Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Oh, no.
“Taking over Wilson Industries, advancing the nation, doing right by thousands of employees. Don was destined to do great things,” John said, his smile twisting. “But he chose... books.”
“I chose literature, Father. I chose to study the works of minds who’ve advanced this nation through prose with the hope I could one day write something even half as great.”
“Half as great? Your grand goal in life is to fall short?”
Victor spoke up. “Dad, you know that’s not what he meant.”
“It’s what he said. He wants to read dusty old tomes while he toils away at his magnum opus, praying it could one day rise to the level of mediocre.”
“That is my dream, Father,” Adonis replied. “Given the choice, I will always pick mediocre writer over your corporate stooge.”
John slammed his glass on the side table. “Do you hear this boy, Martha? He has no respect for the man who raised him. Daring to sit there so superior when he is neither a writer nor a businessman, he’s a college freshmen English teacher.”
Adonis shot forward. “It’s a job, Dad. That I earned. On my own. Without your money, connections, or support—all which you made clear I lost the day I stopped letting you run my life.”
“John,” Martha cried. “Adonis, that’s enough.”
“Earned without my connections?” John barked a laugh eerily similar to Victor. “Is that what you think? This is Regalia. Whatever name you call yourself, you’re a Wilson, and a Wilson opens doors in this town. You can thank me for your position as you can for everything I’ve sacrificed to get you where you are.”
“You did not get me this job.”
“No?”
“No,” Don said firmly. “The dean hates you. He made of point of saying so during the interview. Something about a bet you reneged on twenty years ago.” John was flushing an angry, concerning red. “It’s more accurate to say I got this position despite everything you’ve done.”
“That grudge-holding officious twit. I owe that man nothing.”
“Of course you don’t, sweetheart.” Martha had a strangle grip on her husband’s knee. “And of course you earned your job, Don. I bet you’re a wonderful teacher. Luna, isn’t he a wonderful teacher?”
I froze with the shrimp half in my mouth. So much for eating saving me from talking. “Uh, yes,” I said. “He’s one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. Most of my professors read off PowerPoints like they’re boring themselves, but not Professor Anthony. He makes us a part of the lecture—a part of the literature. He takes a book written over a hundred years ago and makes it relevant to us today.
“We think we’ve come so far with feminism, sexuality, and equality since the day The Scarlet Letter was written, but I was called a slut yesterday for talking to a guy fully clothed on the quad in broad daylight. My point is,” I said quickly at their bemused expression. “I used to think English class was about reading ancient books written by dead men who wouldn’t have understood my life if I lived in their time, and definitely wouldn’t understand it now.
“Because of Professor Anthony, I see writing isn’t about that. It’s about seeing the world the way it truly is—stripped of the bullshit, the niceties, and the lies—and reflecting it through the language all cultures have shared since we came out of our caves: storytelling.”
My cheeks were heating up fast under their stares. Turning and looking at Adonis would make this twice as impossible to say. “I know I sound intense, but that’s because of his class. He’s so passionate, he forces you to care. To try harder and find the truth in yourself. I can honestly say I didn’t work this hard on writing assignments before I took his class. If only he wasn’t impossible to please.” Yes, I had to add that last comment.
“I’m not impossible to please,” Adonis replied. “You said it yourself. I expect my students to care as much as I do. That last paper you handed me was a joke.”
I whirled on him. “It wasn’t a joke.”
“I said a book, essay, or work of fiction that had an impact on society. You wrote about the movie Mean Girls.”
“That was based on a book,” I cried. “The book led to the movie. The movie had an impact.”
“On what? October third?”
“On young women,” I forced through gritted teeth. “On the way they relate to each other, and how the creation of cliques and outcasts reinforces the same hierarchical systems we fight to shed in every equal society. We don’t see that we’re undermining the very feminist goals we hope to achieve when we shun a girl for wearing the wrong sweater.
“That book and the movie it led to does exactly what I said, Adonis. Exactly what you taught me. It shows life in Regalia University as it truly is—stripped of the bullshit. I explained all of this in the paper. Did you even read it?”