The Heartbroken - S01 E92

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The Heartbroken - S01 E92

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 92

“You never told me

what Miss Adams

wanted to talk to you

about.” Seth was

driving me home when

he brought it up again.

I stopped rummaging

through his CDs long

enough to recall that

little p--n conversation

we had. Wait, that

sounded wrong. Stifling

a groan at the memory,

I picked up the All Time

Low album—Nothing

Personal— I’d casually

dismissed back then

and put it on. “Um. She

asked me if I was

interested in joining this

writing competition.”

The flyer was safely

tucked between my

books in my bag. I was

surprised I hadn’t

already burned a hole

through it, seeing as I’d

spent the rest of the

day staring at it and

studying the details.

The deadline for the

sample submission was

at the end of the

month, just two weeks

from now. The results

from the pre-elimination

would be sent to us

through e-mail by the

end of the holiday

break, a full month

from the deadline.

“You write?” he said.

“That’s the point. I

don’t.” The first track

played, a catchy tune

with mild instrumental

accompaniment for the

verse. I wasn’t much of

an All Time Low fan—

mainly because Cedric

preferred the old,

classic bands—but they

seemed pretty good.

More than just pretty

good, in fact. “I mean,

not really. She read my

assignments and she

sort of liked them, I

guess.”

I studied the album

case—the first track

was titled Weightless,

which I read just as the

word came out of the

scratchy speakers.

“I want to read them.”

“Um, no. I’m really not

that good,” was my

immediate reply.

“Says the girl joining a

writing contest.”

The music began picking

up.

“It’s not—I don’t—I

haven’t even decided if

I was going to join.” I

fiddled with the album

case. “I don’t really

think I’m good enough

to join.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s

not like you’d lose

anything by joining,” he

said it matter-of-factly,

eyes on the road. “See,

listen to the song. Go up

and do something. Don’t

waste another minute

pass with you going

nowhere.”

I rolled my eyes at him,

but the truth was, I

was really considering it

now. The music

blasted, lively and

upbeat and downright

awesome.

“So, can I read your

work?” he said,

sounding like he was

ready to persuade me if

I kept saying no.

Which was exactly my

reply.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m

just curious.”

“How ‘bout I let you

read my work if you let

me see yours?” I

suggested.

“I don’t write.”

“I meant your

drawings.”

He thought about it. I

actually surprised

myself by the offer I’d

just made. “Does it

have to be an old

drawing? All my

sketches are at home.”

“Maybe you can stay

for a while at my house

to draw something.”

“Okay,” he agreed

slowly, almost unsurely,

and then more

confidently, “okay.

Deal.”

While listening to All

Time Low (I was

seriously considering

stealing Seth’s album),

we came up with the

decision that he’d make

a quick sketch of me.

When he’s done, I’d let

him read my work.

My mom wasn’t home

when we got there. I

reluctantly left the CD in

the car and went in.

I fixed some snacks for

us before climbing up to

my room, Seth trailing

behind me as we

argued over cheese and

salsa as the better dip

(I was pro-salsa, of

course). I hadn’t had

time to clean my room

up and I apologized to

Seth for the mess.