I slumped into my seat and stared at the guy in the front of the classroom. Some people are built round; others need to lay off the McDonalds. This guy was a bit of both, with a touch of 19th century fashion thrown into the mix.
“Dude,” Shane said, “I thought we had some famous guy for a teacher, not a geezer.”
The fat guy turned around and nailed Shane with a chalkboard eraser. I decided, for once in a long while, to keep my smart alecky mouth shut for a while.
“So,” I asked, my notebook ready to shield myself, “is this class lectures or workshops?”
“Does it matter?” the guy said. “Either way you’ll be driven to tears.”
He snorted, and raised his voice to address the whole class. “Here’s the deal, chumps. I’ve got it on good word that your writing could use an editor’s touch. I’ve also heard”—here he narrowed his eyes—“that some of you write fanfiction.”
Melissa tittered. She’d talked about nothing but for the last year.
“So I’m going to start out with that. Who among you knows the most about writing?”
We pointed at Melissa. She’d bugged us enough about it; let her stick her neck out.
“Latest piece, most important thing about writing.”
She simpered. “My latest piece is called ‘Rainbow,’ and it’s about Tinky Winky the Teletubby turning red and realizing that it doesn’t matter what color you are; you’re always special. And the most important thing about writing is to set your creativity free.”
The guy cleared his throat and turned to the chalkboard. “Right. And, considering that’s the best writing this class has ever done, we’ll start simple. This”—he drew on the board—“is the letter A.”