“I’m going to go ahead and stop you right there.” Donna held up both her hands. “First, a bachelor’s degree in English does not make someone a good writer, and neither does an MFA, for that matter. Second, not everyone in my critique group is from my MFA program. And third…” Donna took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. “Maybe you don’t know this yet, but I’ve seen the look on your face when other writers read their stuff down at the Blue Spruce. You want this. I think you need to give yourself a chance.”

Clare dropped her eyes to the stack of journals in front of her. “What if I’m not any good?” she whispered.

Donna smiled. “Now, see, that question right there proves you’re a writer. You’ve already got all the self-doubt, and I see real potential for genuine, clinical-grade self-loathing.”

Clare smiled and shook her head.

“One week,” Donna said. “Pages, words, in my hands. Got it?”

Clare cleared her throat, swallowed, then sighed. “Okay. One week.”

Chapter 20

If You Leave

A Short Story by Clare Collins

He had been growing more and more frustrated with her ever since the recital. Frustrated and distant. She didn’t know what to say to him anymore. All he ever talked about was everything that had to do with him leaving. The date he was leaving, how long the drive out to Indiana would take, what the campus would be like, who his dormmates would be, when basketball practice started, what classes he would be taking in the fall—how over-the-moon excited he was about every single thing that had to do with him leaving Casper and getting on with his life.

Ever since the night of the recital, she hadn’t heard very much more about how worried he was to be leaving her behind. There hadn’t been any more tears, not out of him anyway, no more sad declarations of how much he would miss her, how impossible it was for him to imagine a life without her in it every day. If fact, lately, all she’d heard was exactly the opposite—how amazing college would be, how he couldn’t wait to get on the road. He was starting a whole new life.

She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to hear about it. She hated all of it and was incapable of hiding her true feelings; it had become next to impossible for her to even pretend to be happy for him.

The Tuesday before graduation, he had stopped at the mailbox on the way into the house and pulled out yet another large manila envelope. “It’s from Indiana!” he said as he smiled at her and held it over his head, the school’s distinct red trident-looking logo stamped next to the return address.

She raised her eyebrows, plastered on her weak smile, and nodded. “Great.”