“A writing competition, huh?” Itra thought over the idea I proposed to her, “And you want me to join you as an editor?”

We sat in our usual studying spots. I sat in front of Itra, who had shelves of books surrounding her, while I sat on the open side of the section of the library. If I wanted to, I could go to the walkway much easier, just by standing up and stepping backwards. Itra sat in a pretty cramped area, compared to me. Maybe she did that on purpose, so that I would have the better seat.

“That’s right,” I confirmed Itra’s statement, “I would feel a lot safer if you were backing me up in there.”

Itra read over the flier that Harry lent me, “Well, alright, but are you sure you want me to be the one with you? Aren’t there better choices?”

“No one could possibly perform as my editor as well as you could,” I answered, “plus, you’re more familiar with my writing, so you could easily treat this as just another piece of writing for you to correct, right?”

“Well, I haven’t checked over an entire story by you before,” Itra mumbled, “but I’m willing to try. When does it start?”

“Yesterday,” I responded, “but we have a month to get the story completed.”

“Just one month?” Itra questioned, furrowing her brows, “Will really be enough time to finish a story?”

“I hope it will be,” I told her, “we’ll just submit a story on the short side.”

“That could work, but what will you write?” Itra asked, “What kind of story will you be writing?”

“Uh, I didn’t think that far ahead yet,” I admitted, “what do you think I would do best at?”

“You’re asking me?” Itra tilted her head in a showy fashion, “I’m not good at the story part of things, remember?”

“Still,” I insisted, “I want your opinion.”

“M-my opinion, huh?” Itra’s shoulders slouched forwards as she shrunk backwards, “I’d just say to stick around genres that would keep you around the things I’ve taught you for now, since that would be what you’re most familiar with.”

“You’ve only been teaching me the basics though,” I pointed out, “what story won’t need detailed sentences?”

“That was kind of the point…” Itra continued to grow smaller, slinking lower into her seat, “I really don’t know what to tell you, just do what you really like talking or writing about. I’ve never been good at the creative part of writing, so my input wouldn’t be very...valid.”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I came up with, “So, maybe I should write about you?”

“Huh? Me? You talk about me a lot?” Itra’s hair rocked from her head tilt, “Excuse me, but exactly what kinds of things have you been saying about me?”

“O-oh, uh, I mean,” my eyes broke contact with Itra’s, “er, it’s just…”

“Illate,” Itra’s eyes bore into my form, which imitated her shrinking movements from earlier, “What are you hiding from me?”

“It’s really nothing,” I tried to assure her, “I just write about you a lot!”

“Huh? You write about me a lot?” Itra’s intimidating glare disappeared, replaced by curiosity, “What do you mean by that?”

“In my journal,” I explained, “I write about you in reference to our study sessions.”

“Oh,” Itra’s expression relaxed, “so that’s it, phew.”

“That’s right,” I told her, “ I could never say anything that put you in a bad light.”

“I doubt that,” Itra refuted, “there’s a lot of negative things you can say about me.”

“Well I refuse to say anything bad about you,” I stated, “never will I ever.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Itra acknowledged, “b-but let’s focus on that story.”

Itra gave an awkward smile, to signal the end of our brief banter. After that, she shifted back into her business-like mode. We still had to figure out what I would write about, so I began brainstorming.

My brain ran over the many lessons we had, and I thought about the prompts that Itra prepared for me before. One of the paragraphs I had the most memory of was the assignment that described the ball. I recalled naming the dance partner, Octavia, I think I chose.

“Hmm,” I hummed as I thought over the ideas that began to bombard my head, “Octavia…I like that name…”

“Huh? What are you thinking about? Do you have a good story idea?” Itra bombarded me with questions, “isn’t Octavia that one name you used for the paragraph corrections we did on Friday?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking of making a story based on that,” I explained, “maybe I can turn a focus on a relationship between that narrator and that character…”

With my brain being filled with too many ideas that it could process, I quickly grabbed a piece of paper to help with the amount being generated by my head. I dragged my pencil across the note sheet with such speed that the words formed almost incoherently. My pencil barely lifted off the looseleaf, causing it to resemble cursive writing.

“I didn’t expect so many ideas of yours to flow onto your notes so fast,” Itra commented while stretching her arms across the table, “you’re almost running out of space already…”

“Really? This is a pretty slow pace for me,” I responded, “also, I got everything ready to get us a spot on their list, a synopsis and a title.”

“You have it ready? Let me see,” Itra lifted herself up to see what I had written, “Hmm…”

My synopsis read: “Two young orphans were put together in an old orphanage, stuck with each other. At first, the two disliked each other, but as time passed, they were the only two left for each other. Now they are together in the vast open world, with their only home in each other.”

“This is interesting,” Itra reacted with widened eyes, “what are you naming the story?”

“I’m thinking of keeping it simple,” I shared, “maybe something like The Octavia-Based Story, or something.”

“Okay,” Itra stood up with all her things, “then let’s go submit this and our information to the teachers.”

This marks the beginning of the first major event I shared with Itra.