Without stopping to think — huge mistake — I pulled my cell phone from the back pocket of my jeans and angrily punched in one of the numbers Paul had listed. It rang only once before I heard his voice — deeper than I remembered — intone smoothly, “This is Paul Slater.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
“Why, Susannah Simon,” he said, sounding pleased. “How nice to hear from you. You haven’t changed a bit. Still so ladylike and refined.”
“Shut the hell up.”
I’d like to point out that I didn’t say hell either time. There’s a swear jar on my desk — Father Dominic put it there due to my tendency to curse. I’m supposed to stick a dollar in it for every four-letter word I utter, five dollars for every F-bomb I drop.
But since there was no one in the office to overhear me, I let the strongest weapons in my verbal arsenal fly freely. Part of my duties in the administrative offices of the Junípero Serra Mission Academy (grades K–12) — where I’m currently trying to earn some of the practicum credits I need to get my certification as a school counselor — are to answer the phone and check emails while all of my supervisors are at lunch.
What do my duties not include? Swearing. Or making personal phone calls to my enemies.
“I just wanted to find out where you are,” I said, “so I can drive to that location and then slowly dismember you, something I obviously should have done the day we met.”
Because there are, like, nine hundred applicants with way more experience than people my age for every job that comes available. We all have to work for free just to get some experience so we can put it on our resumes so we can maybe get a paying job someday, but there’s no guarantee that we will. Oh right. I forgot that they don’t mention this in high school.
how does meg cabot still have such a hold on my brain/body/soul that i stayed up until 2 am reading the new mediator book. why do i scream and have an aneurysm whenever her protagonists kiss. lms if michael moscowitz gave you high expectations for boys and the world at large