Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
This is her fourth time stopping, and we only started running fifteen minutes ago.
“The elevation… in New Hampshire… is just—” She coughs. “Whew. This running thing is not for the faint of heart.”
I hand her my water bottle. “Let’s just walk the rest of the route.”
“You’re tired already, Liam?”
“Yeah,” I say, deciding to play along. “I guess I have to get used to the ‘elevation.’”
“Totally understand. It takes me by surprise sometimes, too.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as we walk through the quad.
“Don’t look too hard, but that’s Alice Stafford,” she says, nodding toward a brunette. “She’s fucked the entire rugby team.”
“Hey Alice!” She waves to her. “Looking forward to seeing your short film in class later.”
“Total slut,” she whispers once we’re past her. “Oh, and over there in the tennis uniform is Renee Roebuck, and yes, that’s ‘Roebuck’ as in the ‘Sears and Roebuck’ business dynasty.”
“You’d think she’d be a decent player with all the money her parents have poured into her training, but she sucks ass.”
I blink. She sounds like more a teenager than a professor.
“Don’t worry, though,” she says. “Our tennis team is still the best in the country, even with her dead weight. Miss Edwards makes sure of that.”
I don’t ask her which “Miss Edwards” she’s talking about.
“Okay, now slowly stop walking and pretend to tie your shoe.” She’s suddenly whispering.
Wary, I follow her instructions, and then she bends down with me.
“If you look straight ahead at those rose bushes on the quad, that’s where the drug deals go down.”
“What?”
“Adderall, weed, molly, you name it,” she says. “These rich kids get their hands on everything, and that’s one of the most popular drop off spots.”
“Why do we need to bend low to see it?”
“So we can intercept some weed for ourselves.” She smiles. “Who are they going to tell if it gets stolen?”
“Right…”
“Oh, well! There’s nothing there!” She loops her arm in mine and pulls me up. “Pay close attention while we go through the Phelps Science Center and the library. You need to be well aware of who talks to whom and who sleeps with whom, in order to make strategic alliances.”
This woman is officially insane.
Like an unwitting accomplice, I follow her around the entire campus.
She gives me the dirty history behind the stately buildings, and when we venture into the nearby small town, she doles out gossip about every small business owner.
I manage to escape her grasp before class.
When I arrive, the theater is half-full with students, even though my session doesn’t start for another hour.
Mostly girls. Well, and two guys.
I set my briefcase at the front and prepare for today’s lesson.
Since Mr. Jenkins left far too many romances to read for my liking, and I disagree with every paper he’s published, I need to dismantle his ideas sooner rather than later.
“Love is not a choice”
I mar the whiteboard with those words and turn around once it’s time to start.
“Anyone want to take explain why you agree or disagree with this concept?” I ask.
A redhead in the front row raises her hand, and I glance at the seating chart.
“Yes, Miss Howell?”
“I agree,” she says. “Love is definitely not a choice.”
“Okay. Care to elaborate on that?”
“I did.” She smiles. “I added ‘definitely.’”
I blink. “Anyone else?”
A brunette in the rear, Savannah Lyle, stands up.
“Go ahead, Miss Lyle.”
“I agree with Miss Howell.” She nods. “Love is definitely not a choice.”
Their parents pay sixty thousand dollars a year in tuition for this?
“On that note,” I say, “if no one has another point to make—”
“I disagree.” Genevieve suddenly raises her hand.
As much as I want to say, “Tough shit,” and move on with the lesson, I can’t.
“I see.” I cross my arms. “Care to elaborate?”
“Yes. I think any person can choose who they fall in love with, in a certain context anyway.”
Her classmates turn in her direction, looking as if they’ve finally woken up and are ready to tear her idea to shreds.
“You can’t choose who you fall for per se, but you can choose to stay, which is an act of love itself,” she says. “When people say, ‘I’m falling out of love,’ sometimes I think they’re taking the easy way out. Relationships change over time, and in the hard times, you have to choose to stay like you did in the good times.”
“What if there’s a betrayal, Miss Edwards?” I decide to crash her theory myself. “What if the other person cheats?”
“Well, obviously, in that case—”
“What if they become addicted to drugs and transform into a completely different person from who you first loved?”
“You’re taking my words too literally.”
“Better yet, what if they lie about who they really are, and you find out that your relationship never stood a chance?”
“You’re not allowing me the chance to explain.”
“I’m saving you the time because it’s obvious you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I roll my eyes. “You need to leave arguments like that here in high school. They won’t work in college.”