The Writer

Chapter Two

"Hey, Xander. I just got told that the dance team is actually talking to people at the main dance studio. They don't have a stand here on the central quad," Ollie told me in the midst of all the noise. We were both at the main quad that was presently flooded with students. Clubs and groups had canopies and stands set up, and were constantly calling out to the students who passed by, asking them to check them out. 

"Okay," I muttered, turning to face Ollie. He was standing next to me, squinting down at his phone as he scrolled through it.

"So I can leave? Should we meet up later today? Are you even sure there are writing groups around here?" Ollie asked, looking around the field to observe the stands.

"I think so, it's not like there's a central writing group run by the school or anything," I said, looking about the place as well, wishing in my mind that the sun would take it easy on us a bit. It was September — you'd think the weather would have started catching on to the fall spirit. 

"Okay, bye then. I'll call you when I'm done," Ollie said, before disappearing into the crowd. When he was completely out of sight I turned my gaze to the flood of students, tents, stands, and tables ahead. I took in a deep breath, heading to wear there was a central sign where we could sort of figure out where each group was located across the field.

I let out a sigh of relief when I spotted a couple of writing groups on the list. Now, to find their stands. I thought to myself as I started my search for them. Along the way I stopped by some stands, pretending I was interested in joining them just to pick up some free stuff. Before I made it to the center of the field where the writing groups were supposed to be, I already had a bag filled with free pens, notebooks, highlighters and other free things. 

"Hey, how are you?" The dark skinned girl behind the table asked me as I stopped by it. I smiled at her, looking at the setup to be sure I was at the right one. 

"Is this a writing group?" I asked, noting the people at the corner holding on to books as they talked.

"Yup," she said with a wider smile, pushing a flier towards me. "You don't have to sign up now. There are also a bunch of other writing groups on campus, the only difference being the days we meet. You can copy our blog link and get back to us later."

"Okay," I muttered, typing the link into my phone's notes. I read through the link again to check that I hadn't copied down the wrong link. 

"Hello."

"Hey, are you here to sign up?" the girl asked, making me look up from my phone to turn behind me. I felt my face warm up when I saw Maxwell standing right behind me with a smile on his face. 

"Yes, I am," he said, smiling at the person behind the desk before walking to stand beside me to pick up the sign up sheet that was attached to a wooden clipboard. I watched him write down his name in his messy handwriting that could only remind me of the comic sans font. When I realized I wasn't really doing anything but standing and staring, I found myself scanning the wooden table to look for what to busy myself with. For some reason I didn't want to leave the desk — leave Maxwell.

"Hey." Although I had been expecting Maxwell to say something, the sound of his voice still made me jump a bit — so much so that I dropped my bag that I'd been holding under my arm all this while.

"I'm sorry," he said, bending down to pick it up for me. I just stood there, watching him pack everything back into it before getting up and handing it over to me. "Sorry for startling you."

"It's okay," I muttered, taking my bag from him before watching as he put his hands into the pockets of his cargo jeans. He was wearing a loose button up shirt, with muddy sneakers. 

"Are you joining this writing group?" I asked, making him chuckle a bit. 

"I mean, I wrote my name down on the sign-up sheet a couple of minutes ago, that's kind of an obvious yes," he laughed, making my face grow warmer as I looked away. 

"Sorry for asking."

"You're always saying sorry."

I looked straight at him, frowning a bit before opening my mouth. It seemed like my mind couldn't decide on anything to say back so I just kept my mouth shut. I barely used to talk to him back in high school, but he was right — anytime he did talk to me I always ended up apologizing for one thing or the other. I don't know — I just felt like I was messing up our interactions in some way or the other.

"I'm taking WRT 101 instead of a compulsory English class, so I need all the help I can get. That's why I'm joining a writing group," he explained, answering the question I'd been too dazed to ask. I nodded, muttering a small 'oh' under my breath at his words. 

"So, what are you up to?" he asked, smiling at me a bit, moving a bit to the side to allow someone who'd just showed up access to the stand.

I stared at him, not really knowing what to say. It took me a while to realize he was trying to start a conversation. I blinked, apologizing under my breath as I made to answer him. "I just came to join this really. A friend of mine went down to the dance studio to sign up for the group, so I guess I'm just waiting for their call now," I said, running a hand through my hair as I looked straight at him. 

"What about you?" Yes, asking follow up questions were the cheapest ways to make sure a conversation continued. 

"Nothing much, I'm just looking around. I have to audition for the school orchestra so that's something to look forward to," he said, smiling at me. His ginger hair was sitting on his shoulders in curls, and I couldn't help staring at him as he clicked his tongue. It was a habit of his that confused me, at the same time peaking my interest. 

The not so official stare down was ended when I looked down at my jean's pockets when I felt my phone vibrate. I took it out, swiping the screen so that I could answer the call.

"Hello?"

"I'm done, Xander."

"Oh, Ollie," I said, realizing it was him. 

"Who else would be calling you at this time genius," he said from the other end. I could picture him rolling his eyes. "I'm at the cafeteria in the student union building, you can meet me there," he said, hanging up.

"You're leaving?" Maxwell called out when I started to walk away. I turned, nodding. 

"Yeah," I muttered, stopping in my tracks. "My friend's done signing up."

"Oh, see you around campus then," Maxwell said before turning away from me. I looked at him for a while, before scolding myself mentally for staring. I walked away, heading into the main crowd before making my way to the student union building that was about a five minutes walk from the main quad. 

I felt my face warm up as I walked into the building and headed for the cafeteria. Maxwell and I had really had a conversation. An actual one where I'd said a few things back. I could feel a smile form on my face, and I was sure it was still visible when I walked up to Ollie who was sitting on a two-person table, he looked up at me with a raised brow.

"Did something happen? You look like Christmas came early."

It did. I said in my mind, but I shook my head in reality as I took the seat across from him. We talked for a while, but the happiness I was feeling was starting to make my fingers itch to write. I placed my bag on the table, before going through it in search of my journal. 

"Is something wrong?" Ollie asked when I let out a frustrated sigh.

"No," I said rather too quickly, making it obvious to Ollie that I was lying. He didn't poke me about it, he just sighed before he continued to sip juice from the cup he was holding in his hand. I continued to search, but decided to try and calm myself down. Maybe I left it back at our room? I might not have taken it out with me at all. 

"You're still looking for something, what?" Ollie asked, making me look up from my bag. I bit my bottom lip, thinking of whether I should tell him before I decided it was okay.

"My journal."

"It's a journal. It will be at the lost and found her in the student union building by tomorrow. Don't worry about it, lectures don't officially start until Monday—"

"You don't understand—"

"You said it's a journal. No one wants to steal a journal, or is it covered in gold or something? You'll get it back, okay, so don't get worried" Ollie said. I frowned at him, but I didn't say anything in response. If it was any regular journal, sure, fine — I wouldn't panic, but it wasn't. It was the journal with my story with Maxwell. Yes, that journal.

I got up from my seat, deciding to stand in line for food in other to calm myself down. I hadn't used full names, and I didn't know anyone personally on campus yet. It would just read like a smutty fan-fiction to anyone who picked it up. Sure it would be a little embarrassing to pick it up from the lost and found, but it's not like the person who would drop it off would ever know me. 

"Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts," I muttered under my breath, trying not to freak out in the middle of the crowded cafeteria. 

I might have not even left my room with it. Although my thought was calming, I had a gut feeling deep down that said that wasn't the case at all.

I needed to find my journal.