Alex's response to Sara's question was somewhat rude, but at least the group of four was together now. While the others around her discussed things that weren't important to her, she began to pull out her notebook. Absent-minded, she tapped the tip of her pencil against the sheets in a loose rhythm, waiting for the creative flow of words to come back to her. There was no doubt enough time to get a decent start on a short story of any type, so she considered starting work on a poem. She managed to write a few starting words down before shaking her head and erasing them, repeating this process a few times. She let out a quiet sigh and put her notebook up. I'll try writing again when I'm someplace quiet,
she thought, blaming her writer's block on the students around her.
Sara didn't know or care very much for science, especially the more advanced forms that were being discussed. On top of that, she didn't know anybody around her, and she wasn't currently contributing to the conversation, so Sara saw no point in staying with them. It would be rude to say nothing and simply leave, so she mumbled, "I have to get ready for one of my classes, sorry," just loud enough for the others to hear and excused herself, stepping out of the library. On the trip down the hall, she felt a bit of guilt; none of the students she sat with were bad, and Alex was probably just trying to befriend her. I'll try making it up to him later,
she thought to herself.
((Sara Corlett continued in A Recursive Process