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)
Balloons smack me in the face when I open my front door.
Confused, I swat them away and see the entire arts department is standing in my living room. Uninvited.
What the…
“Gratam nostram familiam litterariam!” They cheer in unison, dousing me with book shaped confetti.
“I think it’s safe to say he’s surprised, everyone.” Miss Shaw laughs and hands me a glass of champagne. “You’ve passed the temporary teacher mark and are officially an Exonian. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like a slice of cake?”
I’d like you all to get out of my house. “Sure.”
She walks away, and I pretend like I’m thrilled to be a part of their cult.
Midway through them singing the official school song, I manage to slip outside on my porch for a moment alone.
“Oooh, I guess I have some competition for your affection.” Miss Shaw joins me seconds later.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course.” She laughs and holds out the package I mailed back to Genevieve. Although the address is torn off, there’s a lavender bow wrapped around it, and a small card.
Miss Shaw smiles and reads the note aloud.
If “you are who you choose to be…”
What’s the worst that could happen if you choose to be with me?
-Anonymous
Jesus Christ.
“Aw, don’t get upset.” She sets down the card. “I’ve received my share of gifts from students before. Whenever the girl owns up to it, just tell her ‘thank you’ over a cup of coffee and let her down tenderly.”
“Will do.” But it’ll be anything but “tenderly.”
6
GENEVIEVE
“Love, forty, Genevieve Edwards!” The umpire shouts across the court. “Please prepare for the next play.”
Today is my final tennis match of the season and I’m one point away from winning.
I look up in the stands, hoping to see someone sitting there rooting for me and my final tennis match, but my ‘family and friends’ section is empty.
As usual.
The ball boy runs to the net to retrieve the ball, and I patiently await the serve.
As the ball comes over the net, I picture Mr. Donovan’s face on it and position my racket so I can smack it down at the speed of light.
My opponent doesn’t stand a chance.
“Game, set, match,” the umpire says. “Genevieve Edwards.”
The crowd applauds, and I shake my favorite opponent’s hand at the net.
“Good game, Tiffany.”
“For you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“Screw you.” She laughs and we shake the umpire’s hand before approaching the bench.
“I’m glad you’re a senior,” she says. “I won’t miss you next season.”
“That feeling is mutual.”
She leans over and hugs me, catching me off guard. “Rumor has it that you’ve turned down every scout visit because you’re not playing in college. Why not?”
“My parents forced me to play this sport,” I say. “I’ve never loved it like you and the other girls.”
“Then go pro and get paid for all the work you’ve put in at least.” She zips her bag. “You can always go back and get a degree.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“For the record, I’ll be rooting against you whenever you go. I hate you that much.”
“I hate you more.”
She hugs me one last time, and I watch the next two rounds.
While the men set up to play, I head to the field house.
As I'm approaching the hall, someone grabs my elbow from behind and pulls me into a closet.
My back hits the wall, and Mr. Donovan is standing before me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He fumes.
“What are you talking about?”
“This.” He holds up the note that came with my gift. “What the hell is this?”
“Something I'm making sure you keep.”
“I told you I didn’t want it.” He pins me against the cement with his hips. “What part of that don’t you understand?”
“All of it.”
“Allow me to help you get on the same page with me once and for all,” he says, looking deep into my eyes. “First of all, I’m not attracted to you. Second of all—”
“I’m not going to stand here and listen to you lie to me.” I try to wriggle free from him, but he grips me harder.
“I won’t put up with any more gifts, notes, or inappropriate essays from you.” He hisses. “Third, you’re not worth a potential prison sentence, and since you strike me as the type with the propensity to snitch out of spite, I would very much like to act like we never met.”
“Let go of me, Mr. Donovan.”
“I need you to commit to letting go of me first,” he says. “Delete my phone number, never email me, and give all your questions to the classroom aide from here on out. Do we have a deal?”
“Depends.” I swallow. “What’s in it for me?”
He looks completely taken aback by my answer.
“I’m way too old for you, Genevieve.”
“You say that like I’m a minor or something,” I say. “I just turned eighteen.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“The age of consent in New Hampshire is sixteen.”