Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Fine.” I take another sip, feeling like I’m drinking some sort of acid, but he’s kind of right—it does go down easier the second time.
“Let me show you around.” He wraps an arm casually around my shoulders as we walk back inside the large two-story, white-pillared house. I don’t know why I visualized his fraternity house as some kind of shack with beer cans and empty kegs everywhere. This is not like that at all. It’s huge and gorgeous with hardwood floors, expensive furniture, and the kitchen is state of the art. Like I wish I lived here.
“For some reason, when you invited me to your frat party, I visualized Animal House,” I yell over the loud music as we enter the large front room where a lot of people are laughing and drinking.
“What?” He cocks his head as if he’s confused.
“Animal House… remember the Delta House?” I laugh. “Toga, toga.” I keep going, because has he not seen Animal House? I know it’s old, but come on, who hasn’t seen Animal House? It’s a classic.
“It’s a movie, right?” He looks over my head at someone.
“Yes.” I take another sip, and my tongue’s kind of tingling. The phone vibrates in my hand, and my heart skips a beat.
“Holy shit.” I elbow him, and he acts like I just gut punched him, spilling half his punch on the floor.
“Oh God, sorry.” I look around for something to mop up the spill.
“It’s fine. Darren hired people to clean up. Don’t worry about it.” He pulls away from the mess, and we move to a corner. “Now, what’s up?” He steps in closer. I know Jordan likes me, and if I could get Dean Powers out of my head, I might actually be interested. As it is, though, I can’t think about anyone but the dean.
I hold up my phone. “Our grade just came in for the engineering paper.” I take a long sip of punch. My face flushes, but I need the liquid courage.
Jordan snorts, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Fucking Dean Powers. Giving us grades on a Friday night just to ruin our weekends. Typical.” He pulls out his phone from his pocket.
Glancing around the large room, I realize I’m underdressed, if the girls wandering around in short skirts and heels are any indication. In my defense, I wanted to go home and change out of my jeans and tee, but Jordan insisted it was casual.
“Wow,” he hisses, jolting my attention back to him.
“What did you get?” I almost grab him and shake him as he looks up from his phone with a small grin on his lips.
“You first, although I already know it’s an A. I read your paper, remember?” He smirks.
Taking a deep breath, I push on the class, taking me to the grades, and blink at the screen.
C
That can’t be right. I’m not bragging, but I know how to write a killer paper, so a C is unacceptable. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a C.
“What did you get?” My eyes remain focused on my phone.
“Fucking arrogant prick gave me a B.”
Looking at Jordan, I shove my phone in his face. “I got a C.” My head spins, and tears threaten to spill, so I bring the cup to my lips and start chugging.
“That can’t be right.” He takes my phone and stares at it. “Fuuckkk.” He looks down at me. “He straight up robbed you.” Shaking his head, he says, “You’re not gonna freak out and do something drastic, are you?” He bursts out laughing.
I grab his cup and down the remaining punch, then snatch my phone back.
“Whatever. Make fun of me.” I sniff, my entire mouth now numb.
“Sorry.” He keeps laughing. “Look, that has to be a mistake. I read your paper. It was perfect.” He pulls my arm to follow him. “Let’s refill your punch. You can email him, and then we can get fucked up.” He fist pumps a random guy walking by. Eminem’s “Not Afraid” is so loud that not only is my tongue tingly, but so are my ears.
“I need some air,” I yell at his back.
“What? Come on, we can grab our drinks and sit on the roof,” he calls back over his shoulder.
“No.” I stop as the room kind of spins. “I’m not drinking any more until I email the dean.”
He shakes his head at me. “Bad idea. He won’t respond until Sunday at the earliest, so let’s drinkkkk.” He pounds his chest.
Rolling my eyes, I step toward the front door, miming that I’m going outside to use the phone.
“Excuse me,” I mumble at a group of stupid guys blocking the door.
They keep laughing and smoking.
“I said, move.” Not waiting, I duck under one guy’s arm and keep walking while I press on Dean Powers’s email.
Dear Dean Powers,