Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
They promise the audience heart-shaped strawberry scones with grumpy hero-inspired lattes, steamy discussions about “real-life love versus love on the pages,” and an “openhearted Q & A” session for anyone who aspires to be an author.
I can’t afford to miss this.
I hover my cursor over the “reserve my seat” button but hesitate to click it.
Principal Peterson’s words from earlier this semester are giving me pause.
“You can start that change by weighing the consequences and repercussions of your actions before you do something else foolish.”
I weigh the pros and cons for all of one minute before buying the ticket. Then I head downstairs to distract Warden Dearest.
All I need to do is “borrow” her driver’s license and head to the Amtrak station.
“I was literally about to come talk to you, Genevieve,” she says.
“Oh.” I spot her purse hanging wide open on the hearth. “About what?”
“Our building engineer signed off on an express package for you.” She picks up a blue box. “Are you expecting any other deliveries this week?”
I wasn’t expecting this one. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, well, give me a heads up next time. You know we have to keep track of everything.”
“Will do.” I take the package, eyeing her wallet. “Do you need help cleaning the common spaces today?”
“Depends. Are you volunteering?”
I nod. “Yeah. You should take a break, and I’ll vacuum and straighten things in here until you come back.”
“I appreciate your offer!” She smiles. She walks into the hallway but then returns to retrieve her bag. “I’m going to grab a couple of coffees for us since you’re being so nice. Be back!”
Damnit.
I plop onto the couch once she leaves.
Staring at the package, I consider the idea that my parents sent me a belated birthday gift, but when I tear the flaps apart, it’s clear it’s not from them.
It’s a small iPad, and it instantly comes to life.
Onscreen, cafe chairs stand in perfect view of the stage. The words “Cafe Sauvage” are etched onto the brick walls, and a ‘Welcome Indie Romance Authors’ banner hangs from the rafter.
There’s a small card taped on the back of the iPad with a note:
I’m not picking you up again.
Stay on campus tonight.
P.S. You still haven’t turned in your ‘F’ essay. I’m not giving you a new grade until I actually SEE it.
9
GENEVIEVE
My mother treats me like I’m nothing more than a prized doll, picking me up to play whenever my father or her other boyfriends aren’t around.
I’m nothing more than a prized doll to my mother.
I’ve always longed for attention from my mother, but she’s never had more than a few seconds to give.
Ugh!
I toss my pen against the wall in frustration, hating that I can’t nail the opening line for our upcoming “Paint a Portrait of Someone Who’s Hurt You The Most” assignment. Essays like this usually flow easily from my fingers, but I’ve been struggling with this for hours.
Then again, I usually get to work with a peaceful early sunrise, without the hushed whispers and laughs that are currently happening below my window.
Annoyed, I walk over to slam the pane shut, hoping they’ll get the memo, but I hesitate once I see who they are. It’s three members of my tennis team, four girls from my English class, and two girls I worked on group projects with last year.
“I heard he’s fucking Miss Shaw,” Raine Sailor says.
“What?” “Since when?” “Yeah, since when?”
“I saw her walk into his place wearing a pantsuit, and then she came out in a dress.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s in such a good mood lately,” Diane Parker says. “She’s been needing to get laid since our freshman year.”
They all laugh, and I lean closer, trying to figure out who they’re talking about.
“I swear, if I was his, I would never—Shhhh! Here he comes!”
I follow their collective gaze as a shadowy figure runs through the courtyard. It takes several minutes for him to fully come into view, but when he does, it’s utterly breathtaking.
Mr. Donovan is shirtless and in shorts, and his sweaty abs are glistening under the soft morning light.
He stops at a bench and stretches before lying on his back.
“Go over there and sit on his face, Raine!” “How big do you think his cock is?” “Do you think he would suck on my tits if I took off my bra?”
I sigh and finally shut the pane, but I can’t stop staring at Mr. Donovan.
As much as I’ve tried to stop thinking about the gift he gave me, it keeps crossing my mind. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, and perhaps he has an ulterior motive, but a part of me can’t shake the idea that the way we met is water under the bridge now.
That maybe, just maybe…
I pick up my phone and draft a message for him, hitting send before I think it through.