"The speech isn't done?"

Hunched over his desk, Sam raised his head to find Josh in the open doorway. "It is. I'm writing a sonnet."

"Why?"

His pen scratched his pad as he scribbled. "I can write sonnets."

"Okay."

"I can't write sonnets."

Sam bolted from his desk, past Josh, and two minutes later, the paper fluttered onto Ainsley's desk. "I can't write sonnets."

"I'm sure it was a valiant effort, Sam." She smirked, amused.

When he turned back at the foot of the stairs, he saw her fold the paper in half and stow it in her top drawer.