Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I am such a mess—and now I want a hot dog and to go to the movies.
To the bio, I add: You are: funny, goal oriented, down-to-earth, and awesome.
“Well. Here goes nothing.”
Giving the short synopsis another perusal I bite down on my bottom lip before hitting SUBMIT.
My phone goes into the back pocket of my jeans as I scramble around my bedroom, tossing my laptop into my backpack. I have one night class, and if I don’t hustle, I’m going to be late.
Why I took a night class is beyond me, but it has a lot to do with my waiting until my junior year to take it, a requirement for my major but a class everyone hates because the professor wrote the textbook and is a complete jackass.
Go figure.
I hoof it to class, walking through the door a little early, taking the same seat I always take—near the back, in the shadows of the upper auditorium seats lest the professor and I make accidental eye contact, and he decides to call on me.
Slouching my shoulders, I pull a ball cap out of my backpack and slide it over my hair, concealing my face as much as I can without blocking out the whiteboard on the stage in front of the room. It’s a large class with hundreds of students, so they hold it in a small performing arts auditorium.
And, because it’s only one night a week, the class is an entire ninety minutes long, with a five-minute break after the first forty-five minutes. It’s mind-numbing.
I fidget.
The likelihood that Professor Randall will call me out is slim, but I’ve never been one to take chances. If I had a pair of sunglasses, I’d slip them on too. Ha!
My phone buzzes. I can feel it through the pocket in my pants.
I squirm.
Do my best to focus, eyes to the front.
Tapping away at my laptop, I highlight passages in the textbook on my screen so I can remember them for the test.
So far, there has not been a quiz, which is unusual for Prof. Randall. He not only gives one quiz per class but he sometimes gives two.
Yeah, two.
To make sure we come back from the break.
“Who does this douche think he is?” I hear the grumble behind me and resist the urge to turn in my chair to look it face on. Whoever is mumbling better zip his cake hole so I can concentrate.
“Seriously dude? We get it, you wrote the textbook.”
My mouth curves because let’s be real, that was kind of funny—and do I detect some sort of Southern accent?
“I bet you update it annually, asshole, to force everyone to buy the new version.”
For real. How many times is he going to complain about the teacher? Professor Randall’s boasting is nothing new. The guy behind me is acting personally victimized by him, and in a hot second, I may no longer have the willpower. I may turn around and say something.
five
drake
Dating is basically avoiding people who have seen you naked while trying to find new people to see you naked.
Who does this blowhard think he is?
Ten minutes into class, the professor has announced no less than three times that he wrote the textbook; it’s in its ninth edition, so he updates it annually.
“I bet you update it annually, asshole, to force everyone to buy the new version,” I mutter, irritated.
Dick.
“Are you even gonna talk about marketing?” I say to myself since zero people are paying me any mind, most of them down closer to the stage.
Drew hadn’t warned me about this mega douche of a professor; all he told me was not to disappear after the break. The guy is notorious for pop quizzes, and he didn’t want to fail because I’d bailed.
A shitty grade was better than the zero he’d get for going home.
Drew and I are no stranger to trading places, a hazard of having identical faces and features. Test-taking and standing in for one another is just another perk of having a twin sibling. We used to do it all the time in high school. Drew was always a stronger mathematician, so every so often, he’d take my math exams, and in exchange, I would do his speeches and presentations.
Shit, I even tried out for the football team as him once in high school when he had the flu. No one suspected, not even our folks; Dad even showed up to watch.
Yeah, we’re no strangers to swapping classes. I only agreed to tonight ’cause I didn’t think it’d be so fucking boring, and I didn’t think the professor was going to be such an egotistical ass.
“I am learning nothing.” My head tips back, and I stare at the alcove for the mezzanine seats overhead. The gilded crown molding is impressive for a campus auditorium.
Must be old as fuck.