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GENEVIEVE
My back aches as I fill this morning’s mop bucket with water.
Even though I’m still adjusting to my punishment, there are some pros that come with being forced to get up at the crack of dawn to clean.
One, the campus is serene and it offers me a free dose of daily inspiration. Two, I get to flip through the disciplinary files for everyone else to confirm that my problems arefarfrom the worst at this school. Three, it gives me plenty of time to think about all the ways I can take down Professor Fake Quote.
Wiping down the counter in the main office, I shine a light on the surface to make sure it sparkles.
Lindsey Mitchell, a fellow senior, opens the door and drops a folder in the basket.
“Wow, Genevieve.” She clicks her tongue. “I knew you were a kiss-ass but I never would’ve guessed that you would volunteer to help clean this place. Please tell me you’re not that pathetic.”
I bite my lip.
“So, youarethat pathetic.” She snorts. “You know, if you weren’t such a suck-up to all the teachers, more people might like you.”
“Speaking of ‘suck-up,’ did you use condoms when you sucked off the crew team this summer, or was it all raw?”
“Who told you that?”
“No one.” I shrug, remembering her file. “But you’re confirming it’s true?”
She rushes out of the office without answering.
After I finish steaming the drapes, my watch beeps with a reminder of our annual expectations ceremony.
Unfortunately, it beeps again with a new email notification from Mr. Peterson.
Subject: URGENT. Open me.
Please don’t be another punishment. Please don’t be another punishment.
Dearest students,
As you know, the past few years have brought along a series of changes at our academy, and this year will be no different.
After tonight’s ‘Expectations Ceremony,’ all seniors will be paired with a year-long mentor who will help you better transition into your post-Exeter journey.
Your assigned mentor will be posted outside the main auditorium. Please check it before receiving your formal ‘semester expectations’ printout.
Sincerely,
Principal Peterson
Grateful for the good news, I rush to change clothes and get to the auditorium. A large crowd is angling for views of the board, so I walk around the building until it thins.
Genevieve Edwards—Mr. Donovan.
I blink a few times to make sure I’m reading those words properly.
“Lucky you,” One of my floor mates says from behind. “I was hoping I’d get him.”
“I thought you hated English with a passion.”
“I do, but I like sexy men, so I’d happily put up with boring ass essays for him.”
“Great. Want to trade?”
