Chapter 7: The beginning
1282 Words
Iris’s POV
I woke up thinking about Eric, not in a dramatic way or in the kind of way novels usually describe. I was simply curious, curious about Camden the foundation and about why someone like him had spoken to me as though we had met before. The anonymous message drifted through my mind for a moment before I dismissed it
“Next Friday everything changes”
I was probably reading too much into it. Well, I’m an English literature student so overthinking was particularly part of the course. I rolled over and looked at the rain on my bedroom window, London mornings had a habit of making everything feel unfinished. The sky was pale the buildings outside looked sleepy and the city seemed to be waiting for something. I got out of bed and Maeve was already gone when I left my room,a note was waiting for me on the kitchen counter.
“Went to work early eat something that isn’t coffee”
I smiled and made toast, failed to eat most of it and left for campus. The university felt strangely familiar now and only a few weeks earlier I had walked through the gates feeling as though I was borrowing someone else’s life, now I knew which shortcut led to the library, which café served the strongest coffee, which lecture hall was always too cold. The air was crisp and students crossed the courtyard carrying books and umbrellas as if they had rehearsed the movement together. Ava was waiting outside the English building
“You’re smiling”
“I am not”
“You are, tell me everything”
“There’s nothing to tell”
“You’re a terrible liar”
“I survived, that’s about it”
“That’s not everything”
“I met a lot of writers”
“And?”
“And I didn’t embarrass myself”
She looked disappointed
“I was hoping for a scandal”
“You’ll have to settle for coffee”
“I accept”
My phone buzzed It was a new email from blackcretz literary foundation, I stopped walking to read it
“Dear Iris Calloway we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for a the blackcretz literary foundation’s private mentorship program.”
“What?” Ava asked, my heart skipped I kept reading
“Mentor: Eric Belmont” “first session: Friday 7:00pm”
I read the email twice then a third time
“What is it?”
Ava asked again, I turned the screen towards her as she read her mouth fell open
“Nooo” I nodded
“Nooo” I nodded again
“Iris….”
“I know…”
“You got the mentorship!!”
“I think I did”
“With Eric Belmont!!”
“Yes…”
“The Eric Belmont!!!”
“I’m assuming there’s only one”
She grabbed my shoulders
“Do you understand how insane this is”
“Uhm I think I’m starting to….”
“This program is impossible to get into”
“I didn’t even apply”
“That somehow makes it worse…. Or better? I don’t know”
Students walked around us paying no attention, the whole campus continued normally while my life quietly shifted direction
“I need coffee Ava”
“You need several coffees”
We spent the next hour talking about the program Ava knew more about it than I did. Apparently the private mentorship program paired a small number of students with established writers, editors and literary professionals for personal guidance over several months. Some former participants had published novels before graduation, others had received book deals and a few had become professors. I kept replaying Eric’s words from the dinner in my head
“The important ones usually begin with something ordinary”
Friday, the message, the email. It all felt connected. The rest of the day passes in a blur of lectures and notes barely remember writing even Shakespeare seemed less interesting than the fact that I was going to spend time with Eric Belmont. When the lecture ended I stayed behind for a few minutes staring at a page in my notebook I realized I had written the word Friday ten different times in the margin. By the time I got home that evening I was convinced the anonymous text was from Eric after all it sounded like something he would say. Mysterious enough to be interesting and vague enough to make me think. Maeve was cooking dinner when I walked in
“You’re home”
“I got the mentorship”
She turned the stove off immediately
“You what?” I handed her my phone and she read the email slowly then she looked at me with an expression I haven’t seen in a long time, pride.
“You did it”
“I didn’t really do anything though, I don’t know how this happened”
“Sometimes you don’t need to know how”
“I’m proud of you” She hugged me and I laughed into her shoulder
“I haven’t done any yet”
“You will”
We ate dinner and for once I actually finished my food, Maeve asked questions about the foundation about Eric and what the mentorship might involve. I answered as honestly as I could which mostly meant saying I don’t know in several different ways. Before she went to bed she stopped outside my room
“One thing”
“What?”
“Don’t show up pretending to be someone else”
“What do you mean?”
“You got invited as iris, show up as iris”
She left and I sat quietly for a long time. I opened my journal and the note from Camden was still there, the invitation was still there. I looked at the page beneath them and wrote one sentence Friday, 7:00 pm after that I closed the journal and closed my eyes to sleep for the night.
The week suddenly felt very long classes became something I moved through rather than enjoyed. I kept catching myself wondering what the mentorship would be like. Would it be formal? Would it be awkward? Would he expect me to bring writing? I had almost nothing to show him. Thursday evening arrived then Friday morning. I spent far too long choosing what to wear, everything suddenly looked either too casual or as though I was trying too hard. Maeve stood in my door way and pointed at the navy blue dress hanging over my chair
“That one”
“Really?”
“Yes”
“What if it’s wrong?”
“It isn’t”
“What if…..”
“Iris!” I sighed. I wore the dress. By six-thirty I was already on my way to the foundation. The taxi ride felt shorter than I expected, the city was washed in the evening light and rain. As I got in the receptionist greeted me by name
“Mr Belmont is expecting you” that made my stomach tighten. She pointed toward the staircase at the end of the hall
“Second floor last door on the left” I climbed the stairs slowly, the corridor was silent, a grandfather clock clicked somewhere in the distance and at the end of the hallway was a dark wooden door with a small brass plaque that read his name, Eric Belmont. I stood there for a moment, took a breath and raised my hand to knock. Before my knuckles touched the wood, the door opened. He looked at me for a second and said
“Right on time.”
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD