This week was pretty hectic, as we are getting everything ready for my partner to move in. Still, I managed to get a few things crossed off my list, including:
- Uploading a new YouTube video
- Starting LIVINGSTON GIRLS edits
- Starting to plan a Skillshare class
- Planning the REFLECTIONS cover reveal (Monday)
- Editing for clients
Next week, I want to get through at least six chapters of edits, as well as filming and uploading a new YouTube video and hosting #MovingWriteAlong again!
Thanks again for your support, y’all. You’re the ones who make all this possible. <3
LG excerpt (chapter 1):
“Thought she’d be here,” Dad says as we enter my room.
“Who?” I ask.
“Your roommate, hon.” Mom shuts the door. “Wow, it’s bright in here.”
The reek of mothballs and disinfectant almost knocks me over. At my mom’s urging, I push past the smell. Wood paneling lines the wall, which unsettles me even though the whole building’s interior is wood. It’s not a big dorm room by any means, with just enough space between the twin beds to prevent awkward touching in the night, two dressers and two desks that have seen better days, and a gray-brown carpet. Beside the door sits a sink with a tiny mirror above it. Still, the room looks clean, and the big window lets in more light than I expected.
“Where do you want to start with these?” Dad asks.
It took half an hour to haul up the boxes. Unpacking is a brand-new hell I’m not prepared to face.
I walk toward the window. Livingston Academy is so sprawling, I doubt I’ll ever be able to find my way around. Even my residence hall is massive. Though there’s still a day before classes start, the lawn outside Meyer Dorm ripples with activity. A few girls sit on the stone steps leading up to the front doors. Others lean against the wrought-iron fencing or the building’s brick exterior, make small talk by the rose bushes, and stretch out on the browning grass.
A pang of yearning knifes my chest. I have to turn away.
I don’t have friends. All I have are my parents—only then, just barely. And once they go home, I won’t have anyone.
“Rose?” Dad asks.
“I got it.” Mom chooses a box without my input. Dad cuts the tape and unloads my stuff. He and Mom chat like I’m not even there, discussing my whole new class schedule.
Nathan would never ignore me like this.
But Nathan is why I’m here.
My parents are already starting on the second box. I feel so overwhelmed, it’s like the walls are closing in on me. Cold sweat beads on my forehead.
“Be right back.”
I head out in search of somewhere quiet. Anywhere but here.
A bathroom calls from the end of the hall. When I walk in, I find yet another empty room. Humid air clogs my nose and mouth. Standard stalls line one wall, with sinks and mirrors on the other. Each stall has a toilet and a shower head, with a drain on the floor.
Behind me, someone coughs.