Until There Was You by J.J. Bamber Page B

enrolling in night school…" Nate counted the strange things he had done because of David on his fingers. "I could go on. Our summer trip to Prague, when you came to the city over spring break."
    "Nate, just because I suggest something doesn't mean you have to do it. If you weren't so susceptible to peer pressure, then none of those things would have happened. And anyway, this favor isn't like that. I want you to come and talk to the creative writing class at the school. I think they would really respond to you."
    "Oh, okay. Then no," Nate said, shrugging. "It's crazy that you're the head teacher… When did you become smart enough to be responsible for the young minds of our fair country? I wonder if the school knows about the month you spent eating only ramen noodles and Jack Daniel's." Nate smiled widely and ate a handful of peanuts.
    "Hey, I took vitamins too! But why won't you do it? It'll be an hour of your life; just answer some questions that they have, talk to them about what it is like to be a writer, and get outta there," David said, adopting his best car salesman voice.
    "I don't know anything about being a writer!" Nate moaned.
    "What do you mean? You make your money writing."
    "Yeah, but I'm not a writer . I just sort of talk about my life and then my editor makes sure that it makes sense. Believe me, I am not the person that you want talking to your kids. I've had to completely redraft my next book and it's all over the place." It wasn't that he didn't want to help David out, but he genuinely didn't think he had any insight to give. He had fallen into writing and it had almost impossibly worked out. But he was hardly the image of the whiskey-swilling, truth-telling, mad-haired author. He didn't have any deep and meaningful lessons about the craft. He just typed what he felt and prayed that others would feel the same way. He couldn't put it any more scientifically than that. "Who's the editor of the Grandview Times now? Maybe they could come and talk about journalism; it's infinitely more respectable than being a romance memoirist. And a romance memoirist who doesn't even have a relationship, at that!"
    "Cameron and Aimee edit the paper together," David said, talking a satisfied gulp of his third beer.
    "What?! Are they still together?" Nate asked.
    "No, divorced years ago, very bitter, but neither of them will give up the paper. They write these bitchy editorials about each other—it's kind of hilarious." David brushed some invisible lint off his jeans. "But I think you're a writer, and the kids really want to hear you, and I've already scheduled you in, so you can't back out—unless you want to dash the hopes and dreams of a bunch of fragile artsy types. That would make you a very bad man." David opened his eyes wide and looked at Nate pleadingly.
    Nate stayed silent for a few agonizing seconds before breaking into a wide grin and punching David playfully on the shoulder. "Fine. I'll do it. But only because I think you need all the help you can get. That school must be falling down around the student's ears."
    David smiled back, relieved. "Thank you. I have you booked in for next Wednesday at nine. Brace yourself for a lot of adolescent angst; I think they have a lot of stories to tell you. You know, the fact that I know you has made me about one thousand percent more popular. Who knew you were such a literary superstar? Who knew you even had anything interesting to say?" Dave drained his drink and stretched his long arms above his head. "I better go. I have to be at work at six tomorrow."
    "So you force me to do what you want me to do and then leave me? I knew there was a reason I didn't want to come here tonight."
    David grinned. "You know me; I just love you and leave you. Every time." He stood up from the stool and pulled Nate into another bear hug. He thumped the back of Nate's back, then twisted around and walked out of the bar. Nate saw him turn around briefly and wave before he was enveloped in the