The mall. There is the sound of water as it rushes down a wall into a shallow pool filled with wishes. The bookstore has its racks of bestsellers lined up in front of the store. People rush by hardly noticing. A mother walks in to retrieve her son, who has just discovered the joys of the written word. She drags her daughter behind her. The girl looks at the impressive racks of books. She can't read the signs, but she knows that these books must be Important, and therefor the people who wrote them must also be Important.

"Mommy!" The little girl points. "I'm going to have a book up there someday."

Her mother smiles down at her. "You have to enter kindergarten first."

The little girl looks back at the rack of Important Books.

"Write something." Toss!

"You write something." Toss!

"But I'm stuck." Toss!

"So am I." Toss!

Meet my best friend and co-author: Christy DeShong. The notebook containing our Story is tossed between us a few more times before I pick it up and write in neat, bold letters S - O - M - E - T - H - I - N - G and pass it back. She returns my grin with a deadpan "Not funny," and drops the notebook at her feet. I retrieve it and stare at the half-vacant page.

"I can't do a thing with that," Christy tells me. "Even if you wrote a few more lines, maybe I can pick up with some of the other characters."

"Well, I'll see what I can do," I say and begin to write. My hands are cramped and I have homework to do, but some things just take precedence. I manage to squeeze out a few more lines, more or less wrapping up the scene I began over a week ago. Flinging the notebook down, I begin massaging my forearms and ask, "How's this?"

Christy picks it up and looks the new part over. "Where were we?" I shrug. She flips back a few pages and scans, then declares: "I know what to do!"

I give a small smile of relief (writers block is Hell) then turn loathsome eyes to my algebra book.

"Crysta! Crysta!" I search about for the source of the summons. It's my English teacher, Mr. Larson. He's making his way through the hallway throng and I wait for him.

"Yes?" I ask in my shy, quiet voice.

"I was just wondering about this writing," he says. "I couldn't remember if it was something you said you'd written or something you'd found that someone else wrote."

I feel my face burn a bright crimson. "Um, I wrote it. It's the, um, novel I'm working on..." The look on his face - a mixture of surprise and delight - keeps me from going any further.

"I'm impressed," Mr. Larson replies. "Not many children your age have this kind of talent, or the interest."

I'm so embarrassed I forget to be offended about being called a child. I'm in eighth grade, and that's practically high school, and high school is practically being an adult, right?

"I found a contest... In the back of a book... Christy and I are going to try submitting it to that..." I tell my teacher softly.

"Good, good," he responds. I smile. "Why don't we talk later. I have some experience with publishing. Come see me after lunch, okay?"

I nod and as soon as is politely possible, I dash away, hiding my face.

It's here! It's here! It's here!

My heart races as I run into the house, clutching the mail.

It's here! It's here! It's here!

The Envelope is thin. I have no idea if this is good news or bad news, but it's news and that in itself has to be good, right? I search in the drawer for my Special Dagger letter opener, then carefully tear open the Envelope. I take a deep breath and hold it until I'm done reading:

Dear Author,

Thank you for your Warner Aspect First Novel Contest entry. Unfortunately while we did enjoy reading it, it was not selected for the second level of the contest....

I exhale slowly, smiling bitterly. Then I wonder what I should do with the letter. My first instinct is to rip it to shreds then stomp on them, but I remember that Christy hasn't seen it. So I decide to call her and tell her. I can't bring myself to read it over the phone. Christy is disappointed, as well, but she sheds some light on my dark mood: "Hey, we're not really close to finishing it anyway. Plus there is editing and stuff." Editing and stuff. That's just great...

It'll take us years to get our Story presentable. We've started a lot of solo projects since getting through the second novel, plus there're classes and jobs, and all that good stuff. But every time I go to the mall... Let's just say I still have my eye on that bestseller rack.

*The Promised Land lyrics by Katsuhiko Kinoshita music by Nobuo Uematsu/Ririko Yamabuki SQUARESOFT used without permission