At the end of it, Kat had twenty-five pages of script (“You cow,” Izzy grumbled), while Izzy had finished one scene and written the majority of the next one. It had come in fits and starts, with long periods of staring out the window and attempting to grasp at words that scattered just out of view whenever she glimpsed them in the back of her mind. By the end, she was overcaffeinated and utterly knackered, but she did have those five new minutes to share with the class. Take that, Robert the Gullible.
Her stomach rumbled.
“Blimey, what time is it even?”
She put a protective arm around her belly, then squinted at the clock on her laptop. “Food time.”
Kat stretched, blinking. “Oh, f**k, it’s time for me to get my arse in gear!”
“For what?”
“Got a date, don’t I?”
“Ooooh!” Izzy started
