It’s time for a few laughs – have a look at this exclusive from A J Goode’s Have a Goode One – enjoy!
His real name doesn’t matter. I’ll call him B. B was an aspiring writer too. We met through a writer’s group at the local library, but then realized that we had grown up in the same neighborhood. I dimly remembered him as one of the bigger kids who helped us little ones off the bus during fire drills, and he dimly remembered me as the kid sister of the very pretty girl he’d once had a crush on in French class.
We became critique partners, and he developed a crush on me. That sounds really vain, but there it is. And I am ashamed to say that I humored his crush even though I didn’t return his feelings. I’ve never been beautiful; the sensation of being…
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