a short story I just wrote

[Kimbell175113]

I'm taking a fiction writing class this semester, and this is what I came up with for the first exercise, the rules for which were: 2-3 pages, first person, where the narrator is of the opposite sex (of the writer, that is.) It could be about anything.

Anyway, I've done other kinds of writing before, but am quite noobish when it comes to short stories, so I'm just posting this looking for any feedback you guys want to throw at me. Here we go:

"Bachelorette"
by James Kimbell

I take the elevator to the top floor, and start from there. Classes start Monday – apparently – but a bunch of these freshmen waited until now to move in. The dorm is not too crowded, but there are also enough big sisters and friends around that I don’t look too out of place, so that’s good. After all, I’m breaking one rule by being here, and I plan to break one more. I’ve seen the signs. No Unescorted Women. And the other, more common one.

I’ve read about these new rooms, but never seen them before. Very nice. Looks like one biggish room with a bed, and then a bathroom separate. I come across the first open door with someone in it and it’s perfect. There’s an Asian kid, long since unpacked, just sitting on his bed and pretending to read a hot pink flier. I think for a moment, then say hi and smile. He’s startled, and confused, but tries very hard to hold it in, to be a cool customer. Guess I’ll have to do most of the talking at first.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Uh… Not much.”

“You mind if I come in?”

I already had, of course, but that makes it the perfect question. He doesn’t have to make a decision about what to do or say, and he can’t say nothing, so it gets him talking.

“So what’s your name?”

“David.”

“Hi, David, I’m Brittany. Nice to meet you.”

I shake his hand.

I ask him about his major, his roommate, when his roommate is going to get here, how he got into the new awesome residence.

“Oh, believe me, Dave,” I say, touching his arm, “you are lucky you’ll never have to live in one those regular freshmen hellholes.”

“Yeah, they spent a lot of time telling us about these and how special they are, heh. It’s like a bachelor apartment, but smaller. In South Africa or somewhere they call it a bachelorette.”

Well, that’s cool, and I say so, but now that he’s talking, we can get this over with. I open my backpack and take out the big folder, but keep talking. Now, you seem like a cool guy, Dave, and I think we could be friends. You want to be a friend, don’t you? There’s one thing I need you to help me with, though.

You see, I – I throw in a little laugh here as I open the folder, but that doesn’t mean it’s fake – I have these magazine subscriptions, and I have to get people to order a certain amount from me. I know you want to help me out, right, Dave?

There’s an instant flash of “are you serious?” on his face before it goes back to impassive. He lets out a theatrical sigh, and puts out some resistance.

“Listen, I don’t know if I want to buy any magazines right now.”

Well, now, Dave, I know you’re a smart guy, so let me tell you the deal. You pick three of these publications, and just sign your name.

He’s already looking through the folder, and I leave him in silence for a minute, until he speaks.

“Look, I- I don’t know what to say. I just…”

Siiiiigh. David, David, David. I thought we were friends? Listen, I need your help, and I know you can do it. I want you say something for me. “Brittany, my friend, what can I do to help you?”

This time his face doesn’t change. He’s about to crack one way or the other. I decide to get serious.

“Say it.”

This time he doesn’t sigh, but he slowly opens his mouth.

“Brittany… my friend, what can I do to help you?”

I smile the way I did when I first walked in.

[rothko]

ungood. there isn't enough happening. too many words with too little impact. tighten it. try to grab and maintain the reader's attention. going into the dorm to sell a magazine really isn't story worthy, on its own.