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)
As I’m considering a way to get rid of her, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Grandfather Peterson
How is your course introduction week going?
Not so great.
Grandfather Peterson
Oh no. (sad emoji)
Don’t worry if it takes you a while to adjust to teaching. You’ve got time.
That’s not the problem.
There’s a student that needs to be removed from my course. Immediately.
Grandfather Peterson
Which one?
Genevieve Edwards.
He calls instead of responding to my text.
“She didn’t miss your class today, did she?” He doesn’t give me a chance to say hello. “She had more than enough time to get there.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Oh. Well, what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want her in my class.”
“Um, okay…What’s the reason?”
“I just don’t want her here.”
“Ah, I see.” There’s a smile in his voice. “She’s intimidating you with her brilliant mind, isn’t she?”
“Sure.” I’ll say whatever it takes. “How do I get rid of her?”
“You’re teaching a required specialty course, Liam,” he says. “You can’t. Her latest indiscretion aside, Miss Edwards is a gem.”
“So, I have no authority in my own classroom?”
“You’ll love having her there by the end of the semester,” he says, laughing like this shit is a joke. “Trust me. When she’s focused, she’s the most mature student on this campus.”
8
GENEVIEVE
Hours later
“Fuckkkk youuuu!” I throw up my middle finger at the updated syllabus as if it can talk back to me. “You were better in your original form, and I hope you know that.”
Professor Asshat has obliterated most of the things I was looking forward to discussing, and he clearly has a vendetta against romance because he’s reframed the discussions about those stories.
Too upset to think about it, I stuff the printout into my bag and head to my dorm. As I’m walking, I open my phone’s browser and search for “You are who you choose to be.”
Hundreds of quote images instantly appear. For some reason, most of them feature a drawing of a tall robot with a young boy, and the quote is credited to an animated film titled The Iron Giant.
I knew it!
Determined to report the great Mr. Donovan for being a fraud later, I refresh my inbox.
I haven’t received a celebratory birthday email, text, or call all day. Well, excluding the “free glass of wine!” and “birthday beer” offers from bars I’m no longer allowed to visit.
I’m not sure why I expect something different every year; I’m a masochist when it comes to getting my hopes up.
When I unlock my door, the worst ex-boyfriend in history—Charles Ellington III— is sitting at my desk.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I say.
“Happy Birthday to youuuuu!” He lights a sparkling candle atop a pink cupcake. “Happy Birthday to youuuu!”
“I’m shocked you even remembered my birthday.”
“Of course I did.” He smiles. “You’re very hard to forget.”
“Kind of like how you forgot not to cheat on me?”
“There’s no need to dwell on the past,” he says, handing me a fork. “You shouldn’t waste your big day on negativity.”
“In that case, you should probably leave.” I blow out the candle. “You know guys aren’t allowed up here.”
“In a minute.” He sets a gift box on my desk. “I bought you something special.”
I’m tempted to tell him I’ll open it later, but there’s no point in making my birthday any shittier. I slip a finger under the ribbon and pull it until the bow unravels.
My “something special” is his favorite brand of strawberry bubble gum and a pack of condoms.
“So, I’m thinking…” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Since I was your first, and you’re currently single, I should give you a fun and fruity birthday ride on this dick.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“What if you give me a belated birthday blowjob, then?”
“Can you leave, please?” I groan, regretting my decision to waste my virginity on him.
“Oh, I get it,” he says. “You think you’re too good for us high school guys and you’re saving yourself for the college men.”
“No, I’m just not interested in being with you.”
“Fine.” He takes back my gift and storms out of the room.
Grateful he’s gone, I lock the door and fall onto the bed.
When I recheck my phone, my mother finally left me a voicemail.
“Genevieve Anastasia Nicole Edwards…” She seethes. “I cannot believe that Principal Peterson had to interrupt our event with an email about your behavior.”
“Terrible behavior.” My father groans in the background.
“These are the things that make people talk,” my mother continues, “and that’s the last thing we need right now. You’ve attended that school since sixth grade, and I don’t understand why you’re using your final years to act like this.”
“We better not receive any news between now and when you come home for the holiday break. Call us back whenever you’re ready to formally apologize.”
Beep!
Happy birthday to me.
9
GENEVIEVE
Friday morning
When I arrive at Phillips Hall, there’s a long and winding line outside Professor Bastard’s office.