“The sex was wicked hot!” Connor remarked. The room tittered, and Maya could feel his thigh brushing against hers, back and forth. “What? I'm serious.”

“All right, the sex was hot.” Professor Reardon shook his head at Connor. “It's a start. Anyone else?”

“It was kind of formulaic,” Betsy remarked. “I mean, I liked it, don't get me wrong. What girl doesn't like a good romance, right? But it didn't break any new ground or take any chances.”

“It was really well-written.” A small, dark haired girl who wore huge glasses spoke up. Maya didn't know her name. “I mean, it could've been something that was published. It was that good.”

“You're right,” Professor Reardon agreed. Maya felt an immediate flush of pride. “The quality of the writing itself is easily publishable, as is, for the genre. This author has a great deal of talent and natural ability.”

Maya sat staring at the words on the page-the words that she'd written-trying not to get all glowy and starry-eyed. She thrived on praise like no one else she'd ever known, and his approval was like vital sustenance to her.

“But it's just a little romance.” The voice that spoke up belonged to Joseph Kramer. He was on the staff of the school paper, a freshman with his own column already called “My View.”

“What's wrong with that?” Professor Reardon asked the class again.

“Nothing, I guess.” Joe shrugged. “But if I'm writing something, I want it to be different. I don't want my stuff to be like everything else out there.”

“Do you realize what kind of market is out there for romance writing?” Betsy tossed in. “It's huge! Women eat this stuff up.”

“Yeah, it's like porn for women,” Connor agreed.

Maya winced. “I don't know if I agree with that analogy.”

“Why not?” Professor Reardon looked over at her. His eyes clearly stated that of course he knew who wrote it, and of course, he was talking directly to her.