I sat down on Anne’s bed. It creaked with the newly added weight, and I blushed a light pink. Anne didn’t seem to notice. She set about busily, putting the pie in the fridge, and grabbing me an cool ice tea. She pulled out a large red notepad and a calligraphy pen. Out came the ink bottle.

“Nice pen.”

She nodded, hurriedly scratching something onto the thin sheets of paper.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t even look up, just kept writing. Finally, satisfied, her pen stopped. “I’m writing a novel.”

“A novel? Aren’t you kinda young to be writing a…” I trailed off as Anne gave me a nasty look.

“I am not. I am perfectly capable of-”

She slapped the book cover down, pulling it onto her lap.
Logan’s little head popped in. He was the youngest Lowood child. He grinned at us, his chubby cheeks pushing outwards.

“Logan!” Anne scolded. “Go away!”

He grinned more, but went back into the hallway.

“What’s the novel about?”

I asked as she continued scratching away.

She looked up. “This?”

I nodded.

“You.”