Someone Knows Read Online Vi Keeland

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Suspense, Thriller Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
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“I don’t have a diary I write in every day, but I keep a notebook that I like to write random things in.”

“The yellow one with a butterfly on the front that sometimes you have out during class?”

Jocelyn looked down. “Sorry.”

“I’m not looking for an apology. Good writers write when it strikes them. Tell me, what kinds of things do you write about in your notebook?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “I don’t know. Stuff.”

“Do you write about boys?”

Her cheeks grew warm. “Not usually.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Ever had one?”

“Not one that’s worth writing about.”

Mr. Sawyer’s lip twitched. “Do you write about your friends?”

“Not really.”

“So I’ll ask you again, Miss Burton. What is it you write about in your journal, if not boys and friends?”

“I don’t know. I guess I mostly write what I’m feeling.”

“And what is it that you feel?”

Jocelyn’s pink cheeks burned crimson. “Angry.”

“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Angry about what?”

“My mother. She’s a drunk.”

“What about your father?”

“I’ve never met him.”

Mr. Sawyer rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb as he stared at Jocelyn. His eyes were a deep, intense green. They seemed to darken as the seconds ticked by. It made Jocelyn want to squirm in her seat, but she knew he’d see it, probably call her out on it, too. So she did her best to stay rooted in place.

“Williamsburg College isn’t too far and has a creative writing scholarship. The top submission gets a full ride. Second and third place receive partial tuition funding. I can help you improve your writing. It’s not something I do for many students. But I think you might be special. However, you’ll need to work on becoming more disciplined. You’re easily distracted.”

“How do I do that? Study more?”

Mr. Sawyer’s eyes gleamed. “Discipline doesn’t have to be about studying. It can be learning self-restraint in general. For example, you fidget a lot and often stare out the window.”

“How do I fix that?”

“We’ll work on it. That is, if you’re interested in my help.”

Jocelyn couldn’t nod fast enough. “I’m interested.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he pointed a few rows away. “Good. Meet me here Friday. Four o’clock.”

CHAPTER

3

It’s a bright spring day, warm air floating between campus buildings, navy-and-gold Pace flags fluttering in the wind. Usually, I’d grab a coffee and sit and enjoy the sunshine, or maybe finish up grading on a park bench. But today, I have a singular goal.

The registrar’s office is in a big, modern brick building with a glass front. I find the entrance, step through the automatic doors, and come to a stop. To my right, there’s a student help desk, but I need more than they can give. My purse vibrates as I look around. Digging my cell from inside, I find Sam’s name flashing on the screen. We have plans for tonight, which I forgot all about until this minute. It seems impossible that it was only yesterday I texted him. Yesterday, when my biggest problem was that the date on the calendar read May 20. Now there’s someone who knows what happened leading up to that date twenty years ago, someone who has threatened a reckoning. I ignore Sam’s call, too anxious to get the information I came for to let anything else distract me right now.

The main office is a DMV-like setup, with seating to wait and numbered stations, staff calling up students. I peer around for someone to help me. Of course, only two of the stations out of twelve are currently staffed with employees. One of them I recognize. The twentysomething doesn’t just work here. Eric’s also a student. He catches my eye and smiles. I’ve dealt with him a few times before, when I had scheduling issues and errors in my class roster. He’s the sort whose eyes rest on you too long, who remembers your name and classroom when he shouldn’t. And every single time I’ve spoken to him, he’s given me a compliment of some sort. But that might work to my advantage today.

He finishes with a student, so I step up to his station. “Hi, Eric.”

“Aaron,” he corrects, yet smiles. “But how are you, Elizabeth? It’s been a while.”

I should remind him it’s Professor Davis, not Elizabeth, but instead, I smile. “Right, of course. Aaron. I’m doing well. How about you?”

“Can’t complain.” He eyes my hair. “I’ve always wanted to ask you . . . Is that your natural color? Usually, red is sort of orangey, but yours is more like a cinnamon.”

Who asks a woman if she dyes her hair? Certainly not a student. Yet I twirl my hair like some flirty teenager and lean in, because I’m not above anything today. “It is. Do you like it?”

He leans closer, too. “It’s beautiful. Makes your green eyes stand out.”

Oh God. It’s difficult not to roll those eyes. I need to cut to the chase. “Listen, I need help, Aaron. Do you think you can help me?”


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