Green Lake 15

It proves easy to hit things off with Brent. Now I ain't saying I'm any attractive knockout, but he is fairly easy pickings. Only white boy in a class of Afghans, bit lonely, you know the story.
They tell us girls we should share the guy's interests, so I do, read a few of the things he does.
Things go great, right up til the State of California Department of Education holds a writing contest. You can choose short story or novella length, in a number of listed genres, different age categories.
Brent opts to do a sci fi novella, encourages me to do the same. At first, I'm reluctant, but then I realize it's a golden opportunity to tell him my story.
I sit down at the computer one weekend and it all gushes forth. Later, I revise, knock out certain salient facts to keep Agency spooks away from my door.
First, he's jealous because my writing was so much faster than his. All caught up in his own, he simply never gets around to reading mine.
Well, you guessed it. His went nowhere. I came in second in the age 14 and under, sci fi novella competition and won a week-long writing workshop while staying in the university residence during summer.
And now is he royally ticked at me? Won't say a word to me, won't even look where I am.
So what is it about this male ego thing?
Tasma thinks the whole thing is a huge joke, "look at the bright side Jamila. Trait like that, far better to spot it earlier, not later."
I ponder 2 nanoseconds, realize she's perfectly right, "come on, I'll buy ice cream."
As we saunter to the store, I realize how truly wonderful it is to have a good loyal friend. The rest can all wait. One of these years, I'll get it right. Or not.

Mum drops me off at the campus. I'm greeted by the university's Writer-in-Residence, Sam Asimov, descendant of the legendary you-know-who.
He grins, "you know, of all the sci fi stories submitted, yours had the most authentic ring to it. I mean the been-there-done-that-got-the-Tshirt sort of gripping genuineness."
He catches my eye, looks into it a long moment, "I see, so it's not fiction. Still, it's good writing. Hope you enjoy the workshop."

Returning to school after vacation, I get the surprise of my life. Brent stops me in the hall, "ah look Jamila, had a lotta time to think this summer. Realize I'd been well a bit of a jerk. Do you suppose we could maybe try things again? Please."
"We-ell, we all get older, mature as we go. Sure, why not?"
Huge smile, "thank you so much Jamila. So what was it like to meet the legendary Sam Asimov in person?"
"He isn't like that at all, doesn't put on airs. Tone in class was no different than any other teacher teaching a composition class."
Sheepish grin, "yeah, guess I could learn from that. I read your story, liked it."
"Thank you."
"You won that prize honestly. Can I buy you ice cream after school? Please."
"Thank you, I'd like that."