Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
I glance both ways after he goes out the door into the courtyard, and driven by insanity perhaps, I head back to the classroom to see if I can find anything.
No one is there, so I run inside and look around like I’m going to find something as obvious as a ticking bomb. My frown grows as nothing remotely resembling a red or blue wire stands out. Maybe I’m making all this up in my head. Maybe he’s just mad that he’s partnered with me. Maybe, I don’t know, he thinks—
All of my thoughts pause as I spin around to the professor’s desk in the front and see a piece of paper, torn, weathered, and folded on the edge of the desk. I check my surroundings again and then jog over to it and pick it up. When I unfold it, it takes me almost no time at all to see that it’s a journal entry, but the writing is chicken scratch that’ll take some decoding.
“Scottie?” Professor Winslow’s voice asks, making me practically do a freaking herkie right there. “You need something?”
“Me? Oh. No. I just…forgot…something. So, I came back to get it,” I scramble to answer. Of course, with the paper in my hand now, I can’t leave it back on the desk like Finn obviously intended, or Professor Winslow will think I’m the one who left it there.
Shit.
This is not good. Definitely not trustworthy group partner behavior.
With no other viable options, I tuck the paper in my sweater pocket and smile, jogging out of the room without another word to the professor. I’m sure the exchange was weird on his end, but hopefully he’ll chalk it up to something stereotypical like hormones.
Every fiber of me vibrates with anxiety and curiosity as I book it straight for my dorm room. Communications class is forgotten along with everyone else as I charge toward the privacy needed to do the unthinkable and snoop on this very private piece of paper.
Carrie looks like she might want to say hello when I pass her in our hall, but I smile and jerk my chin like a total dude and power forward, refusing to be stopped.
My breathing is ragged and my chest heaves as I unlock my door, shove through it, and slam it behind me. My full-length mirror on the wall directly across from it shows a haggard, flushed version of myself with unbelievably wild eyes.
I pull off my backpack and let it fall to the floor beside my desk and then take three deep breaths as I pull the paper out of my pocket. It’s dampened with a thin layer of my sweat at this point, but no less readable, thankfully.
My hands shake as I hold it up and study the words. The first thing I notice is that it’s dated well over forty years ago.
A week ago, I left my family behind. Wendy’s snobby ass thinks I’m a deadbeat when I’m there, so I’m going to show her what a fucking deadbeat is. Pretentious bitch. Thinks she’s better than me. I doubt she’ll feel that way with five little fuckers on her own.
Remington looked like he knew I wouldn’t be back when I left, but the others are too little to realize anyway.
I have a show in Reno tonight that should set me up to head to Vegas for a while, and when I win big there, I’ll figure out my next move. I haven’t been focusing enough on my music lately, so now’s the time.
The first thing that stands out to me is that whoever wrote this is an unmistakable narcissist. The second is the name Remington. It’s not that common, and I have a bad feeling it’s not just a funny coincidence with the one we met today.
I skim through the rest and down to the bottom, where there are, at best guess, some shitty song lyrics.
Hard decisions, big priorities, save me from this drudgery
On my time, on my own, back to life I’ll be
Whiskey neat and a Coke black, I’m on my own and I won’t go back
What is Finn doing with this thing? And if the Remington from today is the Remington in the writing, how in the hell did he get it?
Thursday, October 31st
Scottie
Julia and I cross the street on a half jog, and I adjust the tight corset of my vampire costume. I also try like hell to smooth the leather shorts over my butt so my ass cheeks aren’t hanging out, but my bread basket is two buns too full.
I had planned to wear something a little less risqué, but when Julia showed up at my dorm to get ready and saw my boring costume of jeans, a black tank, and cat ears, she pulled an extra costume out of her duffel and told me to put it on.