Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Then he replies simply, as if it doesn’t pain him at all to say “No.”
I’m so stunned I don’t even think to stop him again as he curves around me and starts to head toward the set of double doors leading into the hallway where the tour has begun. Ms. Patel’s out there chattering away, and I should be at the front of that group, taking dutiful notes, asking questions about every last detail. Instead, I twist around to face him, dumbstruck.
It’s not out of the question that he doesn’t have time for an interview, but any polite person would understand you can’t just blurt out no. You offer some kind of platitude like I’ll have my people contact your people or Let me check my schedule, with both parties knowing that really means I’m not interested. But the fact that he just outright turned me down is worrisome for too many reasons to count.
“Is that a ‘no, but try me again another time’?” I ask, sounding hopeful.
At this point, I’m a fighter getting up after yet another knockout. He’s got to be thinking Christ, when will this girl quit?
He shakes his head, not even bothering to turn back. “That’s a ‘no, be glad I’m letting you stay on the ship.’”
Panic seizes me.
“You’re kidding.”
“Not in the least.”
Oh god. This is worse than I could have imagined. I hurry to catch him, curving around him, cutting off his path yet again. This is going way off the rails. I should cut my losses and regroup, form a proper strategy with a step-by-step game plan to smooth things over. Instead, I ask, “Is this really about something that happened between us in middle school?”
Oops.
Now why did my tone have to sound so judgmental just then? I’m trying to smooth feathers, not ruffle them!
“Don’t make it sound so trivial. It’s not. You showing up on this ship, needing something from me is proof that karma never loses an address.”
Oh, he’s really enjoying this.
“It was nothing! Seriously! Come on.”
“It was eighth-grade district finals, and you cheated.”
I throw up my hands, waving them to encompass the whole observation lounge and the lap of luxury we’ve found ourselves in. “What does that matter now? Look at where you are!”
He doesn’t glance around the room. He doesn’t need to. His attention is on me for one last searing second before he states plainly and simply, in terms any dummy would understand, “No interview, Ms. Hughes, and that’s final.”
Chapter Three
CASEY
Unlike most schools where you have to watch out for the jocks with Y chromosomes, Fairview Prep was a matriarchal society lorded over by the queen bee herself: Shelby Carothers. She had an endless font of meanness in her. Her anger issues might not have been so bad on their own, but she was also the daughter of an ex-NBA player and thus a good foot taller than the entire student body. On a good day, my head crested her hip bone. She could have tossed me around like a rag doll if she had the inclination to do so. Her meaty fists could have closed over my windpipe and snuffed out my life in mere seconds. It would have happened eventually, I’m sure, if I hadn’t ingratiated myself to her from the start. I was a scholarship student at Fairview Prep. The lowest rung on the social ladder. However, I had something Shelby desperately needed: a brain full of useless trivia facts and not much going on in the way of a social life.
Fairview Prep was filled with so many bright young minds that even the bullies making fun of the nerds were nerds themselves. Everyone knew Shelby loved her beloved quiz-bowl team, and everyone also knew that Nicole Sanders had recently quit due to Shelby’s tyrannical leadership style. And now they needed a fourth player to round out the team.
When our paths crossed, the day Shelby’s vicious brown eyes landed on me and mischief sparked, I knew if I wanted to walk away with all body parts intact, I had mere seconds to act.
“I can join your quiz-bowl team. I’ll do it! You need me!”
The words had barely left my lips by the time Shelby had grabbed ahold of my collar and started to twist.
Already, my life was starting to flash before my eyes. I was too young to die! I’d never tried sushi! I didn’t know what it felt like to be kissed! I had a half-eaten Hershey’s bar stashed in the side table next to my bed!
Then she narrowed her eyes, weighing my offer like an ancient Roman emperor trying to decide my fate with the flick of a thumb. Up, I’d live. Down, I’d get thrown to the lions.
“Fine. We’ll start now.”
At lunch, Shelby invited me to eat at her table, and I could not refuse her offer. The universe reminded me of that as I trailed behind her, passing pitiable Hillary Vickers, who was standing at her locker with sopping wet hair and a soggy uniform, evidence of a prelunch swirly. She trembled as Shelby and her cronies passed by—expecting more brutality—then her eyes fell on me, and I thought I’d see pity, maybe even fear on my behalf. Instead, her eyes narrowed in confusion. Her lips parted as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Shelby wasn’t dragging me behind her. There were no threats. It looked like I was following her willingly. And I suppose in a sense, I was. Standing in Shelby’s shadow was the safest place to be at Fairview Prep. Becoming one of her minions was wrong on a moral level, sure, but I couldn’t get bogged down by lofty concepts like ethics. I didn’t have the luxury. It was about survival more than anything else. Hillary Vickers had a rich mommy and daddy who could nurse her wounds and buy her a new uniform and ease her suffering with endless therapy sessions. I had a chain-smoking grandmother who worked two jobs and thought beat-up shoes from Goodwill were a splurge for my back-to-school attire. In other words, I had no choice.