With the passing of the days, writing a single line comes easier. Though I can’t find the courage to write as much as I did that first day, but being able to create a little makes me feel like I’m flying. I write the sentence in the morning, just before heading to school, and Ryuji answers with his own once he gets back home from school. We continue to write notes to each other, sometimes talking about the story we’re building, other times about homework.

Occasionally, he’ll ask about my curse. Each time, I don’t know what to say, so I tell him it’s fine, which is a big, fat lie. I can feel it spreading even though the dark smudge on my arm looks the same. I try not to worry about it, telling myself I have plenty of time to keep writing. As long as it doesn’t spread across my entire arm, I should be good. Once it does, though, the curse will finally take full effect and I’ll die. That is, if the books I borrowed from the library on curses and the nurses at the hospital are to be trusted. Still, every morning when I wake up and remember that it’s there, my stomach ties itself into knots that won’t ease until I’m lost in the worlds of stories.

Every Friday, Ryuji shows up at my door without fail. After that one time, he hasn’t let me back out. I find it both frustrating and a tiny bit comforting, knowing that I finally have a friend. And that friend is doing everything he can to keep our friendship going.

Before I know it, a whole month has passed, and find myself writing a little portion of story in my mathematics notebook. The words flow from my pen, and I become lost within their intoxicating grip. I can almost see the world I paint before my eyes. A young girl finds herself on the beach, listening for signs of the one single entity that contains magic. In this world, there is no magic. They thrive solely on the work of their own hands. The idea is so fantastical that it sends a shiver down my spine. This entity communicates through music, something only the girl can hear. And that entity tells her she is destined to destroy the world. The girl can’t believe it at first, but as she moves along—

Footsteps thump down the hall and I freeze, my pen carving a black line across the page. It’s Mom. She might come into my room. She might see what I’ve done. Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for her footsteps to pass. Seconds pass. Finally, I hear her bedroom door swing shut.

I stare at my paper. I’ve written three whole pages of story in my math notebook.

She’s going to find out.

Three whole pages. That’s more than I’ve written in years.

She’s going to find out and she’s going to kill me.

I drop my pen and rip the pages from the notebook, crumpling them between my fists. I have to hide the evidence. I’ll have to tear the pages up, or burn them, something, anything to hide the evidence. I know she checks my school notebooks. I’ve seen her do it many times. I stand and pad toward my trashcan. I’ll throw them in the burnables bin, along with everything else so she won’t know—

I believe in you, Keelin. Ryuji’s voice echoes in my head, bringing me to a halt. Carefully, I smooth out the pages and look down at them. This. This is my own hard work. My own precious magic. Am I really willing to let Mom take this away from me?

I can still feel her presence, as if she can see through her door and mine, straight to me. My back prickles and I shudder. No matter what, I can’t destroy these pages. But what should I do with them.

My legs give out and I fall to the floor. Ryuji. I want to call him and ask him what to do so bad, but I hold back. I can’t bother him about every little thing. He’ll get annoyed with me.

Think about the contest. Think about the money. We can help Dad and Anwell.

If I put my all into this contest, if I win, then I can hand the money over to Dad. He can use it for Anwell’s hospital bills and any other debt he may have. It’s my only option.

Firming my jaw, I fold the pages and tuck them into my school bag, then shove the bag under my bed. I must do this. If not for myself, then for Dad. For Anwell.