Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Both of her perfectly sculpted brows fly up and Sebban starts chanting my newest fuck-up.
“You’re sorry?” She laughs, shaking her head as though she can’t believe it. “I guess what they say is true. Prison really can change a man.”
“What eye color does Gio have?” I ask, boring my stare into her.
Her face blanches. “Brown. Why?”
“No reason.”
“The kid’s not yours, Jordy,” she hisses. “We didn’t screw. Stop being so defensive.”
I steal one more glance at the kid. “Thank fuck. I do not need a kid right now.”
Sebban grins at me and then throws his sippy cup at me. Little bastard is nothing but an ankle biter and already sticking up for his mom whether he realizes it or not. Good kid.
“You should come to Campfire Chaos,” I tell her. “Catch up with the Hoodlums. Like old times.”
Her face burns bright red and she scowls. “I’m a married woman with responsibilities now. I’ll pass.”
“Consider it. I bet Roan and the guys miss you,” I challenge.
“I don’t miss them,” she throws back.
I leave her be.
For now.
God only knows I have enough shit on my plate.
Roux
I hate school.
Always have, always will.
When I finally manage to escape this prison, I won’t be going to college. Roan will freak, but I don’t care. He knows how hard school has always been for me. It’s not that I don’t try, because I really do. It’s because my brain muddles when it’s time to make sense of what I’ve learned. If the teachers would give me my tests verbally, I’d probably ace them all. There’s just something about staring at the paper that gets confusing.
Karen—or Principal Frazier to everyone else—says I have a learning disability, but I even shut down when I’ve been tested for that. She’s made special allowances now that I’m at the high school. I’m given reduced homework compared to the others. I’m allowed breaks during tests and can ask questions. All sorts of crutches to help me pass.
And I still barely keep my head above water.
My senior year will be more of the same.
“Miss Hirsch,” Mr. Ewing says when the final bell rings. “Can you stay back for a minute?”
I nod and then skim my eyes over to where Charlotte is sitting. She won’t look at me or speak to me. We’re going on over a week of not talking. It’s not a phase. She won’t get over it like Kelsey thinks. It guts me.
Today, Charlotte was glued to Ryan and his inner circle. A girl named Rena has buddied up to her. Isaiah and Gunther—the two guys also messing with her that night—hang out with her and Ryan like nothing ever happened.
I guess I shouldn’t have butted in after all.
The class leaves, all of them eager to go home. It makes me wonder if Kayden will be in the parking lot when I finally make it out of here. He’d tried to pick me up for school this morning, but I ignored him to climb into Hollis’s car. I know Kayden was pissed, but we’re broken up. No matter how hard he tries to deny it.
Mr. Ewing clears his throat, drawing my attention his way. He’s a few years older than Roan. Definitely cute if you’re into the tall, lean-built, nerdy professor type. I like him because he loves poetry and has already assigned us some poems to read. I may fail his class, but at least it’ll be one of the few classes I’ll enjoy.
“I spoke to Ms. Frazier,” he says as he stands from his desk and walks over to where I’m sitting. He sits on the edge of the desk across from mine. “She said you needed some modifications for my class.”
I nod, no longer embarrassed by the spiel. This haze has followed me through my entire school career. “They usually give me extra time to take the tests or let me ask questions.” I puff out a sigh. “Though it’d be easier if you’d read the questions to me and just let me answer them.” I let out a laugh because that’s something they never allow.
“Okay.”
I jerk my head up. “Okay?”
“I can do that. Not during class because of the other students, but we can make arrangements for verbal testing after class since this is the last period of the day.”
I grin at him. “Really? Thank you!”
“Your GPA isn’t anything to write home about,” he jokes, “but I read what you turned in today. It was a good poem.”
“I love poetry,” I say with a sigh. “I love that it doesn’t seem to have order or make sense. Kind of like my mind. I have tons of it stuck to the walls in my room.”
He smiles. “That’s something we can relate on. I started a book of poems.”
“Like Atticus?”
“If only I could be that successful. Maybe you could give me some feedback one day.”