Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Good morning, Dreg.”
Usually he was in before everyone, but that morning, Professor Anthony wasn’t arranging papers at his desk or writing on the board. He wasn’t there to catch them if they pulled something.
“I’m not interested, Iris.” I sidestepped her and she jumped in the way, her friends crowding me on both sides.
“Not so fast, Sinclair. You don’t fool me.” She winked. “All this time, you were trying to piss me off for attention. Got a little girl crush, don’t you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Clearing her throat, Iris held the paper in my face. “The truth about Luna Sinclair. Number one: she couldn’t get off with a guy while in that boarding school, so she hooked up with half the girls on her floor. They dubbed her the Pussy Muncher.
“Number two: When her stepdad cut her off, Luna became a camgirl.”
“What?” I shrieked. I made a grab for the paper and Iris jumped back, dodging me expertly.
“Keep reading,” Alice shouted.
It was then I noticed almost everyone in the room had a list.
“Number three.” This was the happiest I’d ever seen Iris. “Luna Sinclair was born seven months after her mother stopped working for the Cooperson family. Guess who Daddy is?
“Who is Daddy?” Iris asked. “David, Langston, or Roger Cooperson? Not that it matters since they were all married at the time. You came by your whorish ways honest.”
“As honestly as you’ll come by your hospital stay.” I shoved her. “Don’t I owe you a busted rib?”
“Hey!” A sharp, nasally bark cut off Iris’s biting remark. “Do we have a problem here?” A short, stout man in a brown suit stepped between me and the three girls about to jump me—again. “I suggest you ladies take your seats.”
Iris and her cronies went to their desks, and the stranger went to Professor Anthony’s.
He’s not here? Does that mean Victor didn’t—?
My ex-fiancé blew in on a cloud of body spray. I held still as he passed me and claimed a seat in the third row, taking out his things like it was just another Monday.
I hesitated staring at him. We’ve been sitting next to each other for the last few classes. If I sat somewhere else, people would guess something’s going on with us.
So let them guess. Something is going on with us, he dumped me. This game of playing pretend doesn’t work for us anymore.
Climbing the steps, Branlon tossed his wadded-up paper at me, bouncing it off my ankle. I resisted the urge to pick it up. I heard numbers one through three. The rest wasn’t likely to be better.
“Ah,” Branlon crooned. “What’s the matter, Pussy Muncher?”
“I have to see your fucking face so soon after eating breakfast. Hope you’ve got an umbrella”—I plopped next to Victor and behind him —“cause I’m about to hurl.”
“Bitch,” he muttered.
Victor gave me a look like he was tempted to say the same. He opened his mouth.
“Victor, stop. Before you say anything, I want you to know it’s not what it looked or sounded like. I can explain everything,” I said, “but it’s all right if you don’t want to hear it. Everything’s changed now. My mom— It doesn’t matter.”
I took a breath, slowing my babbling. Victor just watched me, expression hard.
“Turns out it was always going to end this way, but it didn’t have to be this bad. That’s my fault and I know it.” Gathering up my things, I rose. “Meet me after class, so I can give it back to you.”
I flashed my bare hand, indicating what I was talking about. Victor didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He didn’t stop glaring.
I went up to my seat at the top and was hit with another paper ball to the head. Giving in, I picked it up and smoothed it out on my desk.
The Truth About Luna Sinclair
Number One: She couldn’t get off with a guy while in that boarding school, so she hooked up with half the girls on her floor. They dubbed her the Pussy Muncher.
Number Two: When her stepdad cut her off, Luna became a camgirl.
Number Three: Luna Sinclair was born seven months after her mother stopped working for the Cooperson family. Guess who Daddy is?
Number Four: She tried to get into this school by cheating on the SATs. When that didn’t work, she slept with the dean.
Number Five: The last person Winter Sinclair-Bowden called before she died was Luna.
And Luna didn’t pick up the phone.
My lips trembled—pressed tight, the tear painted my mouth and dripped down, splashing on the crinkled page.
“Good morning, class. My name is Professor Ross. I will be taking over today as Professor Anthony is out sick,” he announced. “I understand you start each week with a writing prompt. We’ll do the same today, but with some adjustments. These papers will be graded, and I will see you again on Wednesday to present.”