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)
My first instinct is that she’s checking to make sure I’m physically still on campus and haven’t managed to get my hands on my tuition and skipped town. Then I realize she means am I still in class.
“Yeah. On my way to gym.”
“Okay. I won’t keep you. Just wanted to check in and see how things are going.”
Won’t keep me, my ass. She’s a talker, so before she lets me get a word in, Mom’s telling me all about redecorating David’s house and picking out new furniture. How much fun she’s having getting to know everyone at the country club. Apparently David bought her sailing lessons and a golf instructor. He’ll turn her into an acceptable wife in no time.
“Sounds like you’re having a good time,” I remark with more evident resentment than I intend. But if she notices, she doesn’t let on.
“We’re so happy,” she gushes. “He’s wonderful.”
Whatever. I suppose I don’t hate that she’s enjoying herself, or that he makes her happy. There are worse things that could happen.
“What about you?” she eventually gets around to asking. “How’s school going?”
“Good.” My answer is automatic. I don’t give it much thought. Then as I linger on it, I realize I even mean it. “I like it here, I guess.”
“Really?” Her excitement is loud and evident through the phone. “Oh, RJ. I’m so glad. I knew this would be good for you if you gave it a chance.”
I don’t share her certainty that this was always going to pan out. Against all odds, I’ve managed to find things not to hate about Sandover.
The freedom, for one thing. Most of the time we’re all left to our own devices with only minimal supervision. Plus the food is excellent. Nothing like the cafeteria slop courtesy of the lowest-bidder government contract supplier in public schools.
And there’s Sloane. The easter egg I never expected out here in the rich kid rehab.
Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t see myself chumming it up with Fenn and the other guys. I’m only here for a year and this place has done nothing to change my outlook on transitory friendships. I came here for a diploma, not a lobotomy. But I can’t deny that I don’t entirely mind my stepbrother. Hell, even Lawson is growing on me.
“Tell me everything,” Mom pleads.
“There’s not much to tell.” I pause. “I mean…I’ve sort of been thinking about joining the swim team.”
A long beat of silence follows.
Then I hear the distinct sound of my mother laughing at me through the phone. It sounds choked, as if she’s trying to cover it up, but there’s no mistaking her sheer amusement.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I tell her. “That’s some top-notch parenting.”
“You’re serious?” She stifles herself, her tone becoming firm. “RJ, you’re not a team player, buddy. Some people aren’t cut out for it. That’s fine. You know I’ve never tried to push you out of your comfort zone.”
Right, except for sending me off to some vine-covered hamlet of wealthy screw-ups and future criminal CEOs.
“But I’m glad you’re thinking about finding a hobby. I just don’t see this one working out, if I’m honest. Remember the last time we went to the lake? You spent the whole time in the car on your phone.”
My mom tries her best, but she’s never been the overly maternal type. Honestly, it’s my fault for expecting her to take an interest in my activities. We don’t become delinquents because we come from such strong, functioning households. But maybe just this once I wanted to hear a little parental encouragement.
Then again, spite is a powerful motivator.
Challenge accepted.
Chapter 24
Sloane
“God help me if I ever need to know how to find the calcium carbonate level of a crab shell.” Eliza sits beside me at our lab table, visibly wilting from boredom while the sister drones through the instruction sheet at the front of the class.
I laugh. “Here. Let me show you an old Ballard life hack.”
I pull out my phone and Google calcium carbonate chemistry lab. Several PDFs show up in the search results. A quick look shows similar values on each, which I take as sufficient evidence they’re likely correct. With the quick scrawl of my pencil, I start filling in our worksheet for the crab shells, eggshells, and various other test subjects on our table.
Eliza grabs my phone. “Why is somebody named RJ sending you pictures of his underwear?”
“What?” I snatch it back, staring at the screen. “Oh my God. It’s a Speedo,” I say in delight.
RJ: I’m sure I’ll regret this.
I giggle to myself. “A guy I know at Sandover just crumbled to peer pressure to join the swim team.”
This is priceless. I can’t believe he went through with it. Fenn is never going to let him hear the end of it. I quickly send a response.