Stacy

The clock above the board ticked too loudly for how quiet the lecture hall was supposed to be. A hundred students packed into rows of desks, but half of them were already scrolling through their phones, half-listening at best.

Professor Jacobs was at the front, a marker pen in his hand as he wrote the words Creative Writing 201: Narrative Tension across the board in neat block letters.

His voice was soft and barely audible, a little nasal behind those large wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like someone who never quite shook off his shyness.

He didn’t have the booming charisma of the other professors, but I… didn’t mind that....