1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“Can I at least read something written in the past hundred years?” I ask.
“Something where a middle-aged man isn’t conning an eighteen-year-old
girl into committing bigamy?”
He turns his head, a stern expression on his face. “I think you’ve
dominated the class’s attention long enough, Ms. Trevarrow.”
“In fact,” I go on. “I’m seeing a trend this semester. Anna Karenina,
Lolita, Girl With a Pearl Earring, Jane Eyre…all stories featuring older
men and younger women. Something you want to tell us, Mr. Foster?” I
wink twice, teasing the older man.
The class’s laughter is louder this time, and I can see Foster’s chest rise
with a huge, exasperated breath.
“I’d like the report tomorrow,” he says. “Do you understand?”
“Absolutely,” I answer and then drop my voice to a mumble. “There are
tons of Jane Eyre movies.”
The students around me snicker under their breaths, because of course I
can’t read a whole novel and write a report on it with cheer and swim
tonight. I end my taunting, satisfied that I won that argument. In their eyes,
anyway.
The air is cool and fresh as it fills my lungs.
“What about Twilight?” someone calls out.
I pause at the deep voice behind me. Mr. Foster stands in front of his
desk and looks up, focusing over my head.
“Twilight?” he asks.
“Yeah, Rocks?” Masen prompts me. “Did you like Twilight?”
My heart starts beating harder. What is he doing?
But I turn my head to the side, fixing him with a bored expression.
“Sure. When I was twelve. You?”