“No, silly. Just give me a hug. I’ll see you Sunday?”
Piper crosses the room and hugs her mom. “Of course. Tell Dad hi for me.”
“I will.” Mrs. Monroe shoots me a look. “I’ll tell him all about my night.”
“Okay, Mom, I think I hear Shauna calling you.”
“Hm?”
Piper gently turns her mom around and starts directing her out of the storeroom. I follow them, unable to hold in my grin. Maybe I haven’t kissed her yet, but there’s no mistaking that she wanted me to.
I have a feeling it’s going to beveryhard to concentrate during class tomorrow night.
Lori chosea seat front and center for tonight’s class. I try to keep my gaze off her, but every time I look at her, I see her string of emails. Wildly inappropriate, suggestive emails.
I mean, I met the woman for all of thirty seconds last week.
It’s not that I worry for my safety or anything, but I don’t really know what I’m going to say to her when class is through.
So I tactfully watch Piper instead, who is paying attention to the guest teacher.
Dr. Potts’s lecture on dialogue is well constructed and thorough. Pens scribble furiously around the room as he explains his points, and keyboards clack away while I sit near the front and watch Piper focus on her computer at the back.
Every so often, she lifts her gaze and peers directly at me, a tiny smirk on her lips. Caught.
The woman can probably feel my stare.
Thisis why I avoided her in school. She wrecks my focus.
“Another trick is to read it out loud,” Dr. Potts says. “Find a partner if you want and read the lines. Do they feel natural? Choppy? Dialogue can make or break a story, and there’s nothing worse than making characters sound like they’re just characters in a book. You want to create an immersiveexperience so your reader feels like they’reinsidethe story—that theyarethe character.”
His dos and don’ts are listed on a slide on the wall now, and everyone scrambles to finish writing them in their notes.
“Now, I want everyone to take five minutes and write out a scene. Two characters—three max. Your prompt is up on the board now.”
I glance up to read it:Two people discover they are assigned to the same seat.
This will be interesting. Dr. Potts sets a timer on his phone. “Begin!”
The keyboards go crazy. He crosses the front of the small stage area and takes a seat beside me. “The time is yours once this exercise is through, but I planned on having a few brave souls share with the class first so we can dissect them. It should only take a few minutes.”
“Take all the time you’d like. I planned to segue into voice next, but you’re welcome to take the entire hour if you’d like. It’s an important topic.”
“So is voice,” he counters. “You know, I’ve read your books, Mr. James.”
My spine straightens on impulse as I await the verdict. I’ve had all sorts of interactions with readers, and I dovery fewevents—everything from adoration to loathing. One man even pulled me aside to give me a list of everything he would have done differently in my debut novel.
It was mydebut. There’s an entire list of things I would do differently if I were to rewrite that story today. But I’m still proud of it, and I digress. This topic never fails to give me a wave of foreboding. It’s a horrible game ofWhich Way is This Going to Go?
Dr. Potts’s wrinkled eyes look sincere. “Love them. The two I’ve read were so gripping I couldn’t put them down. You should be teaching this dialogue class, young man.”
My relief is nearly palpable. “They get enough having me each week.”
He winks. “Doubt that.”
I avoid looking at Lori.
“Besides,” I say, the words spilling out before I can shovel them back in, “I’ve been dealing with a bit of writer’s block myself lately. I’m hoping to learn a thing or two from you.”
