Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
When I slam into the wall and throw my hair out of my eyes, I glance around and realize I’m a body length ahead of the tidal wave of the other guys.
That felt pretty fucking good, actually.
As I’m toweling off, I notice an older guy talking to Brek. He’s tall and built, with a deep tan. He’s got a whistle around his neck and a Sandover Swimming shirt on. They catch me looking and wave me over. Against my better judgment, I walk toward them.
“That was a decent time you put up,” the man tells me. “You ever swim competitively?”
“Not really my calling.”
“You’ve got the size and build for it. How tall are you? Six-one, two?”
“Six-three.”
“Weight?”
“How should I know? Who weighs themselves?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “We’ve got practice about to start. Why don’t you stick around and try out for the team?”
“Yeah, thing is, I already have plans to slam my dick in a car door, so I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that.”
“Alright, Shaw.” Brek waves me off with a grimace. That’ll teach him to try to include me in shit. “Hit the showers.”
Better men than Brek and Bobby Breaststroke over there have tried and failed to put my name on a team roster. At this point, it’s a matter of principle.
By the time our class is out of the showers, the swim team is in the locker room getting dressed for practice. Silas nods as we pass each other on his way out to the pool.
“Fenn’s brother,” Lawson shouts across the room at me. “You lost?”
I throw my bag down beside his on the bench in front of the lockers. “This isn’t the library?”
“They still have those in public school? Thought they’d all been converted to armories.”
“Something like that.”
“So I heard you took a shot at Sloane,” he says, tugging a swim cap over his head. “How’d that go?”
Fucking Fenn, man. He gossips like a girl.
“We have an unspoken bond,” I answer.
Lawson cracks a smile. “Dead on impact, then.”
“Nah, I just need to find my in with her.”
“Yeah,” he drawls. “You do that.”
I know girls like Sloane. They want to make you run at the sword to get to them on the other side. The gushing wound proves you mean it. That’s usually way more effort than I’m willing to devote to get laid, but the difference is, this time I think she might be worth it. I have no idea what’s got me so hung up on this chick, but it’s like a dare I can’t say no to. She doesn’t think I’ve got the stamina, so I’ll prove her wrong. Even more than a conquest, though, something tells me she and I aren’t so different. If given the chance to have a proper conversation, we might even get along.
“Don’t sweat it,” Lawson says, closing his locker. “She’s a ballbuster. The girl gets off on it. The glacier that carved the Grand Canyon couldn’t wear her down.”
“Speaking from experience, huh?”
“There’s no shame in the game, as long as you know when to quit.”
No offense to Lawson, but it’s good to know Sloane has higher standards.
I’m a glutton for punishment lately, so I text her on my way to the dining hall.
ME: That dessert invitation is still open.
I take it as a good sign she doesn’t leave me on read.
SLOANE: I bet it is.
ME: So go out with me.
SLOANE: Find a new hobby.
ME: I like this one.
SLOANE: Haven’t had enough rejection?
ME: Not yet.
I’ll get her there. It takes time to build a rapport, and around here, I’ve got nothing but time.
Back at the dorm, I find Fenn on his laptop in front of the TV.
“Now who’s the shut-in?” I taunt, throwing my stuff down next to my bed.
“Have to work on this damn history essay.” Keys click furiously as he talks. “Coach needs my help with soccer try-outs this week, so I don’t have much time to work on it.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I finished that last night.”
“What?” He jerks his head at me. “Seriously?”
“Sure.”
“How the fuck, man?”
I take my own laptop to one of the armchairs. “Grabbed one off the internet.”
“Dude, the school uses plagiarism software. You’ll get caught.”
“Not the way I do it.”
He eyes me skeptically. “Yeah, and how’s that?”
There’s risk in letting Fenn in on my methods. Sure, he’s all “family first” now, but there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t turn on me at any time, given a good enough reason. But weighing the reward, he is my best connection to a new and fruitful customer base. What’s the worst that could happen? I get kicked out of another school? I’m an old pro at that.
“Simple,” I tell him. “All these plagiarism software checkers connect to online databases of submitted source material. I figure out which one the school is using, hack into their server, and delete that specific essay.”