Unfortunately, tonight I’m not writing anything. I’m staring at my blank screen, trying to think of a topic for a “dynamic personal essay” that doesn’t require me to splash my family problems across the page, but could still win me an internship at a major teen magazine next summer. Which would be a very exciting step up from the job I have lined up this summer at our local tourist magazine, Lake Lights.

“What are you working on?” Emma does not have a problem asking me about my writing. Or anything.

“It’s an essay contest for this—” I pick up the magazine from the counter next to me, the lead actress from my favorite book-to-screen adaptation smiling on the cover. “The winner gets an internship this winter.”

“Oh my god, in New York or something?”

I wish. “No, remotely. But it would look amazing on my college applications.”

“True story.” She sets a pile of red and white fabric on the counter in front of me. “I have news too.” She smiles. “I got the job at The Cherry Pit. You’re looking at one of Riverton’s newest worst-dressed waitresses.” She pops her hands at her shoulders and dips in a little curtsy.

“Congrats,” I say, and I mean it, because it’s not easy finding a job in a small town when all of the college kids swoop back in for the summer.

“So what are you going to write about?”

I stare at the screen, filled with completely unrelated paragraphs that are all dead ends. Usually I write short stories—love stories. But this? I don’t feel like I’ve actually experienced anything worth writing fifteen hundred words about. “I have no idea.”

AIDEN