Page 25 of Plot Twist

‘There’s enemies to lovers, too, that’s another trope. Oh and fake relationships, where they have to pretend to be in love for some reason or another and then they fall in love. I like the idea of writing one of those,’ he said.

‘I never studied creative writing or anything,’ I said. ‘And I guess I’ve never really thought about it, either. But now you mention it, that’s totally a thing. And there’s usually always a happily ever after, of course. Even though I don’t agree with that.’

‘After the grand gesture.’ Riley smiled. ‘Where one of the characters has really fucked something up, big style, and has to come back and apologise. Maybe proclaim their love over a loudspeaker at a baseball game. Or here, it would be a Gaelic football game.’

‘Oh, OK, what about a love triangle? Is that a trope?’ I asked. ‘Like inMy Best Friend’s Wedding. Oh, I love that film. Now, that’s one of my favourites. You expect them to get together in the end, but they don’t. It’s much more realistic.’

His eyes crinkled at either side as he grinned at me. ‘Cheers, I haven’t seen that one yet.’

‘Oops, sorry! I thought you loved romcoms? That’s one of the best! I can’t believe you haven’t seen it.’

‘Well, I don’t really need to now I know the ending.’ He grinned.

Just as I looked down, I saw Riley moving towards me out of the corner of my eye. I jumped back as his finger moved towards me and he rubbed a space just above my eyelid.

‘What?’ I exclaimed, leaning back and rubbing my own eyelid.

‘Sorry,’ he laughed, standing up. ‘You had a bit of dirt or something above your eye. Shall we move to the office?’

‘Mascara,’ I said quietly, as I followed behind him, still rubbing my eyelid to ensure the mark had been removed.

I wondered how Riley felt so comfortable with me that he didn’t mind pouncing on me to rub my face, while I was still tiptoeing around the place hoping he couldn’t hear my heart thumping in my chest every time he happened to look at me.

As we sat down at our desks, just a few feet apart, I opened my laptop at the same time as he opened his. We sat still for a moment.

Silence.

‘Tell me about this writing sprint thing then,’ I said. ‘I’ve put it on the timetable but I’ve no idea how it actually works.’

Riley sat back in his seat and looked over at me, crossing his legs. ‘You have a set amount of time where you write, so say twenty minutes, and you just write for that amount of time. You might set a target, too, like to write five hundred words by the time you’ve finished.’

‘Bet I can beat you,’ I said.

‘Not if I beat you first,’ he said, pulling his chair closer to his laptop. ‘Let’s do it. Twenty minutes, five hundred words.’

‘Make it thirty minutes,’ I said. ‘A thousand words.’

‘Have you ever written a thousand words in thirty minutes?’

‘Not a clue,’ I replied, opening the timer on my mobile phone. ‘But fuck it, let’s see where we get to. Ready, set, go!’

I blew an imaginary whistle as Riley and I started typing furiously on our keyboards. At first, I had no idea what I was actually writing. I’d read the most recent chapter of my book on the journey over and studied my notes and chapter outline, but it didn’t seem to be flowing the way I’d hoped. So I decided to take a leaf out of Riley’s ‘pantser’ book and started a new scene where the lead character, Anna, overheard her sworn enemy, Rosie, announcing that she was auditioning for the same lead part in the school show. I could hear Riley tapping on the keyboard beside me. I threw a quick glance up but Riley didn’t move his eyes from the screen.

‘Eyes on the prize, kid.’

‘Crap,’ I muttered, as I continued with the scene.

My timer started buzzing after what seemed like only a few minutes.

‘Pens and pencils down, please!’ I said.

Riley tapped one more word on his keyboard and then raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m done, I promise!’

‘You’ll be disqualified if you do that again, Mr Romance Writer. Now, tell me your word count.’

He stood up and stretched as though he’d just run an actual marathon.

‘Six hundred and sixty-three words,’ he replied. ‘One hundred per cent likely to be a load of shite.’