ᴀ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ's ᴅᴀʏ - Nick Miller

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴄʟᴀss

"You made a breakthrough?" Cece asked, standing across from Jess as she victory-danced through the kitchen. Nick and Schmidt both looked up from their breakfasts.

"It's just a whole new world teaching adults." Jess mused. "By the way, I really appreciate you coming to class last night, Cassy."

"Of course, Jess. If it makes you less nervous, I'll even put in some effort." Cassy replied jokingly. "You finally get something good out of them?"

"Yeah. So this week, the assignment was to write whatever you want, just load it up with descriptive imagery, right?" Jess explained. Cassy nodded, having been attending the class. "I just haven't been able to connect with them and I don't know why."

"Look, Jess, you can't teach people how to write." Nick stated.

"Not true."

"I say that as a writer." Nick continued.

"You're a writer?" Cassy asked, turning to her boyfriend incredulously. "Why haven't I ever seen you write? Or read anything you've written?"

"A writing class is for someone who doesn't think lyrically, like poetic words that just... are strung--" He abruptly stopped talking, Schmidt breaking into laughter. Cassy shook her head, pressing a kiss to Nick's temple.

"You said you had a breakthrough." Cece repeated, urging Jess to continue.

"So I have this student whose name is Edgar, who was just not getting it. And then today he turned in this amazing story. Nick, actually, you should read this." Jess said, pulling out a large folder of paper.

"Writers don't read, we write." Nick stated with a frown.

"Jessica Day calls it a 'must read'." She insisted, placing the paper down in front of him.

"Look at that font." Nick scoffed, Cassy peering over his shoulder. "Amateur hour. At least use Paltino." 

"Do you guys have any agave?" Cece asked, looking in the fridge.

"We might have some pressed lentil syrup in the mix-ins cabinet." Schmidt directed.

-

"You can't go to Jess' classes anymore." Nick said to Cassy, storming out of his room.

"What?" She asked, making a face.

"It is completely unsafe." He continued. The tenants of the loft were strewn across the couch, watching as Nick paced, holding the story Edgar wrote up angrily.

"Listen to this." He said. "By day, I'm a plumber. By night, I'm a stalker.  I sit in the bushes wearing a gimp costume, stalking my prey."

"He's the first person I got to use first person narrative." Jess said excitedly. "I'm an amazing teacher."

"Very engaging. Keep going." Schmidt urged.

"Okay." Nick continued. "My prey is a deer. Her hair is dark. Her eyes are green, too green. Before she can blink those green eyes, I'm stabbing her. I stab and stab. I love stabbing."

"Sounds like he likes stabbing." Schmidt remarked.

"After all the stabbing, I wash my hands in her dark red blood."

"Listen to that detail." Jess said, grinning.

"This man is psychotic." Nick stated, outraged. 

"It's fiction." Jess waved him off. "There's no such thing as a gimp costume."