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)
He leans forward, his gaze still cold.
“In addition to being on permanent social probation, you will polish every Harkness table on this campus, shining them so damn well that their wood tops will look like mirrors.” He pauses before dropping more pain. “You will clean every administrator’s office during the early morning hours on every Saturday and Sunday; you are banned from attending the upcoming college festivals; you are also banned from any on-campus senior events, and your new curfew is six o’clock sharp until further notice. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Peterson.” I feel tears pricking my eyes. “I would like to sincerely apologize for what I did this weekend.”
“Save it.” He holds up his hand. “The best apology is changed behavior. You can start that change by weighing the consequences and repercussions of your actions before you do something else foolish.”
“Sir, please, let me—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He cuts me off. “We’re done here.”
I stand to my feet and head toward the door.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Miss Edwards?”
“No, sir.” I look over my shoulder. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you are.” He points to a janitorial cart in the corner. “Today is Sunday. You can start cleaning my office now.”
5
Subject: Disciplinary Update #5
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Edwards,
This is a notice regarding your daughter, Genevieve Edwards, and her current status at Phillips Exeter Academy.
Despite her stellar academic achievements, her disciplinary issues have continued.
This past weekend, she violated one of our most critical rules in the student code of conduct. This requires an in-person meeting with you before this semester ends, along with a phone call that I will make this week.
Given your celebrity status, I understand you are extremely busy, and I assure you I will make none of her misbehavior (or punishment) public.
As two of our top donors and distinguished alumni, you surely understand how beneficial an education at our esteemed academy is to your daughter.
Please make her aware of this at your earliest convenience.
I look forward to speaking with you.
Sincerely,
Principal Peterson
6
GENEVIEVE
The “Harkness learning” method is a scam that entices most parents to send their children here. It’s our academy’s main selling point, and I’m desperately hoping that the founders will come back from the dead someday to denounce it.
The premise is simple: There’s no need for neatly lined desks or a “teacher’s spot” in a classroom. Instead, it’s better to have one, oversized oval table that seats twelve to fifteen students ( with minimal teacher participation) because “learning should be an open-minded activity that fosters active discussion.”
That’s literally what our brochure says.
However, there are a few exceptions to this rule, and my most anticipated senior-level class—Expressions in Creative Writing—falls under this category. Since we must present at least eighty percent of our work, we hold our sessions in a theater.
It’s a setting that makes me temporarily forget how lonely I am here.
No matter how many Harkness tables I’ve sat at over the years, it hasn’t brought me any closer to having discussions with people outside the classroom. I can recite all my classmates’ names, hobbies, and plans for the future, but I can’t call a single one of them a “friend.”
After polishing today’s final table, I fold all the rags and drag the soap bucket to the corner.
“You need to wipe that table down a few more times, Miss Edwards,” the chief custodian shakes his head. “The edges aren’t as shiny as the top.”
“Can I please come back and do that after class?” I beg. “I don’t want to risk being late on the first day.”
“No can do.” He shakes his head, shooting me a sympathetic look. “Mr. Peterson wants perfection and nothing less.”
“I thought you and I were becoming friends, Mr. Evans,” I say. “You said you liked me.”
“I like my paycheck more.” He tosses me a rag. “Get to it.”
I hold back a groan and drop the rag into the bucket.
By the time I reach the status of “perfection,” I don’t have time to run to my dorm and change into a better uniform. I don’t even have time to grab my laptop.
Armed with a flimsy notebook and a gel pen, I run across campus and make it to the theater with two minutes to spare.
Out of breath, I prop myself against the doorframe and realize the auditorium is so silent that I can hear someone’s heartbeat.
Oh, no, wait.
That’s mine.
The man onstage has his back turned, but even from here, I can tell he’s not who we were promised.
He’s supposed to be a grey-haired man named Taylor Jenkins, a legendary instructor who’s taught this course for years.
I step into the hallway and check the screen to see if this course’s location was changed at the last minute.
SNRCREATWRI 500
Taylor Jenkins
Confused, I take a seat next to the teacher’s aide.
“Rachel?” I whisper. “Why is everyone being so—”
“Shhh!” She places a finger against her lips. Then she stares straight ahead like a zombie while the imposter writes on the whiteboard with a purple marker.