When I got to class, she was also there, sitting with her noisy friend. She was mostly silent, just listening to her friend babble on. The teacher called my name and I raised my hand. Her friend elbowed her and motioned to me. She looked back at me and I looked back at her. We stared at each other for a few seconds before her friend whispered something to her and she looked away. I kept looking for a few seconds and only looked away when she started looking back at me. After that, I pretended my damnedest not to notice her.

A few months into the semester, she and her friends approached me.

“So they told us you’re a writer,” her friend said.

“Yes,” I said.

“They said you’re very good,” her friend continued.

“I suppose so, depending on whom you ask.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, for pretty much everyone else, I seem to be good. But for me and everyone who’re really good, I suck.”

“We’re looking for writers for the school paper. You should send us a sample.”

“Okay,” I shrugged. As they turned to leave, I called them back.

“Wait!” I said as I pulled a pen and paper out of my bag and scribbled for a few minutes. “There,” I handed the paper to her.

“What is this?” she asked.

“My writing sample.”

“You wrote this on the spot?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You fucking liar.”

I shrugged. Her friend grabbed the paper and read for a few seconds. “There’s no way you wrote this just now,” she said in disbelief. “This is a memorized piece.”

“Whatever you want to believe,” I said and turned to walk away. I got to a couple of steps before she called me back.

“Wait,” she looked annoyed to be admitting it. “We want you with us,” she mumbled.

“Rosie!” her friend exclaimed. “This has to be a memorized piece. No one could come up with something this good on the spot.”

I walked back to them and stopped a few inches from her. I got my notebook filled with most of what I wrote since I started writing and gave it to her.

“You can read this at your own leisure and give it back anytime you’re finished. Just don’t lose it.” I smiled at her and walked away.

She and her friend approached me the next day.

“We owe you an apology, don’t we?” she said, nudging her friend.

“Okay, okay. I was wrong,” her friend relented. “It really infuriates me that he could be this good without even trying. And I hate how I wish I wrote the things he did.”

“That’s okay,” I tell her friend.

“She’s Bethany by the way,” she said, pointing at her friend before smiling and extending her hand to me.

“Dex,” I answered, taking her hand and shaking it softly. “And you’re…” I motioned, slowly pointing at her.

“Emma.”

“I know.” I smiled.

“But my friends call me Rosie.”

“I’ll take note of that.”

“Here’s your notebook. Safe and in one piece.”

I took it back and put it inside my bag.

“Oh, you could’ve lost it and I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nah. Those were my throwaway pieces,” I winked at her, laughing inside.

“Braggart,” she said, rolling her eyes.

And that’s how Emma and I became friends.