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)
“You sell essays, right?” The dude leans over our table, whispering while his shifty eyes scan the room. “I need one for English on—”
RJ sighs and returns to his breakfast, head down. “Text Fenn your info.”
“Oh, yeah. Cool. Thanks, man.” Matt struts off looking like a guy who bought his first dime of weed at the bike racks.
Children.
“You know that kid?” RJ asks Fenn.
“He’s fine. Not the brightest, but he won’t snitch.”
“By ‘a couple of people,’ how many more ambushes like that can I expect?”
“Maybe more than a couple,” Fenn relents, his grin sheepish.
I snicker softly. Fenn isn’t the most discreet person I know. He’s probably already told half the school his stepbrother is running an essay factory.
“Not that I don’t wholly approve of this little enterprise,” I tell them. “Honestly, big fan. But you might consider being a little less conspicuous.” I give a quick nod, drawing their attention to Duke and his salivating junkyard dogs, who are watching us from across the dining hall.
“Not my problem,” RJ mutters around a slice of toast.
I glance at Silas, who intervenes on my behalf. People usually take Silas seriously, whereas with me, they see a screwed-up fuckboy whose opinion isn’t worth shit. I don’t mind. Saves me a lot of boring conversations.
“Look,” Silas starts, using his Mr. Serious voice on Fenn’s stepbrother, “I know Duke comes off like a big talking clown, but he’s not messing around when it comes to his business. All commerce and vice runs through his shop, no exceptions. He doesn’t make enemies unless he has to, but trust us, he’ll absolutely enforce those policies if you press him.”
“Yeah, still not bothered.” For once, someone considers Silas’s advice as useless as mine. Totally indifferent, RJ finishes his breakfast and slides back from the table with his tray.
“Dude,” Fenn says, making one last attempt at educating his stepbrother, “these aren’t empty warnings. You should be bothered. Last guy who defied Duke ended up in the hospital with internal bleeding.”
That gets RJ’s attention. Well, sort of. He half cocks his head, which tells me he’s at least paying attention. “How’d Duke escape without punishment?”
I snicker softly. “We all escape without punishment here, man. Our parents are filthy rich.”
“Duke’s vicious,” Fenn says grimly. “He’s capable of inflicting some serious damage.”
“Did the internal bleeding guy survive?” RJ asks.
Fenn frowns. “Barely.”
RJ seems to think it over. Then he says, “I’m not worried.”
Whether it’s hubris or ignorance, RJ is greatly underestimating not only Duke’s resolve, but his grip on this school. Duke might be dumb, but he makes up for it in cruelty.
Still, there’s something admirable in RJ’s stubbornness. I appreciate his absolute lack of fucks. Not that I’d call us friends. His near-total refusal to engage socially makes that a wee bit difficult, but I’ve taken a liking to him. He’s a wild card, and those are always the most fun.
After lunch, RJ takes the seat next to mine in English. “Hey,” he grunts.
“Hey. You do the reading?”
He shrugs and fishes a copy of On the Road out of his bag as Mr. Goodwyn launches into his discussion for day. It appears our teacher hasn’t shaved since Monday morning, covering up that soft-skinned Good Boy with a bit of ruggedness. It fits. I picture him growing up somewhere cold. On a farm with cows and a goat he named at birth. A Midwestern milk-drinker lured to the east coast and the promise of the big city, only to wash out to our little country hamlet.
“Mr. Kent.”
I lift my head. “Huh?”
Mr. Goodwyn sits on the corner of his desk in a plaid Banana Republic button-down with his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned, tan forearms. His inquisitive green eyes are focused on me, waiting for a response.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”
He holds up his worn paperback. “Angst and longing.”
“Aren’t we all.”
Sputters of laughter briefly deflate his irritation.
“In the reading, Mr. Kent. On the Road.”
“Right. That’s the one where Marylou is jerking off two guys in a car.”
“I believe I’m sensing a pattern, Mr. Kent.”
“No, I’m sensing a pattern,” I counter. “Are we going to read anything this semester that doesn’t include graphic sexual content?”
While Mr. Goodwyn tries to appear unperturbed every time I bring up sex, I sense his simmering unease. But clearly I hold his intrigue, because although he could dismiss me any time he likes, he doesn’t. I might not be the most academically engaged, but I do consider myself a student of human nature, and I certainly know sexual tension when it’s watching me like a nervous man at the end of the bar twirling his wedding ring in his pocket. Is Mr. Goodwyn batting for the home team? A switch-hitter, at least.
I’d fucking bet on it.
“You’ve seen the film adaptation, no doubt. I don’t suppose you’ve actually read the text,” he says, taking a seat behind his desk.