“No, he doesn’t hit me,” I sigh.
She nods slowly.
“Just, lately I’ve been going through some things,” I shrug, hoping she won’t delve deeper.
She still looks suspicious. “I swear, you can trust me. What things?”
I play with my fingernails—a nervous tick for me. I used to bite my nails until I got down to the skin, sometimes even chewing on that, too. &n
“Jake,” Claire says, staring up at him.“Hey Jake,” I wave.She can’t keep her eyes off him. They’re practically twinkling because of his presence. Jax who?He nods dismissively at her, then he turns to me. “Do you want a drink?”I glance at Claire, and she’s biting her lip. Shrugging, I say, “Sure. Claire, are you coming?”She nods silently. We follow him to the kitchen island, where bottles of brown and white liquor litter the marble countertop.Jake reaches up for a plastic party cup. Well, he doesn’t have to reach that high. He has to be at least 6’3.“Um, are there any beer bottles… or wine coolers?” I ask.He sets the cup back down. “Oh, yeah sure.” He opens the cooler and pulls us out two cold bottles. I offer one to Claire, but she declines.“Shouldn’t you be 100% sober?” she cro
“Ooooooow!”“Relax,” Cas sighs.“Are you okay?” LeAnn asks.As Claire sinks down to the floor, Cas pulls me aside. “Who the hell is she?”“Oh, that’s Claire. I met her at Marie’s Soups.”“Who’s Marie?” she asks cluelessly.
After about half an hour, we have become true sleuths. Well, after a 20 minute period of distraction. In our defense, a lot of the earlier posts on the account were pretty funny… and distracting.“Okay, okay. Time to focus,” I say.“But this one—”“No,” I put my palm up.LeAnn places the phone back on the countertop, focusing on me.
Despite our failure yesterday, I still have to show up bright and early for my internship. I feel like I’ve fallen far behind this summer. I was supposed to be looking for internships. I was supposed to apply, to show my work ethic, and to score myself this opportunity. As a scholar, I take pride in my work—this summer has plummeted that side of me. The drama, the gossip, the guys… all the guys.Finally, I can get back into a routine that reflects the real me: Genevieve, the scholar; Genevieve, the try-hard; Genevieve, the ass-kisser. Any other person referred to as these monikers would be offended. I embrace it. I always have. I usually enjoy working hard, but for some reason it doesn’t have the same effect today.I straighten out my blazer and pencil skirt in my full length mirror. Typical office outfit. “Hello, my name is Genevieve, and I would be an extraordinary applicant for any institution becaus
The cafeteria in this place has all the selections that one could want: salads, sandwiches, soups, and pastas. This should have been the selling point of the place. From the corner of my eye, I spot Staple’s assistant in a tight mini skirt and busty blouse, grabbing a vegetarian sandwich and a meatball sub. Who let her cut the line?I whisper to the guy in front of me. “Can we just jump to any section, or…?”“No, but you know Steph,” he replies.My face crumples into confusion.
If my life had a playlist, it would be a sad one. Alternative music would play, giving a dark and smoky vibe. A few low tempo rap songs, some Adele for a little variation. I decided to make this playlist, with the excuse that it would inspire me to write the most profound and insightful essays for college.What is your favorite book, and how has it impacted your life?I can’t say Fifty Shades of Grey, can I? NEXTWhat is your favorite song?I just close the laptop—for the third time today, I might add. I’m contemplating deleting my social media apps, as well. I’ve developed a severe case
He lives a few streets over from me. Being in the small town we’re in, of course we’ve known each other forever.I only had to enter the address in to find the route with less traffic.When I get there, only his car is in the driveway, parked haphazardly, and the door is ajar.Now, I know that the rational decision would be to run for the hills… or for help, but I decided to enter… cautiously, of course.I hear a rumbling noise coming from upstairs, along with heavy breathing and… growling?Please don’t be a burglar, please don’t be a burglar, please don’t be a burglar.Luckily, I know Aaron’s mom, and she always keeps a bat under the kitchen sink. I grab it and head upstairs to become a vigilante. With each steady step, I get more jittery and regret it.The noises get louder and louder until…“What the fuck?!” the bitch scream
I feel like I’m in an action movie. You know, one of those where there’s some social security threat, and the CIA enlists some rogue agents—whom they suddenly trust to competently do their jobs—to “save the world.”I’m rapidly clicking my computer keys, searching for any digital trail from secrets109428@hotmail.com. Subtle.“Find secrets109428@hotmail.com on White Pages Today!” a random link says. No, thanks.
How many rational excuses can I use to get out of this meeting?"Dad, I'm so sorry, but I actually planned to hang out with my friend Claire," I lie."Nice try," he says sternly.Drake purses his lips in amusement, probably thinking about how juvenile this all is."You know where to meet me," he says before hanging up quickly after."Shit," I mutter after the dial tone."You okay?" he asks, with no sign of sarcasm or plain disinterest."Yeah, I'll be fine," I clasp my hands, shutting myself off emotionally. Before turning to leave, I stutter, "I-I'll think about the yearlong internship."He
“Iced Matcha Latte for Gen,” Sarah calls. I didn’t even know what Matcha was. I just googled it while waiting for my drink, but I felt like I needed a change. I’m not the Caramel Macchiato Genevieve anymore. It’s weird to say, but it’s true. Crushed tea leaves. The color puts me off, but I’ll try it. I’ve already invested $4.50 into the new me. And Sarah didn’t even add a demeaning nickname to my cup. Progress? I think she moved onto a new victim to torment. I don’t have any fight left in me. I sip the drink slowly, and it’s pleasantly sweet. A little green tasting… don’t ask. It tastes like nature, but not in a gross way. Starting up the car, I head into the city. Approaching the office building that I had a key to just a few months ago, I sigh. I hate awkward interactions, but it’s time. I buzz the gate, stating my name. I was skeptical about if they would remember me, but the guard let me right in. I park in my usual
Without looking back, I lead him to grandma’s pool house.We never break the kiss as we continue down the stone path. I consider skinny dipping, but it’s November, and the pool is closed. Luckily, the pool house is open. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, swirling it around his. His hands trail my body, over my hips, over my chest—my ass.I just know his face is some smeared, muted shade of my lipstick.I’ve never done something like this. I’ve never just taken risks for the hell of it.He pushes me onto one of the couches and peels my dress up.“Wait,” I say, breathlessly panting.“Something wrong?” he whispers roughly. He’s panting, too—hard.I can see that he already has a yellow wrapper from his wallet. This is really happening.“Are you—”“No,” I say.“—okay?” he finishes.“Oh,”
“Grandma’s or grandpa’s?” I ask.“Hmm?” mom mumbles as she puts on another layer of makeup.“Which one should we go to first?”Great—another reminder that marriage doesn’t last—at least in her eyes. She told me about her big romantic awakening with dad. How he promised never to hurt her like my grandparents did each other. How he promised to love her till death do them part.In her eyes, it’s all a lie, and I’m starting to think so, too.So, here we are: picking which Thanksgiving to go to first, not mentioning dad, and pretending like everything’s okay.I’m avoiding my “friends,” and mom has a new guy over every week: perfectly normal. And clarentonsecrets—aka. My best friend—is here to document it all.“Let’s go to grandma’s,” she chrips.She’s always been her favorite, seeing as gran
NovemberDrakes POV“How much do you want us to take out?” The overalled man grumbles, clutching a clipboard.“Everything. Take out all the office supplies, except for the desk. Put it in a box, and leave it in my office,” I say.I haven’t seen her since she sent me that email: “Going to have to take the day off tomorrow. Family emergency.”All the interns headed back to school or to wherever they traveled from before starting here, including her… I guess. We’re closing the office, and this is my last thing to do before going en route to the dreaded family Thanksgiving.
“I think you missed the exit,” I whine. We’ve been on the road for at least 40 minutes. “I know the way to my friend—and co-worker’s—house, thank you very much,” Don smizes.I roll my eyes. “Would you rather be wrong or late?”She huffs and takes the nearest exit, while I refresh the navigation. Eventually, we end up in Stevie’s neighborhood in some obscure town in New Jersey.As soon as we park in front of the house, the door swings open, but it’s Stevie instead of his brother. They’re roommates.“H-Hey, Don. Gen,” he smiles gingerly.
Drake’s POVWe’re coasting down 9th avenue in pursuit of a seat at one of my favorite restaurants in the city.“Where are we headed?” she asks, tapping the black leather arm rest. She pushes some fly-away curls from her face, staring out the passenger side window.“Just a place.”“As long as I don’t end up getting kidnapped, I’m fine with anything,” she mumbles.“Steak?”“Sure.”I pull the Audi up to the restaurant’s valet with ease
Drake’s POV“What is it now?” I snap.“Problem at the oil rig,” the tattooed beast mumbles.“What fucking oil rig? We have hundreds of—”He dangles a bag of white powder before I can finish my sentence.Oh. Oil rig.I sigh, rubbing my temples. “What kind of problem?”“Some managers”—law enforcement— “stumbled on”—busted—“some weird activity”—our illegal drug business— “among the
I feel like I’m in an action movie. You know, one of those where there’s some social security threat, and the CIA enlists some rogue agents—whom they suddenly trust to competently do their jobs—to “save the world.”I’m rapidly clicking my computer keys, searching for any digital trail from secrets109428@hotmail.com. Subtle.“Find secrets109428@hotmail.com on White Pages Today!” a random link says. No, thanks.