Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
I was dizzy with the unexpected compliment. It was the first time someone had told me I was not an idiot. Even Keller, my best friend, never complimented me on my wits.
“Why were you never diagnosed?” Ransom pressed, a vein throbbing on the side of his forehead.
“It wasn’t nece—”
“You didn’t read the contract.” His eyes flared. “That’s why you were so clueless afterwards. You just signed it.”
“Stop talking.” I raised a warning finger, aiming it at him. “Just…just stop.”
Now that we were face-to-face, it sure looked like he was angry. But it wasn’t directed at me…why not? It was my failure, not his. He could read just fine.
I stomped my way to the closet and flung it open. Maybe it was time to get out on the town and grab dinner outside. I’d been cooped up inside long enough.
“No need to diagnose me. I’m just not a smart person. Is that what you want to hear? Everyone in the family made peace with it. Me included. I suffer from a lack of interest combined with an inability to do well in school.” I began flinging dresses onto the bed.
Ransom got in my face, shoving himself between the closet and me. “You could have gotten a shit ton of services, tools to help you. More time for your tests, recorded textbooks, computer spell checkers, therapy. They could’ve found any number of ways to help you. Instead, they treated your disability as a liability to save face, instead of getting you the help you needed. This is why you’re so mad at them.”
Ransom foamed at the mouth, he was so furious. I’d never seen him so upset. I took a step back, suddenly feeling like being this man’s center of attention was my own private downfall.
“I…uhm…”
Should I tell him? Should I not?
Screw it. The truth was better than all the lies I’d spewed out for years.
“You what?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“When I was in second grade, my teacher, Mrs. Archibald, told my parents I needed to get tested for dyslexia. I’d fallen behind pretty significantly, which made me drift and lose interest in class even more. My parents became really upset. Made a whole stink about how a general-ed second grade teacher didn’t have the right to make such assumptions. She ended up getting fired, after Mom put pressure on the school’s board. I never got tested, but…” I licked my lips, closing my eyes. That period of my life was one of the worst. Precipitating the time when I lost faith in myself. Dad was on his last year as President, and he couldn’t afford the bad press. The scrutiny.
“From that moment on, teachers started helping me out with tests and assignments. And by ‘helping’ I mean cheating my way into decent grades. I still wasn’t good, but I passed all my classes. The bigger the gap between me and my classmates became, the easier it was to believe I was just…”
“Stupid,” Ransom completed for me softly.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
Now, at twenty-one, I did not consider myself high school educated. I’d missed so much material. Only in recent years, when I discovered the magic of audiobooks, did I start to catch up on subjects that had interested me. History, literature, and geography. Suddenly, I could consume books. I’d devoured all the classics. Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte and Leo Tolstoy.
Ransom looked haunted, staring at me with eyes so deep and dark I thought I was going to drown in them.
“Your parents…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m going to kill them.”
Clutching his phone until I heard it crack, he stormed out of my room. I chased after him. No one was supposed to know about the Mrs. Archibald story. White-hot panic coursed through my veins. My parents would skin me alive when they found out I’d confided in him.
“Ransom, please don’t tell them!” I grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging. His phone was pressed to his ear. “They can’t know that you know, I—”
But it was too late. Someone answered him on the other line.
“Mrs. Thorne? Ransom Lockwood here. Change of plans. We’re not coming to D.C. In fact, it’s not safe for Hallie to be anywhere but in Dallas right now. Unlike your other daughter, Hallie is famous, headline-grabbing, and a hot commodity. I don’t want her star to overshadow her sister’s plebeian duties. Have fun at the funeral.”
He hung up.
I stared at him, shocked.
This was the first person who had truly stood up for me. Had my back more than once.
Also: have fun at the funeral? He was so going to hell for that one.
“I think I just fell in love with you.” I stumbled back, clutching my chest, like Cupid had pierced an arrow through it.
He massaged his eye sockets, looking tired, almost deflated. “Like my day wasn’t bad enough. Get dressed.” He tucked his phone into his pocket, a sullen, fallen angel. “We’re getting you diagnosed right now. Then I’m taking you to dinner. Vegetarian something. My treat.”