Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
The way I noticed first.
TRACK 12. MEAN (1:58)
AUDREY
Three Days Later
Dear Miss Parker,
Your first paper in my class fails to live up to any of the essays you submitted to get into this program.
It is bare, lacks emotion, and reads like it was submitted by one of the high school students you’re required to tutor here.
I will not waste my time giving you a grade on it.
You have twenty-four hours to rewrite this with actual feeling and depth, or else I’ll have to give you a zero.
My jaw dropped as I read over Professor Paulson’s looping cursive, scrawled across the top of my work. I’d worked hard as hell on that “Person Who Hurt Me” paper, and I didn’t understand why she hated it so much.
My chest tightened, my face burning with humiliation. I’d stayed up half the night writing that essay, pulling pieces of myself I hadn’t touched in years.
Bare? Lacking emotion?
If only she knew how much I’d held back.
Flipping the cover sheet, I skimmed my paragraphs in disbelief. I’d picked Sarah Resner—a girl from high school (and one of Taylor’s many girlfriends from back then) who alienated me from half the class.
“This is the definition of hurt,” I muttered. “I don’t see what she means…”
Setting it down, I tiptoed out of my room and noticed that Taylor’s door was shut. I walked to the living room where he’d been working every night; his laptop was open, and I hesitated before moving closer.
I clicked on the screen, but it required a password. I rummaged through his folders and notebooks, stopping when I saw Professor Paulson’s handwriting on a stapled essay.
My fingers hovered over the pages in shame.
I knew I shouldn’t look.
I knew.
But the moment I saw her familiar looping cursive, something ugly and curious inside me took over.
Pulling it out, I read her words:
Dear Mr. Wolff,
Your writing is some of the most compelling I’ve ever read on this topic. The way you recaptured the history between you and your former schoolmate made my heart ache.
I look forward to reading more.
98/100.
“What the fuck?” I nearly screamed. I pulled out my phone and took pictures of every page, then put everything back in its place before rushing to my room.
I locked the door as if he would ever approach it, as if he could actually see me reading his words.
Time hasn’t started to suture the wounds that this woman inflicted on me…
My throat went dry.
He didn’t waste a second infusing every line with the venom of someone who still hated his subject.
It was beyond obvious by paragraph three that the “former schoolmate” who hurt him was me.
TRACK 13. ALL OF THE GIRLS YOU LOVED BEFORE (3:33)
TAYLOR
Stacey swerved her car along the backroad like a madwoman, headlights slicing through the trees as gravel spat against the windows.
Her nails drummed the steering wheel in rhythm with whatever pop song blared from the radio, but her jaw was locked tight, her mood miles away from the melody.
I was seconds away from taking the wheel.
As promised, I’d set aside one night a week for a private date while I was here—to show her that I could juggle the program, football, and her at the same time.
Honestly, though, with the season starting three weeks from now, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Pshhh! Our leftovers from dinner slid across the backseat as she finally pulled the car in front of the graduate residence.
“I had a good time tonight,” I said to her.
“I didn’t.”
“What?” I looked over at her. “Why not?”
“Because you spent most of dinner on your phone with your agent,” she said. “And when you weren’t doing that, you were reading lines aloud about Audrey.”
“About someone who hurt me in the past.”
“Whatever.” She let out a breath. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think she’s attractive?”
I arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you harboring any feelings for her?”
“Hatred and regret maybe.”
“Regret for what?”
“Not getting everything I need to say off my chest.”
“Like mean stuff?”
“Yes,” I said, even though I wouldn’t quite put it that way. “Very mean stuff.”
“Well, maybe I can help you write that next time we go out.”
“It’s not worth my time.”
“Can you look into getting another roommate or having them make an exception for you?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I don’t like Audrey.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I don’t like that she’s so close to you.”
“Stacey…”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t ‘Stacey’ me. Before this program, she was just a figment of your past that came up in conversations here and there—someone you alluded to whenever we brought up high school memories—but…”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize just how often those figments occurred until I really thought about it. And then the fact that when I helped you move, you refused to let me burn all the letters she ever sent you.”