Page 9 of Not in My Book

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, diggingthrough 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 aboutThe Frostmagazine, 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 evenmoremagazines 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 ahugedeal. 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 thefull-timetuition. 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 atThe 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 wasaiden 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.Nothingtoobad 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?Youinsultedmelast 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 saidtwo weeksago?”

“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 aworddown. I’m going to put a curse on your family forgenerations.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 didthe same. I twisted my shoulder to get through, stumbling as I stepped into the room.

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