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)
“Yeah?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend…”
LESSON #3
“Failure isn’t “failure,” it’s a part of success.”
At least that’s what the successful people (who hardly ever fail) say.
Truth is, failure is failure.
Period.
Stop looking for pretty phrases that’ll make you feel better about it.
It just sucks…
1
GENEVIEVE
Monday
There’s a glaring omission in every “Come Learn at Exeter” brochure, a certain landmark that escapes mention year after year.
It’s only made known after someone gains admission.
The Sweet Donated Season Gardens are not really named after some foreign donor whose “experiences shaped every part of his life.” It’s an acronym for Sex. Drugs. Secrets. Gossip.
If you’re bold enough to tiptoe past the red “No Trespassing” sign and risk getting lost in its maze of arborvitae hedges, you can carve out unseen hours for yourself and whoever you want to meet.
It also comes in handy whenever storms slam our coast, because the thick tree canopy will protect you from the rains.
Or, so I’ve heard.
Today’s relentless rains have brought along their frigid wind friends, and the trees above haven’t offered me any relief.
I’m soaked from my hair to my socks, but I’m too deep into the garden to turn around now.
Ignore the rain, Genevieve. Just keep walking and ignore it.
When I make it to Mr. Donovan’s front pathway, I can see him standing at the front door.
His smile shifts to concern as I step onto the porch.
Instead of serving me some friendly sarcasm, he ushers me inside.
“I would’ve picked you up.” He shuts the door. “Stay right here.”
He returns with a stack of towels and a set of flannel pajamas. “Take your time getting dry. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I wait for him to walk away before peeling out of my clothes. Taking my time, I walk over to the hearth and let the heat kiss my skin before pulling on the pants.
I roll the sleeves of his pajamas to my elbows and tie the pants as tightly as possible. I press the towel against my hair a few more times before strolling into the kitchen.
Hot tea and an array of papers are laid out on my side of the table.
“Don’t take this personally,” he says, “But I can see why Harvard waitlisted you.”
“It’s hard not to take that personally.”
“There’s no heart in your words,” he says. “I don’t work in admissions, but I guarantee this reads like tons of essays they’ve seen before.”
“It’s my best work.”
“I promise you it isn’t.” He shakes his head. “Far from it.”
“Is the opening the problem?”
“The problem is you not answering their question.” He picks up a highlighter, dragging it across the words that gave me hours of problems.
As you consider entering this community that is committed to honesty, please reflect on a time when you or someone you observed had to make a choice about whether to act with integrity and honesty.
“I’ll make this blunt,” he says, “Writing about the time you spent an a week searching for a dog’s owner instead of keeping it as a pet isn’t compelling.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this already, but I don’t lead the most exciting life.”
“I disagree.” He smiles. “You probably have a lot more fun than any other student here.”
“So, write about all the times I’ve broken the code of conduct?”
“Yes,” he says. “Then tell them about the time you had to be dishonest to get what you thought you wanted.”
“Needed.”
“You didn’t ‘need’ to get drunk and come onto a complete stranger.”
“That stranger came onto me.” I correct him. “And it’s not my fault people bought me drinks.”
“Be sure to leave that last part out of your essay.”
“Are you still thinking about that night a lot?”
“Okay.” He shuts the folder, drawing his boundaries again. “This session is over. You can leave now.”
“It’s still storming.”
“That didn’t stop you from getting here.” He looks at his watch. “Do you want me to call security to take you back to your dorm?”
“Why do you keep switching up on me like this?”
“Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ to security?”
“It’s an ‘answer my question,’” I say. “With the exception of last week, I talk to you all night, every night. Why can’t you finally admit that you like me?”
“Because I’m not a pedophile.”
“That’s low,” I say. “I can admit that I like you.”
“In that case, please go work on your Daddy issues with somebody else.”
“I don’t have any Daddy issues.” I snap, hating that he’s being more standoffish than usual. “You’re not that much older than me.”
“It’s a good thing you’re focusing on English instead of math, since you clearly can’t count for shit.”
“Okay, fuck you.”
“I honestly should’ve.” He stamps his mouth over mine and kisses me.
I suck in a breath as he cups my neck and pulls me closer.
He slides a hand under my shirt and palms my breast. I place my hand against his pants, feeling his cock stiffen and harden under my touch.