“I think this creative writing class I’m taking is the least creative class I’ve ever taken in my life,” Jami complained as we walked together down the school’s building corridor. “I mean, I love writing, but this isn’t a writing class. I'm pretty sure the professor is just trying to make our lives as miserable as possible because her life is as miserable as possible. Honestly, I am over it.” She stopped talking to take a deep breath and leaned into me, nudging my arm with her own. “You okay there?”
“I’m great,” I told her with a grin, but it sounded and felt fake even to me. Jami’s eyebrows shot up, pulling me to a stop and leading me to one of the empty study tables so we could sit down. I felt like a zombie, so emotionally exhausted that I couldn’t resist her antics even if I wanted to
