Type Writers

Chapter 2: Isa

Ugh ok, I'm sorry I lied, but yeah, update! Yeah, TW! Yeah, writing! Yeah, food! (Wat)

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Isa stood outside of the Cans Hill post, the green awning barely covering her from the sun. The front looked different than it had before; older, the colors more faded, less inviting.

The leaves were dying and falling, their colors that were considered beautiful a sign of the cold harshness to come in a few weeks.

She knew she shouldn't be joining another thing, adding another thing to her to-do list, but she couldn't help it. The girl shuffled from foot to foot as she bit her lip, her anxiety seeming to skyrocket at the thought of going in.

The cool wind also seemed to cease for a second, almost as if it too was contemplating wether or not to go inside the building. But soon it picked back up again, right as Isa had figured she had been staring at the door for long enough for it to be considered creepy.

She opened the door and the bells chimed. And although she had been in here before, it seemed bigger.

In front of her was the desk where she had signed her name on the paper, to the left of it, a wooden staircase with a sign next to it reading 'Workspace.'

On the right of the desk a door that she assumed editor's office, who ran the newspaper.

The whole first floor seemed to follow the same color scheme as the front with worn white lamps and green walls, with dark wooden floors.

"Hiya!" A voice piped up from the desk. Isa had failed to notice a tall hispanic looking lady who appeared to be in her thirties. Said woman was wearing a casual T-shirt and jeans. "I'm Chrissy, the receptionist here, I'm assuming you're here for the young writers needed add?"

Isa nodded, "Yes ma'am, I'm Isa." She checked her watch to see that it was 4:03 and her stomach turned.

"It's nice to meet you Isa, the others are already here with instructions and criteria from Mr.Ferhon, the editor. You can just head up the stairs, the door on the right," Chrissy looked slightly uneasy, "It used to be the... um, other teen writers room, before they, well, disbanded."

The teen gave her a weary look, but then dismissed it and thanked her her. Isa then walked up the stairs, which creaked and rattled, to be greeted with a small hallway with two doors directly opposite of each other, if she would continue walking, she would have seen the big room of writers tapping away in their computers.

The door on the left was opened and seemed to be a printing room, stocked with piles of paper.

The other door was closed.

— —

When Isa turned the brass handle she was greeted with a small room with two desks with computers pushed against either side of the room, with a window directly in front of her.

Also 3 bickering teenagers.

They seemed to have pulled the chairs from the desks and were now sitting in a makeshift circle. They all turned to look at her.

There was one boy with black hair that blocked his eyes, he wore a blue sweater vest accompanied by a white button up, white shoes, and khakis. His shoulders were hunched, his legs crossed, with his hands in his lap, almost as if her was trying to collapse in on himself.

Then there was another boy with light brown hair and deeply tanned skin. He was wearing a red South Colinson sweatshirt, dirt covered converse that may have been blue about a century ago, and black skinny jeans.

He stuck his hand out with a smile. "I'm Andy," He pointed to the black haired boy, and looked at him with a look of something like admiration, then to the other girl. "That's Morgan, and that's Jo."