JACK: We did this activity in class where we had to turn our twenty-minute prose freewrite into a traditional haiku.

JACK: I had to send it to you. Hang later?

JACK: I wake up alone

phantom fingertips and lips

ghosts of you I keep

He’s determined to destroy me.

Sofía snaps her fingers in my face. “Chase, boo, come on.”

“Sorry.”

Another text from Jack.

JACK: Or this one (which I can’t share with the class. Or … can I?)

JACK: six inches, a bomb

in my hand. licked lips trip

wires. disarm me.

Yep. Definitely trying to give me a heart attack. Or at least a hard-on in the middle of class. I shove my phone back into my pocket, but my head is super fuzzy and warm.

Chloe is talking, and I’m not listening at all, but I catch the tail end: “So, basically, Sof and I want you to figure out what the point of this twin spark is and where the Prince and Knight’s story is going.”

“So you think I should have the Prince and the Knight explore each other, uh, I mean, um,” I stutter, still flustered from Jack’s haiku sext. “Their sparks.”

“Keep it PG now,” Chloe says with a laugh. “But yes.”

“Should I scrap the Witch altogether?” I ask. “Make it just about the Prince and Knight then? Tell me what to do!”

I knew this program would challenge me, but I didn’t expect so much pressure right off the bat. The mentorship with Professor McPherson would mean everything for my career. It would make the loans Mom took out for me worth it. I can’t disappoint her, or Chloe and Sofía, who also count on me doing well. Or myself. But I’ve never been good at loving myself.

Chloe shakes her head. “This is your story. You need to figure that out.”

“We’re just here to guide you, boo,” Sofía adds, leaving me no closer to figuring out where to go next.

At the end of class, Professor McPherson makes an announcement. “Real quick before you all go on your merry ways. This is a reminder that we’re nearing the end of September, which means story workshopping should be wrapping up and full renderings underway. Time moves quickly, so if you’re not paying attention, it’ll slip away. I expect to see fully animated storyboards and fleshed out scenes starting to be colorized by midterms.” She leans coolly against her desk in a multicolored paisley frock over 1960s Woodstock patchwork mom jeans. “Also, in mid-October, we have an exciting exhibit by a recent graduate in the college’s art gallery. I expect all of you to attend. Bring whomever you’d like.”

I immediately think of Jack. He’d love it.

Leila’s hand shoots up, and Chloe, Sofía, and I groan at once. “Professor, will this be an extra credit opportunity, perhaps?”