Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I’m distinctly aware of the fact that Cole is also still in the classroom, ostensibly tying his shoe. I have a feeling he’s actually making sure I’m not telling on him about the quiz.
“Yes?”
“Are you still interested?”
I perk up. This is the first bone anyone at WRH has thrown me. “Totally.”
“I can assign stories in class as part of the coursework. And you could work with me after school putting it together. How does that sound?”
“I’d love to,” I breathe, excited about schoolwork for the first time since I came to Wolf Ridge. Finally a challenge. Something to work for.
“Great. Come by after school today and we can start planning it.”
“Today? Oh, yeah. Okay, that works.”
I have no idea how I will get home after the bus leaves, but I’m sure I can figure it out. This is important.
I turn around, only to bump straight into Cole loitering behind me.
“Do you need something, Cole?” Brumgard asks.
“Yeah, I need to talk to you about extra credit. You know, to bring my grade up for—”
“For the game Saturday?” Brumgard gives a long-suffering sigh.
I leave before I hear the rest of the conversation, but I can guarantee Cole wasn’t worried about his grade; he was making sure I didn’t rat on him.
And I probably should have.
I don’t know why I want to be on Team Cole when he is so set on being against Team Bailey.
I rub the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. Somehow, this is all tied into tragedy. My guilt for Catrina warped into a need to atone with Cole. It’s illogical, but I’ve yet to have a logical, coinciding thought and feeling when it comes to Cole Muchmore.
Bailey
Mr. Brumgard is in his classroom after school. He greets me with a smile. “Hi, Bailey, come on in.” He pulls out a chair beside him, behind the desk. “Have a seat.”
I sit down, fighting the awkwardness of working directly with an adult. I’m excited about this project, but nervous, too.
Mr. Brumgard smiles at me. “I’m glad you’re interested in a student newspaper, Bailey. I think it’s a great idea.”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth and nod.
“The culture at Wolf Ridge is strange, as you’ve probably noticed. A lot of emphasis is on sports, and not much on anything academic. You’re one of the very few students interested in even applying for college. While the graduation rate is decent here, the number of students who continue their studies is less than ten percent. No one leaves Wolf Ridge.”
“Yeah, I’ve definitely noticed. My mom’s friends at work all told her I should go to Cave Hills instead, but I don’t drive, so it’s too far.”
Brumgard studies me. “Yes, Cave Hills would’ve been a much better choice for you. Although on the upside, you’re probably a shoe-in for valedictorian here. First quarter grades have you at the very top of the senior class.”
Pleasure floods my chest. I know it’s geeky, but achievement has always been my thing. My mom says I get it from my dad, who died in Afghanistan when I was a baby, but I think it’s just as much from her. I was raised to work hard and earn the accolades. I know for most kid that sounds like the opposite of fun, but for me, it’s everything.
Brumgard touches my shoulder. I ignore the creeping tingles it gives me. “I can see you’re having a hard time fitting in, Bailey. I want you to know that my door is always open if you need a friend.”
The words are kind. Probably what I’ve been wanting to hear, but somehow they don’t strike me as sincere. There’s something off, but I’m not sure what. Like he’s trying to manipulate me for something.
But that doesn’t make sense.
“Honestly, sometimes I wonder if the families in Wolf Ridge are in some kind of closed religious community. Mormons, maybe,” Brumgard says.
I shoot him a dubious look, thinking of Cole’s dad with a beer bottle in his hand every time I see him. “With most of the population employed by a brewery? Definitely not.” Mormons don’t drink.
“Well, some kind of cult, then.”
Huh. A cult.
The town doesn’t strike me as particularly religious, but there is something cultish about it. Goosebumps race up my arms.
Could that be why I’m such an outsider here? I’m not part of their cult?
But what kind of cult could it be? Sports-worship?
I make a non-committal sound.
“Anyway, I’d like you to brainstorm a list of articles you want to run in the first edition of the paper, and write them on the board. We can go over them together and then I’ll assign them to the class tomorrow.”
I get up from my seat, happy to no longer be so close to Brumgard. I already had ideas for articles, although I don’t know if I can come up with thirty-some different ideas for each kid in class.