Total pages in book: 189
Estimated words: 178200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
“YOUR AUNTS HAVE BEEN notified, Ms. Tanner.” Principal Childress’ voice was cold enough to rival the air-conditioning in her office. She was a gray-haired bespectacled woman in her fifties, someone who had been single throughout her life. She could have been just like my aunts, really, except for a huge difference: my aunts hadn’t let their personalities dry out like their still-intact hymens even after all these years.
I thought about asking Principal Childress if I could temporarily leave and borrow a fresh change of gym clothes from the clinic. Stealing a look at her face, which was lined with disapproval, I decided risking hypothermia was the safer option. At least I still had a chance to live.
“...your eye gets better.”
Her words made my eyelids twitch, which was followed by a jolt of pain. Farah’s surprisingly hard right hook would leave me sporting a panda look for a while, but I still got the better deal. At least I wasn’t two-fifths bald.
“...explain what that blog was about?”
It took me more than a moment to realize Principal Childress was talking to me. “Err, sorry, Principal Childress. What was that again?”
She snapped, “I asked if you could explain what that blog of yours is about.”
I shook my head hurriedly, intent on clearing things up. “It’s not my blog. Everything published there was extracted without permission from my diary, which Farah Jenkins stole—-”
“Ms. Tanner, you misunderstand. I am not asking about how those entries appeared online. What I am most concerned about is the content. What little I’ve read of it is frankly disturbing.” Her voice stiff with disapproval, she continued, “It appears as if your aunts have poisoned your mind from the very start—-”
My mind had shut down after the word ‘poison’. So my aunts didn’t lull me to sleep with regular fairytales from good old Grimm and Andersen. Instead, they had shared with me the most wonderful stories by romance authors who wrote extraordinary love stories about ordinary women falling in love with not-so-ordinary men. How the heck could that be considered poison?
“...making you believe that you must set your sights on an individual of Greek descent—-”
My head was literally whirling. I couldn’t believe how petty this talk was turning out to be. So little girls were allowed to dream about Prince Charming but not about Greek billionaires?
Before she could confuse me even more, I blurted out, “I’m afraid I don’t get you at all, Principal Childress. What exactly are you implying? My aunts didn’t tell me the normal bedtime stories, yes, but they didn’t mean any harm when they told me those stories. They were good stories about couples finding true love—-”
“It is not a good story when it inspires a woman to look for a rich benefactor!” Principal Childress shot to her feet, a look of affronted disbelief on her face. “It is not a good story when adults use it as a way of encouraging a child to whore herself—-”
I shot to my feet too, and this time I knew exactly what was causing me to shake once more. “It wasn’t like that!”
“Then what was that first entry you wrote about? You started it with a tip on how to target Greek billionaires—-”
“There’s nothing wrong about those stories, about my aunts, and there’s nothing wrong about wanting to marry a Greek billionaire!”
Both of us froze.
“You are appalling,” she spat.
I couldn’t answer. Oh dear God, I had shouted! I was still appalled myself, unable to believe how I had become totally violent in a few hours. First, I got into a freaking fist fight and now I was involved in a shouting match with my Principal Childress.
This was wrong, but...I couldn’t help it. She made me so mad! Trying to get a grip on my emotions, I said unevenly, “I was orphaned when I was eight. My aunts were career women and suddenly they had an eight year old to take care of. I was insatiable for bedtime stories because it was my way of clinging to my parents’ memories, and they knew that. When they ran out of stories, they just switched to simplifying Harlequin romances. Surely you can understand that? Surely you don’t see anything wrong?” I looked at her pleadingly. “You know those books—-”
“No. I’m sorry. I do not know those books because I don’t read anything that’s sold in Walmart.”
I gaped at her answer. “But—-”
She shut me up with a glare, pointing at me like she was branding me a witch in the Salem Trials. “You have more or less admitted that your aunts had raised you to believe it is fine to use the holy sacrament of matrimony as a stepping stone for improving your financial and social status in life.”
Was she basically saying I was a gold-digger?
“Holy Angels is a well-respected Catholic school, Ms. Tanner. If you wish to remain enrolled here, then tomorrow you must admit that the entries you have written in your blog—-”