Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
We didn’t leave Carl’s until after three in the morning, all of us loopy with exhaustion. Anastasia was hesitant to go, but June was exhausted after a tour of the RV. Carl had it parked on the back of his property surrounded by trees. I knew about it because he’d told me about how he’s always wanted to drive it out west to find Area 51. It had been vacant for a while. Anastasia changed the sheets on the bed and shook out rugs while Carl, Benji, and I moved some of the comic books he’d stuck in there to his garage.
June was quiet, always watching, but I saw hope in her eyes, that look of It’s going to be okay. She worked out a deal with Carl for ‘rent.’ She said she’d keep a watch out for spaceships, and he said that would work. Is it a permanent place for her? Time will tell. It’s a good start, and maybe Carl needs somebody too. Loneliness has followed them both. Friends are a definite possibility.
Afterward, I drove Anastasia home, then Benji, then I went back to her place and crawled into her bed. We didn’t have sex—I’m waiting for something special—but I held her as we talked about nothing, and everything. I told her about my dad’s ‘visit’ to me when I was fifteen. She wept, part sorrow for me, part happiness that I experienced seeing him, part amazement that he said her name. At seven, I went home, worked out, showered, then woke up Crew and Hollis so I could see their faces and tell them goodbye. I also told them my decision about school. I’m not coming back. Talking to my mom and sister on Thursday and then the scout? It made everything crystal clear.
And Anastasia? Leaving her?
I can’t think about it without freaking out, so I’ve shoved it way down.
“I wonder if a Delta will get on the elevator today?” she murmurs as we pull away, her lips swollen from my kisses.
I push a strand of hair out of her eyes. “They’ll be taking the stairs.”
She smirks. “I can’t believe you threatened to blacklist them. Got your paper?”
I nod. “You?”
“Mhmm.”
We walk into class and wait in line to hand in our essays. There’s no lecture today, just turn it in and it’s over and done. It’s anticlimactic after the turmoil this class gave me for four months.
“You never told me why you took this class,” she says with a searching look.
“Because you did.”
A small smile curls her lips, her eyes dancing. “And it took you all semester.”
“Baby girl, now, you know you wanted me from day one—”
She punches me in the arm, and I laugh.
Whitman sits at his desk, his head lowered as I hand mine over. His beady eyes sharpen as he looks from me to Anastasia.
“Your work, Mr. Tate?”
“Always,” I mutter.
He takes it with a grunt. “We’ll see.”
“What’s it worth if I don’t do it myself?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve had things handed to you. I’m not the professor who passes you because you’re a famous jock.”
Huh. Maybe I’ve had a few things handed to me. I grew up with two amazing parents who loved me. We had money. On the other hand, I lost my dad and I might lose my mom.
“Life is tough, Mr. Tate. You’ll figure it out once college is over.”
Oh, man, he went there.
“Agreed, life is rarely fair.” I nod as I stick my hands into my pockets. “But the next time you know a kid has issues in your class, maybe try some understanding. I’m not talking about an athlete like me. They might be a regular person, the kind who’s talented in other ways, but if someone asks them to read, their throat closes up. This class was a mountain to me, Dr. Whitman. I climbed it. Fair and square.”
He frowns. “Mr. Tate…”
You can’t change assholes. Usually. But I tried.
“Think about it. Have a great Christmas.”
He sputters and I keep walking, letting the next person up to his desk.
I walk to where Anastasia waits. She bites her lip. “You didn’t toss a pen at him, but still epic.”
I grin, feeling confident. She read my paper last night. She said it’s good. Do you know what it means to know I wrote something and she thinks it’s good? It makes me feel like I can take on anything.
Benji practically runs into the room, his shirt on inside out, his hair a mess. He slaps his paper on Whitman’s desk then saunters over to us like he’s cool.
I laugh and Anastasia joins me. I think we’re both running on a strange energy, but clearly, Benji is not.
“Morning,” we say at the same time.
He groans. “I barely made it. What a night, but hey, today’s the end of the term. What time’s your flight, Ana? Ours is at five in the morning. Shit. Y’all wanna hit the bar for a few hours after classes?”