider— if you two spend the rest of the course writing a novel together.”

The room was silent.

“You’ll each still submit chapters for workshop, and I’d expect you to make sure you deliver around the same number of words.”

The silence grew, spreading to every inch of the room. Heat began to pull at my skin, sweat pooling behind my knees and on my forehead. The only thing I wanted to do less than fail this class was write a novel with Aiden Huntington .

“I’m really appreciative of this opportunity,” I said carefully. “But is there literally anything else? I know one thing Aiden and I can really agree on is that he doesn’t want to write romance and I don’t want to write litfic.”

In my peripheral, Aiden nodded.

Ida nodded. “Exactly. Rosie, what defines a romance?”

“The Happily Ever After,” I said immediately. I didn’t look at him, but I could practically feel Aiden roll his eyes.

“So the project you’ll write together will be a romantic story—but without the happy ending. That way Aiden gets to write a romance, and you get to write an emotional literary fiction ending. You’ll write a love story .”

Fuck no. I lived and breathed the rules of romance novels and rule number one was the Happily Ever After. Breaking that rule was the last thing on Earth I wanted to do. What was the point of making two characters fall in love for nothing? The best part of a romance, besides the steamy scenes obviously, was the happy ending.

I bit my lip, trying to think of a way to get out of this and stay in Ida’s good graces. I looked over at Aiden for help, but I could tell he didn’t want to do it either, by the grimace plastered on his face.

As immature as it was, revenge flashed in my mind.

If we did write this book together, that meant Aiden would have to write sex scenes and swoony lines. He’d hate that. It would anger him and mortify him. It would make him feel exactly how I felt every time he critiqued my work.

“I’ll do it,” I said happily. Aiden threw a disbelieving glance my way which only spurred me on. “I mean, how hard can it really be?” I lifted a casual shoulder. “But, Aiden,” I turned to him with a sympathetic expression. “I know romance isn’t your thing and since the majority of the book would be romance, I get why you wouldn’t want to. I mean, I know that I’m not too intimidated to …”

“Fine,” Aiden said sharply. “I’m in. There’s not much to a romance. We’ll lock them in an elevator, have them fall in love, then let the elevator collapse.”

I dug my nails into my palms, wishing they were Aiden’s eyes instead.

For the first time since we’d entered the room, Ida smiled. “Then, it’s settled. First and second chapter due next week. And no more fights in class,” she warned.

She dismissed us and once again we both got caught in the doorway. This time, Aiden pushed through first. I closed the door behind me only to turn around and find an angry Aiden looming over me.

“I can tell you don’t want to do this,” he accused. The cold look in his eye made me feel victorious.

“Neither do you. I think you hate romance more than you hate me .”

He let out a breathy laugh as we made our way into the elevator. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Our romance is going to be the most swoon-worthy, gushy, romantic love story of all time,” I threatened punching the ground floor button angrily. “And it’ll have a million sex scenes.”

“Oh yeah? I’m going to kill off one of our main characters,” he said simply. The elevator doors opened, and I followed him onto Greene Street and down Waverly.

“You can’t do that,” I protested. I stood in front of him, stopping him from walking any further, but he wouldn’t meet my eye.

“Watch me.”

“That’s the most horrific, evil thing you can do in a romance!”

“But we’re not writing a romance, are we?”

“That doesn’t mean you can just kill them off.” I wanted to write the type of book that made me believe and hope for love, even when it seemed impossible. Not something out of Aiden’s wet dreams that fed his tortured-man aesthetic.

“Guess we’ll just have to see.” He walked away, and I stuck out my tongue at his retreating figure, my nose snarled in anger.

I could barely focus during my shift at the Hideout. I messed up drinks and couldn’t keep my hands steady as I poured them. I was too busy planning all the ways I would make Aiden suffer through this project. He was bad enough with his critiques in class, but now I wouldn’t even be able to have a first draft without him berating me.

My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing from my back pocket so I snuck a quick look around the restaurant to make sure my boss wasn’t around and pulled it out.

Logan: rosie. tell. us. everything.

Tyler: You don’t have to.

Jess: uh, yes she does. spill

Tyler: She’s at work guys she’s not going to answer.

Logan: but i have to know!!!!!

Jess: me too!!!!!

Tyler: She probably just told them to start being more respectful during workshop.

I sighed, sending a quick text.

Rosie: can’t talk. at work. but we have to cowrite the final project

I slipped my phone back in my pocket, but almost immediately I was bombarded with texts. I huffed, pulling it out again.

Logan: HAHAHA

Jess: you’re joking

Tyler: Wait, really? Is it a romance?

Logan: i can’t believe we get to witness this for free

Jess: actually we’re paying a lot to witness this

Logan: shut up jess

Jess: rosie are you fucking with us

I rolled my eyes and punched my response into my phone.

Rosie: no. i wish. we have to write a romantic story without the hea (??) so it’s pretty much a guarantee that the devil’s henchman is going to make us kill off a character

Logan: can we pls only refer to aiden as the devil’s henchman

Logan changed the name of the group chat to aiden = devil’s henchman.

Tyler: Are you okay Rosie?

I paused, letting the anger wash over me. In all honesty, I didn’t know if I was okay. I was embarrassed by my childish behavior. I was mad I’d have to interact with Aiden more than two times a week now. And I was beyond worried that this wouldn’t work, and I’d ruin any chance of becoming a better writer and finishing a book.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried my best to picture my parents’ faces when they’d found out I was accepted into the program. Dad’s face had opened in shock, but my mom had had a knowing grin, like she wasn’t surprised. The reminder of their belief in me settled my beating heart.

Rosie: i’ll be fine

I put my phone on silent and slipped it once again into my back pocket. I wouldn’t disappoint my parents, and I wouldn’t disappoint myself. And more importantly, I wouldn’t let Aiden Huntington get in my way.

“I never knew you could be nice. Are you sure you didn’t pay them to poison this?” She eyed the cup of coffee in front of her suspiciously. She even had the audacity to pull off the lid and lift it to her nose, inhaling.

“If I did, those are poisonous fumes,” I replied, sipping my own cup. “But, no, I didn’t. Believe it or not, Maxine, I can be nice.”

“Sure.” She snorted.

“Most people say thank you.”

“Fine. Thank you.” She paused. “I guess you can be nice. Sometimes.”

“I’m actually nice most of the time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Just shut up and drink your coffee, Maxine.”

“There’s that nice guy charm.”

— Excerpt from Untitled by Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington