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)
Gasps fill the room as Genevieve’s jaw drops to the floor.
Her face reddens in disbelief.
“Moving on,” I say, flipping the page. “Is there anyone who wants to offer a logical discussion point?”
Charles Mitchell, a guy who wears sweater vests every day, raises his hand.
“Go ahead, Mr. Mitchell,” I say. “We’re listening.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the girl next to Genevieve whispering.
“You should stop raising your hand in this class,” she suggests. “I think he really hates you.”
Genevieve’s eyes meet mine. “I fucking hate him, too…”
3
GENEVIEVE
Mr. Donovan’s house sits on the edge of campus, tucked between a grove of sweet maple trees and a sandbank. A small light blue cottage with a wraparound deck, it offers him a clear, panoramic view of our school’s most stunning gardens.
Since he’s completely unoriginal, he’s decided that our mentor meeting sessions will be held twice a week in his living room. And like a true unprofessional, he emailed us the exact time today.
When I reach his place, I see that the other mentees—all girls—are already sitting around his Harkness table. They’re sipping from pretty white teacups and enjoying freshly baked brownies.
“You’re late, Miss Edwards,” Mr. Donovan startles me as he takes a seat.
“By like one minute.”
“Then you need to leave,” he says, not even looking up at me. “It’s not fair to everyone else who came here on time.”
“He’s right.” Mandy Seagram smiles. “I’m distracted by your lateness.”
Defiant, I pull out a chair and claim a spot at the table, taking out my notebooks and pens.
“Miss Edwards,” Mr. Donovan speaks a little louder, “you need to leave. Feel free to join us for the next group session.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m staying for this one.”
An uneasy silence takes over the room, and the other girls look between us, anticipating his next move.
He finally lifts his head, and I swear his lips mouth the words, “Fuck. Why am I looking at her?”
“Okay, Miss Edwards,” he says. “I’ll allow you this one tardiness. To be fair, everyone at this table will be allowed one tardy date as well. Today is a simple meet-and-greet session anyway.”
He stands up and pulls a box from his bookshelf. Then he hands out books that are so worn and tattered that I can barely read the cover.
“This is a copy of an old Life Lessons book,” he says. “The first two essays are a great way to view life, so read those between tonight and the next time we meet. Oh, and don’t highlight or dog-ear the pages. I absolutely hate that, and I’ll never forgive you.”
The other girls laugh, but I’m not ready to entertain any humor from this man.
“Are there any questions?” he asks.
“I have one.” I raise my hand, but he ignores me.
“I’ll see you ladies at the next session.”
I don’t bother fighting him this time, but I do slam the door on my way out.
4
GENEVIEVE
I’m thirty minutes and fifty-eight seconds early for the next mentee group session. I’ve read the entire Life Lessons book, and I can’t wait until we get to the parts about “treat others how you wish to be treated” and “karma.”
Since I’m not quite ready to go inside yet, I pace Mr. Donovan’s deck.
I can see him eyeing my every step through the open window. Looking breathtakingly sexy as usual, he’s watching me while taking slow sips of coffee.
After pacing for a few more minutes, I finally knock.
“Yes, Miss Edwards?” He has the audacity to answer the door with a smile, like he wasn’t just staring at me. “How may I help you?”
“I’m here for the mentorship group,” I say. “I came early.”
“So did everyone else.” He ushers me inside, and the entire group is sipping tea around the table.
Wow. I swallow a sigh and reclaim my seat.
“I guess we can start.” He slides a red folder toward me. “Today we’re going to critique ‘Such, Such Were the Joys’ by George Orwell. Has anyone read this piece before?”
I’m tempted to raise my hand, but I don’t.
“Good,” he says, passing out copies. “This piece touches on his experiences at a boarding school. He frames them in a unique way that some of you may relate to.”
“He hated boarding school as much as I do…” I mutter.
“What was that, Miss Edwards?”
“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “I was saying that, uh, I think his piece is more about class and wealth than a boarding school experience. It’s also been debunked as exaggeration.”
“So, you have read it before?”
“She’s read everything before, Mr. Donovan.” Charlotte Peters says, sighing. “That’s why her only friends at this school are books and magazines. She doesn’t know how to talk about anything else.”
The other mentees laugh, and I lean back in my chair.
“Fair enough,” Mr. Donovan says, looking at me. “Well, there’s always something new to find in a book, no matter how many times you reread it. Just try to approach it with fresh eyes since it’s new for everyone else.”