Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I know who Romeo and Juliet are,” he said with a quirk to his mouth. “It’s just that I found out too late that watching one of the many movies made about it wasn’t going to give me the information I needed to do the assignment, unfortunately. And I’d rather not admit that to Richie. So, Shakespeare, can you help me?”
Shakespeare? Was he mocking me? Probably.
When any guy remotely close to his level of hotness and popularity spoke to me or about me, it was never in a positive way. Most of the time, mocking was a go-to for them. But this was Ransom, and not one time in three years since I’d walked the same halls as him had he done so. He’d never even noticed me. There was a touch of disappointment that came with the thought. Why I’d assumed he wasn’t the type to get his kicks out of belittling others, I didn’t know. It wasn’t as if I knew anything about him, other than he was wealthy, his family owned a whiskey distillery, and he was treated with respect by not only students, but the faculty. I’d watched that with interest many times. Everyone accepted the way he and a few others seemed to get a pass for things they shouldn’t.
The elite group consisted of his younger brother, who was a freshman, and Bane Cash, who was a senior, like Ransom. Bane seemed to part the waters when he walked down the hallway. I suspected it was out of fear because, honestly, he was terrifying without saying anything. He just had an air about him that was intense. His younger brother was also a freshman, and although he wasn’t as feared as his brother, he got a respect that normal freshmen did not.
In my grade, there was Forge Savelle. His brother, Oz, had graduated last year, and surprisingly, he hadn’t gone straight to Hollywood, which was a shame. Oz Savelle’s face could have launched his superstar career without any ability to act.
Lastly, there was Gathe Bowen, also in my grade. He had an older brother, too, but he’d been a senior my freshman year, and I didn’t remember much about him. I assumed he’d also been golden within these halls.
The Carvers, Cashes, Savelles, and Bowens seemed to own this town, and their sons ran the school.
Ransom cleared his throat and cocked an eyebrow at me. When I realized how long I’d been standing there, staring at him mutely, my red cheeks only heated more.
“I, uh—yes. I tutor in here on Thursday afternoons.” I rushed out my words. “But right now, the only time I have available would be six in the evening, and I don’t think that Mr. Lemond is here that late,” I added.
“Mr. Lemond?” he asked with confusion.
“Mr. Lemond,” I repeated. “Salt-and-pepper hair, tall, limps slightly, often seen with the mop and bucket, cleaning up the messes around here.”
There was annoyance in my tone, but Ransom had been at this school for almost four years. Could he not have taken the time to know the head janitor’s name or even speak to him? I hated the way students ignored him, took him for granted. He was a person. He had grandkids. He should be respected. Appreciated.
“Bill,” he replied.
Bill? Was that Mr. Lemond’s first name?
I blinked, not sure if I should feel bad about almost scolding him or if he was making up the name Bill.
“I have football practice until five thirty. That would be perfect. I’ll speak to Bill about giving us, what, an hour? I can even lock up for him if he needs me to.”
He would speak to Bill? Was that truly Mr. Lemond’s name?
“Bill, as in Mr. Lemond?” I needed clarification here.
He nodded his head. “Yes. Bill Lemond. The head custodian for the past sixteen years. He’s retiring next year though. He wants more time with his grandkids.”
Oh. Wow. Okay. I’d misjudged him, it seemed. That was more than I knew about Mr. Lemond. I, of all people, should know how judging a book by its cover was a terrible practice.
“All right,” I replied. “I, uh, can give you my number, and you can text me after you’ve spoken to him,” I said, not about to ask for his number. He was probably asked for it regularly—and not for tutoring help.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened it, then lifted his eyes back to mine. “I’m ready.”
I spouted out the numbers, and he tapped them into his phone, then saved it under the name Shakespeare. With a roll of my eyes he didn’t see, I tensed up, but said nothing.
“Got it,” he said, then slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“What in the world are you doing in the library?” a female asked in a flirty tone.
I shifted my gaze to the left to see Lilliana Sherbet strutting toward us—or rather, to Ransom—with a sway to her hips. When I glanced back at Ransom, his focus was on her legs, which were fully displayed in her short cheerleading uniform.