Sophie extends her hand. “May I?”
I can’t stop staring at her. Her voice is warm and compassionate toward Kins, as is her expression.
Kins hands over the paper this time. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Happy to help.” Sophie sits in the chair at her desk and then scans the pages, flipping from one red-marked page to the next until she finishes the last one. “This is really good.”
“My professor clearly didn’t think so.”
Sophie tilts her head. “His comments aren’t saying that at all, Kinsley.”
My heart warms at how she says my sister’s name like a caring friend.
She rises from her chair and hands the paper back. “He’s trying to push you to expand your thoughts and bring more emotion into your writing. That’s one of the biggest challenges we have as writers—to tap into that emotional place so we can inspire, uplift, educate, or captivate the reader. Emotions are a big part of a piece like this.”
Kinsley nods, but she still appears as if she’s on the verge of tears. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for that.”
Sophie shakes her head. “I disagree. I think you’re more than capable. You’re just afraid. I hope that’s not too blunt.” She casts a hesitant look my way as if to check and see if she’s out of bounds.
I give her a curt nod, encouraging her to continue.
“Part of writing is accepting criticism. For some people, that’s not too hard. For others, like you and me, it’s more challenging because it feels like a knife to the heart at times.”
Kinsley’s eyes widen, and she bounces on her feet. “Yes! Exactly.”
Sophie points to the paper. “And this is about your mother, who you tragically lost. Those are big emotions. It’s understandable that you’d be afraid of them. Can you ask your professor if you can revise it or maybe explain your situation? He might let you submit something new…something a little less painful.”
Kins nods vigorously. “He said I could talk to him about it.”
Her face lit with excitement, Sophie holds her hands out. “See? He’s trying to help you.”
My sister tucks her chin and stares at the paper. “So…you think I’m good enough?” She lifts hopeful eyes to Sophie. “To be a journalist…”
“Definitely. And that’s the point of a critique—to teach us what we did well and what we can improve upon. It’s an ongoing process of growth and improvement.” She shifts her focus to me. “Kind of like your brother learning to play hockey. He wasn’t pro-worthy from the get-go, right?”
Kinsley smirks. “Not. At. All.”
“Hey!” I growl and give her a light shove.
Sophie smiles at us. “Don’t give up before you become good at what you love, Kinsley. You’ll get there.”
Kinsley does something I’ve rarely seen my kid sister do with anyone other than me or our mother. She rushes over and throws her arms around Sophie, thanking her. And I think Sophie’s eyes are a tad glassy.
Once Kinsley let go, Sophie grabs a business card from her desk and hands it to her. “If you ever need input with a project or just want to talk about being a journalist, call me. I’m happy to help.”
Kins beams at her. “I will. Thank you.”
I’m still staring at Sophie when my sister jabs her elbow into my side.
I let out anoofand rub my side. “Right. Thanks.”
Sophie gives me a pointed stare that promisesa revisit to my sister studying journalism. And I’m actually looking forward to it. Because even when I’m not talking to Sophie, I’m thinking about her.
All the time.
CHAPTER 15
LUKE
