Chapter 2

I was basically jobless now and debating whether I should listen to the worry notes from the back of my head or whether I should pretend to be alright about it. I had, of course, other worries too. Like, worrying about the calc homework I needed to submit tomorrow.

I sometimes wondered why I even bothered complete education when I was pretty much sure I would never be able to save up enough money for the college of my fantasies.

After completing the last question of that question whose algorithm felt like solving the world with different procedures for a hundred times, I sighed and stretched my arms to reignite my force forcefully.

"How captivating it must have sound to your head, Isaac. I wish you only kept it in your head. Things like these are not meant for sharing." With these half-assed jokes by my side, I looked at the ceiling.

I lived in an old apartment which had the looks of a cardboard box. I had a small divan, a small closet, a small bathroom and a small space for keeping the stove. Everything about my house was small, except for my existence. And, yeah, it had a serious disease of termites and roaches.  I sometimes wondered how  Zach and I would  manage when we would start living together; when he would get well, hopefully.

The next day, with the advent of dawn, I got up and started for school. Once I had passed the No-weapon test, I got to my locker and took out my books. You may wonder, why are you so boring? Well, I wonder the same thing. Why do I feel like I am falling apart when everything feels perfectly normal? And how can you determine a perfect life? By extreme riches and dreams getting completed? But, The books describe simplicity and contented lives as perfect? And, when will I get the explanations to my absurd concerns?

I was in senior year, the time you are expected to study like there is no tomorrow. I was doing well with a nice report card full of straight As. And yet, I was on the list of kids who needed some sort of extra attention  to live their own lives. As if, some therapy will resurrect my foster parents, as if it can make Zach discontinue being a human vegetable.

I made my way to the counselor's office along with some other kids. We were walking together but still not talking. As if bodies walking together but heads roaming elsewhere. On the right side, It's me, Maria and Kenneth. They were model students, perfect grades, nice parents, or at least I thought that.

On my left-hand side, was Noah. One of the most prominent, sorry, the most prominent guy, Noah Centineo. The one and only Noah, who apart from being a live sculpture, was known for being an unapologetic jerk who still somehow had his locker full of affection epistles every damn day. It's kind of weird to be put in the same category as the school's god.

Well, I didn't actually care, did I?

"Ms. Kore and Mr. Centineo. You both are desired inside." The student secretary delivered the message.

Noah narrowed his eyes and looked at me.

"Seriously." He whimpered and got inside with me. What was he thinking?

"Morning, ma'am." We both erupted at the same time.

The woman looked at us through her spectacles with an odd pout making her purple lipstick look kind of dinosaur scales and not in an elegant way.

"Soooo." She hauled her low pitched voice, "We have a very different pair here, don't we? Centineo and Kore." I looked at her with a glance spilling of awkwardness and as for, Noah. Did he seem... smooth?

She proceeded,  "I don't want anything from you two. But, just an answer to exactly why both of your college applications are so barren?" She screamed in a calm and collected voice. I disn't know how she pulled that off, but she did.

Before I could even come up with something, Noah began, " What else do you need? I have full grades and a rich father. What else do the NewYork  Film and Arts university needs?"

"You need to understand, young man, money is not everything." The therapist started her therapy. Ugh, all they care about is getting the right thing in our head, they don't care about this goddamned feature we possess called emotions. Yeah, it feels exactly the same but look closer. There is an endless bridge between the two.

The statement sealed him up. She turned to me,  "And you penned you just like performing and the only proves you have are some receipts from the drama club." She testified my blood won certificates as receipts, look at her audacity.

"Yeah, you see, I am kind of poor. I never had the money to train me." I said the only thing that came to my lagging brain cells.

"True talent is born and not created. And, honestly,  thousands of drama club members sign up for that. It's not that easygoing. "She once again gently scolded me.

"So, what should I do?" I asked.

She breathed a sigh, "I have a big opportunity for both of you." She hands each of us a flyer. " This is the annual filmmaking contest of New York."

"But, we live in Greenwich Village, not in New York."

"It lets us participate since we live near. Every school has to give two movies. Only three people are given the scholarship of going there. You are, as the reports say, a nice actress and Centineo here can be the creative director, producer, and script author. After all, you are a 

bestseller author."

"Author?" This was big news to me.

He rolled his eyes in irritation, "You need not disclose this information to everyone, mom." Woah! Woah! Woah!  Too much information!

"Wait, what? You are an author and she is your mom?"

He faced me for the first time. God, he was beautiful, " As you already know, you and I are going to work together, I will tell you, I am the novelist of 'Authoress'. And yes, this woman here is my mother."

"Wait. Wait. Wait. You are the author of THE Authoress? The one in which the protagonist is a content author who decides to write about a sex offender. I haven't actually read it."

He glared at me, " Yes, that Authoress."

"Since you both are okay with the arrangement, you are dismissed." I wanted to protest but, " And if you don't, forget the university."

Feelt like, I was going to share a project with the billionaire lad.

"But, when shall I meet you?"

"Tomorrow. 6 PM. Cornelia Street." He said and left me alone, without ever gracing me with a look.