Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Jessica, on the other hand, has no problem finding guys to sleep with. In our few short months at NYU, I’ve been relegated to the common room at least twice a week so that she can enjoy some alone time with her flavor of the day. She’s tried to give me pointers in the romance department, but I’m too awkward to use them. I don’t know how to seduce a guy. I’m just not that kind of a girl.
“I feel so bad for them,” I say. “Zoey and Peter have been a package deal for so long. It’ll be weird to not see them together.”
“Tell me about it! Until today, I don’t remember the last time I saw Zoey without Peter by her side. I was worried they might morph into one.”
I laugh because it’s true. They’d taken all of the same classes in high school. They both go to Columbia now, and while their schedules aren’t identical, they’re pretty close. That’s going to suck for Zoey. I would hate having to see my ex in class almost every day.
I’m also sad because if Zoey and Peter couldn’t make it last, then what are the chances for the rest of us? After all, their relationship has always made me envious. I want someone who looks at me the way Peter used to look at Zoey, with adoration in his eyes. I would love to be in a stable relationship where we hold hands and attend events together. At nineteen, I still have plenty of time to look for love, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever find it.
“You look mopey. Stop that,” scolds Jess.
“Sorry.”
“What is it now?” she asks.
“Just lonely, I guess.”
My pretty friend immediately brightens.
“Let me set you up!”
I shake my head.
“Absolutely not. That never goes well.”
Jess pouts.
“It was one time, Mari. You can’t let one time color your judgment.”
I stare at the floor.
“One time was enough,” I mutter. “Tommy was hella freaky. I’m scarred for life now.”
Jess rolls her eyes.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. That was James’s fault. He told me Tommy was a great guy, and I swear, I didn’t know about the weird doll thing. You know that I broke up with James for not telling me.”
I sigh. I still think the guys had been playing a trick on us. Jessica was hooking up with James and asked if he had any friends so we could double date. James introduced me to Tommy, who had seemed fine until he’d given me a ride home. We got to his car and I stopped short, trying to conceal my horror. The backseat had been filled with porcelain dolls. There were big ones, small ones, tall ones, thin ones, and they had an assortment of eerie smiles on their faces. When I asked Tommy what was going on, he merely shrugged and said he was a “collector.” I was creeped out and ended up taking the bus back. Only a serial killer would have a porcelain doll collection.
I hope it was just a prank, but I still keep an eye on the news in case I see Tommy’s face on a “FBI Most Wanted” poster.
“So, Zoey and Peter are broken up. What else have I missed from the old high school gossip mill?”
“I don’t think there’s anything else.”
Jessica had been the queen bee at our private New York City high school, and she has kept in touch with most of our relatively small graduating class through social media. It’s fun to know what our classmates are up to. At least five have been arrested for dealing drugs, which is pretty much par for the course for snooty private school kids.
My best friend sits next to me on my bed and picks up my B paper.
“You know what you have to do to prevent this from happening again, right?”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“The essay, what else? I swear, Mari, what did you think I was talking about?”
I sigh. Jessica can switch subjects so fast I get whiplash. That’s probably part of the reason why her grades are in the toilet. That, and the fact that she would rather party and socialize than do homework.
“Right. What do I have to do?”
“Go to office hours, girlfriend. Get to know the professor, and next time, he’ll give you a better grade.”
I smile sourly.
“That’s not going to help.”
I’ve been to office hours for other classes, once when I’d been worried about a math exam. The professor had helped me work through some problem sets, and I’d gotten an A on that exam.
What’s the point of going for an English class, though? We talk about the books in class. I don’t think discussing The Scarlet Letter with my professor will change my understanding of the book.
Thinking about my B brings tears to my eyes. I can’t believe this has happened. I had almost forgotten about it until Jessica brought it up again…