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)
Me
Hey. What are you doing right now?
I watch him pull out his phone and sit up on the bench. He stares at the screen for a few seconds and then taps it.
Mr. Donovan
Let’s get back to the boundaries. You can only use my phone number for mentor/class work, Miss Edwards.
Me
I’m working on my opening for the pain/portrait assignment.
Mr. Donovan
I didn’t ask.
Me
I’m having trouble with the first sentence. Can I call you for a second? That’s within “boundaries,” correct?
He glances at the screen and shakes his head before slipping the phone into his pocket.
I return to my desk and face my broken words.
Seconds later, my phone rings with a call.
Him.
“Hello?” I answer.
“You’ve got three minutes of my time,” he says, his voice deep. “Read me the lines.”
I rattle them off quickly.
“Hmmm. The second is better, but you should try to find a way to get rid of ‘nothing more’ and focus on painting her without you being a part of the subject,” he says. “This isn’t a hit piece.”
“So, something along the lines of Gay Talese’s ‘Frank Sinatra Has a Cold” essay?”
“Yes, exactly.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Since you’re so far ahead, you should try to meet up with your mom in person for an interview.”
I shudder at the thought of willingly spending time with my mother outside of formal events.
“I’ll consider it,” I say. “Thank you, Mr. Donovan.”
“You’re welcome.” He ends the call, but then I call him right back.
“Yes, Miss Edwards?”
“Um, hi…”
He says nothing.
“Are you busy right now?”
“I thought I was.”
“Well, I just wanted to say one more thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“There aren’t too many people on this campus who actually want to talk about themes in essays outside of class.”
“I only wanted to talk about them for three minutes with you.”
“Do you think if Talese had written that essay like a true biography that it would’ve earned as much praise?”
“Hell no.” He lets out a low laugh, and my stomach flutters. “I think many writers today take his ‘focus on the small things’ approach too literally.”
“Tell me about it.” I lean back in my chair. “I just read a profile about this coffee chain CEO and the writer wasted the first paragraph describing his clothes.”
“The Fortune article?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t use that guy’s writing as an example for anything.”
I laugh. “I won’t.”
“What else are you reading?”
I open my drawer and recite the magazine titles from my collection, and somehow, I stay on the phone with this man for five hours.
9A
LIAM
Too many nights later
Hang up the phone, Liam. Hang up the fucking phone.
“My parents still think I’m a virgin,” Genevieve says around one o’clock in the morning.
Those seven words should be enough for me to tell her we’ve talked way too long today, that we should return to three subjects ago when she was telling me about the time her ex-boyfriend pranked her with fake Taylor Swift tickets or when I was telling her how Miss Shaw keeps coming over my house to change clothes for some reason.
How the hell did we even get here?
“Hmmm.” I clear my throat, deciding to tread this topic carefully. “Why would they think you’re still a virgin?”
“Because they sent me to an abstinence camp last summer.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“Yeah, that there’s no such thing as an ‘abstinence camp.’” She laughs. “At the end, the counselors gifted every girl a pack of penis repellant panties.”
“What the hell are those?”
“Thick cotton briefs with soft spikes near the crotch just in case a guy tries to finger fuck you.”
“Do they work?”
“Want me to wear a pair to class, so you can see?”
I ignore that question. “You should write about that camp. I’m curious.”
“I will, after I finish writing about how my parents literally paid for us to be so estranged.” She pauses. “I’m sorry I keep bringing them up tonight. I’m just upset they have yet to call me back about coming home for the holidays.”
“It’s not a problem,” I say. “I understand.”
“I’m sure your parents aren’t half as bad.”
“They’re both in prison.”
“Oh…for how long?”
“Life.” I swallow. “Like I said, I understand.”
We hold the line in silence for a couple of minutes before she speaks again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I smile. “They’re career criminals and they’re exactly where they belong. I would tell you everything they’ve done, but we’d be on the phone for a week.”
“I wouldn’t mind that…”
“In that case, I’ll text you their state prisoner numbers,” I say. “You can pull them up yourself. Going back to what you said earlier about Miss Shaw, though…should I be worried?”
“Extremely.” She laughs, and we effortlessly move on to another subject. And somehow, we stay on the phone until nine o’clock in the morning.
When we hang up this time, I decide I can only do this for one more night.
We’ll finish our discussion on our favorite trilogy, she’ll vent to me a bit more about her parents, and that’s it.