A week had passed. Genesis was beginning to fit in. She was tentative friends with Dante, and she was good friends with Jazzy, and Daina seemed to tolerate her. She was steadily working on her story, and Heather Fairchild and the other two authors were coming themselves in two days to begin observing the camp and even give some lectures!

They were in a free-writing class, and Genesis was busy brainstorming for her story. It had to be something superb! She’d already decided on a plot, and she had all her characters developed. The only thing to do now was make the story.

“Fifteen minutes,” the professor announced, “and then lunch.”

Genesis began writing faster, ignoring her cramping hand. She was conducting an “interview” with Gloria, her main character, asking her for her thoughts on different brainstormed events. Obviously it was a rather one-sided conversation, but it was one of Genesis’ favorite ways of brainstorming.

Fifteen minutes was over too soon, and Genesis made her way through the crowded hallways towards lunch. She and Jazzy sat together as usual, but Jazzy was still scrawling things out in a notebook. She looked up periodically, then looked back down and wrote faster.

“Whatcha doing?” Genesis wanted to know.

“Journaling,” Jazzy mumbled the reply. “I’m doing a description exercise.”

“Cool. Can I see?” Genesis asked.

“Sure, if you don’t mind reading about yourself,” Jazzy shrugged, handing her the notebook.

Genesis smiled and took the entry.

Genesis Yates sits across the table. When we’re sitting, she’s no taller than I am, but she’s taller when we stand up. She lifts a fork with her right hand and begins picking at her salad, avoiding the cucumbers like they’re odd, juicy aliens. She brushes a lock of straight, light brown hair behind her ear and peers at me curiously with deep, Mediterranean green eyes. Her brows are slightly furrowed, making a crease in her pale, untarnished forehead, but it’s hard to see because of the rim of her glasses. What can you tell about Genesis Yates?

“Nice,” Genesis grinned, handing the notebook back. “Good description.”

“It’s not too good yet,” Jazzy said. “That’s why I’m practicing.”

“Raphael started with a sketch,” Genesis reminded her.

Jazzy suddenly slammed the notebook closed. “Oh, what am I doing?”

“Beautiful writing. Are you gonna have that chicken wing?” Genesis asked.

Jazzy grinned and tossed it at her. “Have at it.”

“Have you started making your entry for the contest yet?” Genesis asked, viciously molesting the crispy hunk of chicken muscle.

“Yeah,” Jazzy nodded.

“What’s it about?” Genesis wanted to know.

“I’ll never tell,” Jazzy smirked, cackling like a witch. “What’s yours about?”

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Genesis grinned.

“Okay, truce,” Jazzy chuckled. “Share our stories two days before, agreed?”

Genesis nodded, and Jazzy continued scribbling in her notebook and picking at her lettuce.