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“Alright,” he looks up, racking his brain for the first word. “What doesprudhommemean?”
“A trustworthy citizen. Unless you’re spelling it p.r.u.d. apostrophe h.o.m.m.e. Then it’s the labor court where disputes between management and workers are settled.”
He nods. When I’m right, I don’t hear anything from him. Only when I’m wrong. “What is noctambulism?”
“Sleepwalking.”Easy.
“Origin of the word, Alexandra,” he asks, unimpressed, as if I should have known to add it.
“It comes from noctambulation. Nocti comes from the Latinnox, which means night. Ambulation comes fromambulationemfrom the past participle stem ofambulare, which means to walk.”
He scratches his cheek, the rough sound of nails against an invisible, slowly growing stubble he will have to get rid of again tomorrow morning. “Antipode?”
I open my mouth and close it again. I tuck my hair behind my ears before looking down. “Um…”
“Um,is not an answer.”
I bring my index to my hairline, rubbing where the skin meets the soft strands. “I know, I’m thinking.”
And here comes the most hated response he always gives me. “You shouldn’t think about these answers, they should be instinctive.Thinkingis for essays and debates. Definitions require no thinking at all.”
I pinch my lips and look down as I bring my hands in front of me, twisting my fingers.
“Disappointing,” he concludes gravely.
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure I really am. However the response is automatic.
“Instead of being sorry, be more intelligent.”
There’s a lump in my throat as I nod silently. I hate disappointing him.
“You should get going.”
I step away, not expecting a kiss or a good luck from him. Moments later, I’m by the door when he calls me back.
“And Alex…” I turn around, foolishly hoping he will say something nice to me, or maybe that he’ll miss me. “I hope you packed your dictionary. God knows you need it.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “I did,” I murmur, walking out of his office. Like every time I step away from him, I feel my shoulders relax as if I can finally take a deep breath.
And people wonder why I’m a know-it-all.
2
ALEXANDRA
Not Another Rockstar – Maisie Peters
“Alex, are you sure you’re okay to drive on your own? Can’t Dad drive you?” my mom insists as I get into my car. It’s a two-seater sports car, a Porsche 718 Cayman, so Jordan already left with all my boxes in the big car.
“Mom,” I groan. “I’m a big girl, come on.” I get in the car, but she stops me from closing the door.
“Honey, you didn’t even hug me goodbye.”
“Sorry,” I huff. I get back out and hug her tightly. I get my beautiful blonde locks from my mother, and I bury my face in hers, holding her against me. She’s got beautiful blue eyes, though, and I get the hazel in mine from my dad.
We separate, and I’m out of our driveway in a split second. Unsure how to get to SFU, I turn the GPS on and just keep going.
Almost forty minutes later, I’m finally entering Silver Falls when Ella calls me.
