Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
A section of hair falls in front of my right eye when I bend my head to read the subject line. Final Grade – Memoir Paper.
I drag my hand down the front of my pants, my nerves kicking in. Looking at her again, I say, “I spent a month working on this final project.”
Holding her hand out, palm up, she asks, “Do you want me to read it to ease the blow?”
Annoyance clenches my jaw. “There’s not going to be a blow. It’s either an A or a B. If it’s not an A, the professor is wrong.” With her hand still open and waiting, she laughs. It’s got a nice tone. “Fine.” I hand her my phone. “I’m confident in the results.”
“Cocky or confident?” She laughs a bit longer this time and gives the email her attention. She quietly scans the message from my professor, leaving me in suspense.
Running my finger through my hair, I ask, “Well?” She peeks up at me briefly as if she’s gotten insight into my psyche. Dread fills my gut. “Shit, what does it say?” I’m already regretting not reading it myself.
“Here are the highlights.” She reads, “Hides behind words, lacking authenticity . . .” Her eyes widen as she steals a glance at me before looking back at the phone again. “Masks behind ideas instead of truths.”
I should be shocked by the criticism, but Professor Johns is known as a hard-ass. “Not what I was hoping for. Did I fail—?”
“You got a B.” Thank fuck. Her expression softens into a matching smile, and she hands the phone back to me. “Can’t be all bad. I’d like to read it someday.”
Still in a bit of shock, I stare at the B listed at the bottom of the email and reply, “I’m thinking it needs some revision before anyone else sees it.” But that she’s shown interest piques my interest to look at her again. “But it’s passing and keeps me heading in the direction of graduation in the spring.” I drop the phone back in my pocket and start rolling down my sleeves for warmth. “What’s your name?”
Another light laugh befitting the cold night rings from her chest. “I’m Sosie. I should have introduced myself, but you know how hiding out goes. It’s not the most conducive environment to get to know somebody.”
“Seems we’ve done alright for ourselves.” I bend down to pull a cigarette from the pack tucked into my black polyester sock, and retrieve the lighter from the other one. I look into her eyes as I light up to see whether they're brown, green, or maybe hazel. It’s too dark to figure it out, so I take a long drag, then slowly exhale. “I like your name. It’s different.”
“Sometimes too different.”
“There’s no value in being the same,” I add, though I’m thinking she’s no stranger to standing out from a crowd. She’s too pretty to blend in. Taking another long inhale, I slowly release the smoke into the air, letting it billow into the slightest of December breezes.
“Tell that to all the dupes out there.” She reaches over and asks, “Spare a drag?”
I hand the cigarette to her. “I have more if you want your own.”
Instead of replying, she inhales the smoke, dropping her head back against the wall as if she’s needed this all day. She’s not the only one. With her eyes closed, she leisurely breathes the smoke out, letting her shoulders sink back against the stone like the side of her head. When she opens her eyes, she rolls her gaze my way. “I can’t, but thanks.”
I’m drawn to her lips when she speaks. Darker than pink but not unapproachable in deep red, it’s like they’re stained from eating too many cherries or she just finished a popsicle. Making her smile could become my favorite pastime. Tracing the bow at the top of her lips would be pure entertainment. But watching them wrapped around the cigarette stirs more than an urge for nicotine.
I turn my attention to the party happening on the other side of the large windows. The music is muffled along with the chatter, but it still manages to fill in the background noise. When I look at her, I say, “I’ve worked parties across the five boroughs, but this place—manicured backyard, a pool, a fucking guesthouse, and who knows how many bedrooms and baths are inside. A mansion parked at the edge of Central Park. This is peak wealth in Manhattan. What a life.”
She inhales a quicker drag before she hands the cigarette back to me and takes a few steps into the grass. “I’m sure it’s hollow for most.”
“If I had that kind of money, I wouldn’t waste it on parties.”
“What would you waste it on?”
I’m not sure why her calling me out has me grinning, but it does. Studying the red remaining from her lips, I tuck the butt between my lips, inhale, and look at her out of the sides of my eyes. “Living.”