But there is no mistake because Marie keeps going, listing off the rest of the partnerships while I’m left reeling. I can tell Rio is saying something to me, and I know that Blake is probably hurling British insults under his breath, but I honestly can’t hear a thing because all I can think is that if this isn’t a joke—and sadly, it doesn’t seem to be—I’m not really sure what I’ve done to deserve it. Has Marie hated me this whole time? Maybe she has. Maybe she thinks I’m untalented, or a hack. Maybe all those As were just pity grades and now her real feelings are coming out. Maybe I’ve done something to her or said something or written something that she’s found offensive, and this is her chance to get back at me. I mean, this is turning something I love into a living hell. I would rather get a bad grade than have to work—fucking write—with Blake.
I have to talk to her after class. I have to explain that there’s been a mistake and I’m sorry for whatever way I’ve wronged her (is it possible she’s telepathic and she’s read my thoughts about her eyebrow hair? Because if so, I’m very, very sorry). I will work with anyone else at all, but this, I don’t deserve this. The art of writing doesn’t deserve this.
But after she’s spent the class droning on and on about the dangers of adverbs and passive sentence structure and I finally approach her, it’s apparent she doesn’t feel the same way I do.
“The pairings were entirely random,” she tries to assure me as she gathers up her notes, the class quickly emptying, no one else apparently having issues like I do. “That said, I don’t think there’s anyone in this class that will impede your ability to tell a story.”
“It’s just that…” I’m searching for a way to say this without sounding like a total brat. “I take writing seriously. And for my final assignment, I really don’t want to do this entire class—and you—an injustice by ruining everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
She gives me a quick smile and places her hands, long fingers adorned with turquoise rings, on my shoulders. “You will not ruin anything, Amanda,” she says, looking me dead in the eyes. “You’re a great writer with a lot of talent. But you’re young and you have a lot to learn. Writing isn’t just about exposing ourselves. It’s about learning. I think your partnership with Blake, with anyone really, will teach you things you never knew you needed to know.”
And just like that she leaves the room and leaves me stewing over her mumbo jumbo.
I’m lucky I don’t have any other classes after this one, so I get in my car and immediately head home. Well, first I stop by the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine, then I head home, prepared to unleash all my pent-up rage upon poor Ana.
Only Ana isn’t home. Then I remember she said she had a date after class with some guy she met on a dating app for divorcées. I should be relieved that I’m alone, and happy that she’s seeing someone, but I’m not either of those things, and even though it’s not dark yet, I open the bottle of pinot gris and pour myself a glass, then I open a can of cheese ravioli and heat it up. I sit at the small oak table in our kitchen that Ana has adorned with an embroidered coral and white runner, watch the sun go down through the narrow windows, and try and think my way through this while eating my single girl meal.
I decide to text Rio.
How much sadder can my life get? Not only am I paired with Blake, I’m drinking pinot and eating canned ravioli by myself. At least it’s organic.
She doesn’t respond right away, but that doesn’t surprise me. Rio is currently going through a string of fuck-boys, and who knows, she might still be looking for her bra.
I shovel the ravioli in my mouth and sigh. Marie is testing me. She wants to see what I’m made of. She wants me to prove that I really can write and handle whatever is thrown my way. That’s fine. I’ll have to rise to the challenge. It won’t be pretty, but I will get it done.
By the time I’m halfway through the bottle, I’m feeling more empowered and emboldened than ever. Not enough to answer a call coming through from my mother, the usual guilt trip over my life choices and a very detailed update on how poor forsaken Alan is doing, but enough to write an email to my new partner.
At the start of the school year, Marie made us all exchange phone numbers and emails with each other. I guess she wanted a community feel to the group, especially considering that we would all be sharing our writing. Naturally, I haven’t used the contact info for anything since I’ve really only made an effort with Rio, but the time has come to reach out and make peace.
Be the bigger person, I tell myself. Nip this in the bud.
Hey Blake,
It’s Amanda from Writing 200. Just wanted to touch base with you before the weekend regarding our writing assignment. I’m cognizant that we possess a lot of freedom with this byzantine project, but even so I think we need to discuss our intent and the subsequent strategy we need to follow. We only have so many weeks and I think the sooner that we establish a schedule, as well as all the normal logistics such as story, plot, and characters, the sooner we’ll have a chance at success, ensuring this partnership will be an easy one. Providing, of course, that we remain disciplined and meticulous throughout the endeavor.
I’m available anytime this weekend if you want to get together to discuss our implementation. I think if we distillate on the main points during our initial meeting, we can complete the assignment on our own without much interference from each other going forth.