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GENEVIEVE
One week later
To follow the rules, or to not follow the rules, that is the question…
I’m scrolling through Cafe Savauge’s latest newsletter, and my palms are twitching with every detail. Tonight, they’re hosting a private event, and the special guests are a group of bestselling indie romance authors.
They promise the audience heart-shaped strawberry scones with grumpy hero-inspired lattes, steamy discussions about “real-life love versus love on the pages,” and an “openhearted Q & A” session for anyone who aspires to be an author.
I can’t afford to miss this.
I hover my cursor over the “reserve my seat” button but hesitate to click it.
Principal Peterson’s words from earlier this semester are giving me pause.
“You can start that change by weighing the consequences and repercussions of your actions before you do something else foolish.”
I weigh the pros and cons for all of one minute before buying the ticket. Then I head downstairs to distract Warden Dearest.
All I need to do is “borrow” her driver’s license and head to the Amtrak station.
“I was literally about to come talk to you, Genevieve,” she says.
“Oh.” I spot her purse hanging wide open on the hearth. “About what?”
“Our building engineer signed off on an express package for you.” She picks up a blue box. “Are you expecting any other deliveries this week?”
I wasn’t expecting this one.“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, well, give me a heads up next time. You know we have to keep track of everything.”
“Will do.” I take the package, eyeing her wallet. “Do you need help cleaning the common spaces today?”
“Depends. Are you volunteering?”
I nod. “Yeah. You should take a break, and I’ll vacuum and straighten things in here until you come back.”
“I appreciate your offer!” She smiles. She walks into the hallway but then returns to retrieve her bag. “I’m going to grab a couple of coffees for us since you’re being so nice. Be back!”
Damnit.
I plop onto the couch once she leaves.
Staring at the package, I consider the idea that my parents sent me a belated birthday gift, but when I tear the flaps apart, it’s clear it’s not from them.
It’s a small iPad, and it instantly comes to life.
Onscreen, cafe chairs stand in perfect view of the stage. The words “Cafe Sauvage” are etched onto the brick walls, and a ‘Welcome Indie Romance Authors’ banner hangs from the rafter.
There’s a small card taped on the back of the iPad with a note:
I’m not picking you up again.
Stay on campus tonight.
P.S. You still haven’t turned in your ‘F’ essay. I’m not giving you a new grade until I actually SEE it.
9
