Free Teaching Willow: Session Two by Paige James Page A

that I am.
    I can’t let him find out. Not like this. Not. Like. This.
    I take another step back, away from Ebon. “It’s called art, Ebon. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m trying to learn a craft. I’m trying to learn how to use different perspectives and different tones, different emotions. Normally, I wouldn’t throw them all into one story in such a disjointed way, but since you’re using this as part of my grade…I wanted to show you what I can do.”
    My heart is a fluttering wildly inside my chest, a butterfly frantically trying to escape the confines of its cocoon. I can’t be sure anything I just said makes sense, but the beauty is that I’m a student. Worst case scenario, Ebon thinks I have no clue what I’m talking about. And I won’t disabuse him of that notion. He can think what he wants to. As long as he doesn’t think the truth.
    I can see by the look on Ebon’s face that he doesn’t believe me. But, whatever he’s thinking, it seems it’s far from the truth. I don’t think he’d be this calm if he’d gleaned any amount of real veracity from my story.
    “Willow, I’m not criticizing you. I’m simply asking if I should be worried. About you or about Sage. You seem so conflicted. I can’t help but wonder what could be causing such an intense war in such a sweet, young character.”
    His gaze is soft now, soft and inviting. It would be all too easy to be lulled by his interest, his concern. By the insightful way he can see into my soul sometimes.
    But it would be a mistake to let down my guard. One small misstep, one tiny blunder and my house of cards would come crashing down around me.
    “It’s fiction, Ebon,” I state calmly. “Just fiction.”
    His eyes narrow the slightest bit, a reaction to my casual use of his first name. Yet another gaffe on my part. I’ve got to be more careful!
    “But you also told me that it was your interpretation of your sister’s feelings toward me.”
    “Parts of it are. And parts of it aren’t. I already told you that a big portion of it is artistic license. Nothing more.”
    I don’t mention the sex scenes specifically. Just talking about that with Ebon could be a problem for me. I feel flustered already. That would only make matters exponentially worse.
    He stares at me. I resist the urge to squirm. Instead, I put all my focus into maintaining a carefully neutral expression.
    “It’s good, Willow,” he finally says, backing up a step as well. “It’s very good.” His gorgeous lips curve into a lopsided smile. “I guess you know it is when your readers have trouble distinguishing between what’s real and what’s not.”
    For one heartbeat, for the space of one short burst of air sucked into my lungs, I see something flicker in Ebon’s eyes. It’s heat. The heat I thought I’d seen before is there again, staring back at me. Only this time, I know I’m not imagining it. I’ve seen it in his eyes dozens of times. As Sage.
    Before I can even properly analyze it, before I can figure out what to do with it, it’s gone, replaced by this new casual ambivalence he’s giving me.
    “I guess I’d better let you get back to your volunteering,” he says with a cool, professional smile. “I’ll be anxious to read the rest.”
    I say nothing. I just smile. I imagine the gesture that I force onto my face is every bit as politely indifferent as his seems to be. I watch Ebon walk away, waiting until the door closes quietly behind him before I drop into a squat. I wrap my trembling arms around my bent legs and squeeze my eyes shut. I wonder how much more I can take of this kind of stress and deceit. It’s taking a toll. Maybe not on Sage, but it sure is on Willow. And Willow stopped her meds a while back.
    Am I asking for trouble? Can Ebon see something in my writing that I can’t even see myself?
    Neither those questions nor the million-and-one others floating around in my head have answers. And tonight I’m too exhausted, too emotionally