“You should really start writing again, you were really great.” Abygail popped the bubble she was making with her gum. “Yea, I miss all that crazy talk you used to do.” Sam ran a hand through her curly orangey blonde hair. “Yea and you should go to a real hair salon to get your hair done,” I rolled my eyes, knowing it was one of the many things she wouldn’t do. “I swore off going to hair salons because of a traumatic experience. You on the other hand, have no excuse.” I shook my head again, “I was never cut out to be a writer. I was never good enough, I don’t want to get my hopes up. That’s a legitimate reason.” Abygail stood up and slid her leather jacket back on. “I’m heading out but seriously this isn’t a problem a dare can’t fix.” There was a snapping sound as she let her bubble gum pop again and the two of us just sat there watching her leaving the room, and neither of us made a sound until she left the room. “She’s got a point.” Sam mumbled. As if on cue the door opened again and Abygail stuck her head through the half open door and said “You’re welcome.” She flashed us her signature evil plotting smile which stretched ear to ear showing off her dimples. Within seconds she turned around and left, the door shutting behind her again. We both let out a little laugh rolling our eyes. “Does she always know?” My phone rang, a text message.
YEP I handed my phone to Sam who just shook her head. “So a dare she says, maybe it’s worth a shot.” I shrug. “Maybe.” I repeated.
Sam was sitting in a hair salon chair staring daggers at me, while I just smiled back at her. The hair stylist was finally starting to get over the shock of how badly bleached and coloured Sam’s hair was. Hours later we walked out of the salon with Sam’s hair freshly dyed into a nice even blonde. Her long curls looked so much more healthy then they had ever been. As much as she hated to admit it, she loved it, and was probably questioning why she didn’t get over her fear of hair stylists any sooner? “Your turn.” Sam said to me as we got into the car. “Yea yea. How am I going to do it?” I backed out of the parking lot driving home. Sam was playing with her curls, spinning them around her fingers and watching her hair bounce. I pulled into my driveway and tapped her shoulder to bring her out of her little trance. “Time to get out,” we walked right into my living room and Sam grabbed my laptop. “Time to write!” I took the laptop and set it on my lap and turned it on. “Write a short story, I’ll go make some coffee.” She was still all happy and bouncy as she walked into my kitchen and went through my drawers looking for the coffee pods and mugs. I settled into my spot and opened a new document. “Give me a topic!” I yelled back at her. “A summer dancer rising to fame or something.” I smiled. I wanted to be a dancer when I was little. “What a first line?” The smell of coffee started to fill the house. “What, do you want me to write the whole story?” She brought the mugs and handed one out to me. I accepted it, taking a sip. A few hours later I had written about two paragraphs, Sam had left, and drowned about four cups of coffee. I was on decaf now.
A week later Sam looked over what I had written so far and put marks all over it. “This. Is. Awful.” I was frustrated, she wanted me to start writing again, and she was the one that hated my writing. “So what do you want me to do?” “Start over.” It was just as plain and blunt as that. I snatched my laptop back from her hands and went back home. I stared at the corrections she made, and I thought it over. I really can’t believe I ever wanted to be a writer. I’m not a writer, I never was, and Sam just wanted to remind me of that. I spent the next few days locked up in my room binge watching whatever I could find on youtube. That was until Sam barged into my room. “What do you think you’re doing?” I raised an eyebrow. “Watching a movie...” I didn’t know what she wanted to hear. “You’re just going to sit there and do nothing and give up on everything just because of a few harsh words I said?” I rolled my eyes. “You forced me back into this. It’s not my fault.” She took my laptop and opened up the doc I had yet to delete. She passed it back to me and said one word. “Write.”
A month later I had finished writing my novel. I was proud, it was interesting, it hooked anyone at any chapter whenever I shared it with anyone. A murder mystery revolving around a girl who always wanted to be a dancer. A dancer was killed in front of everyone, right in the middle of a competition, and nobody knew who did it. Sam convinced me to submit my manuscript to a couple places, and it felt like it was actually going somewhere. I looked into writing competitions, submitted bits of my novel trying to get some money for it. Things were starting to work out well, and I ended up starting to write a sequel while waiting to hear back from publishers. Things were looking up, and I could finally remember why I wanted to be a writer before. It was my passion, and with time, practice only made me better.
Abygail knocked on my door impatiently, she always hated waiting outside. Especially in the sun. The idea of getting even the slightest tan would probably kill her. I ran down the stairs and opened the door. “Hey, ready to go?” I looked down at my outfit, smoothing out the bottom half of my dress. I smiled at her and walked out, locking the door behind me. “Let's go celebrate!” We got into her car, “But I think you owe me a thank you first.” She flashed me her evil smile again. I shot her a confused look. “Why?” “I do believe I was the one who got you started on your path of fame.” I laughed. “Thanks.”