Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Aaron wasn’t happy with Raymond. "Would you feel better if after he raked the leaves, we bagged them all up and scattered them around the yard each week for him to rake all year long?"
I laughed, as did Evan. Raymond’s face turned red.
"Diego?" I asked. He looked a little surprised that I’d addressed him directly, since I generally tended to avoid doing that. But maybe that meant he’d be more inclined to listen to me now. “Can we try it? Just because you’ve always done things one way doesn’t mean that that’s the only way.”
"I say we give it a shot," said Aaron.
Jenna and Evan nodded.
"What do we do, vote?" I asked. "Do we vote on things like this?"
Aaron said, "Usually it’s up to our fearless leader."
"No, let’s vote," Diego said. "All in favor of trying this new division of labor?"
I raised my hand, as did Aaron, Jenna, and Evan.
"All opposed?"
Raymond raised his hand.
Since Cody hadn’t voted, Diego asked him point blank. “Do you want to try this?"
Cody was silent for so long I didn’t think he was going to answer, but Diego waited him out.
"Yes,” he finally said.
"All right, it’s settled then. Who’s on dish duty tonight?"
"Not me," I said, smiling with relief on several fronts.
"Nor me. I mashed so many potatoes I think I strained a muscle,” Aaron said.
"Don’t expect a Purple Heart," said Diego, but he was good-natured. I couldn’t help admiring that he was willing to try something different.
As the others got up and carried plates back to the kitchen, Aaron asked if I wanted to watch another episode of American Adventures.
"Sounds great.”
A minute later I was in my favorite place in the whole house—on the sofa right next to him. He spread a blanket over our legs, but then he paused. “Wait, are you hungry? I could go get us a big bowl of—”
“We just ate,” I interrupted. “There’s no way I can eat popcorn right now.”
There was a gleam in his eyes. “I was going to say a big bowl of mashed potatoes.”
The sound I made was half groan and half laugh as I smacked him in the arm. Ow. His biceps were hard. "How much more mileage are you planning to get out of the ten pounds of potatoes thing?"
"Quite a bit."
It was fun hanging out with Aaron, and I didn’t check my phone until I was back in my room upstairs.
I had a text from an unknown number, but when I read the message, it wasn’t hard to guess who it was from.
All it said was: Thanks.
10
MIA
“And that’s why this project will be half of your grade,” Professor Teague said the next day in class.
Wait, what?
I wasn’t the only student whose jaw dropped. Since the start of the semester, we’d been required to make short video presentations for this digital advocacy class. But they’d been short, two- or three-minute videos. Not half our grade.
“Did you say…” a young man in the second row began.
“Yes, Mr. Dawson, half your grade.” Professor Teague sounded like she’d been expecting some pushback. “And there’s a reason for that. This presentation will be a culmination of everything you’ve learned in this class. You’ll need to write the script, create the storyboard, and plan for the voice narration, background track, captions, and whatever else you’ll need. Plus, an educational social media campaign to go with it.”
I sank down in my seat, feeling deflated. How was I going to manage all that in a little over a month?
“Some of you may be wondering how you’re going to accomplish this,” Dr. Teague continued. Crap, could she read minds now? “Your role is to be a combination of producer and project manager. In short, you’re going to assemble a team.”
A team?
“Sounds like The Avengers,” a girl behind me muttered, but I was too shocked to laugh.
I didn’t have a team. I’d always done everything on my own.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one concerned. Students were peppering our professor with questions.
She held up her hands until there was silence. “I’m not throwing you completely to the wolves. On the course website, there’s a list of students whom you can contact and their areas of specialization. You’re in charge of figuring out who you need and convincing them to help you. Without paying them.” She looked around sternly as she said that, and I didn’t blame her. Most of the students in this school were so filthy rich that they probably could hire not only a team, but a Hollywood producer to lead it.
I’d heard stories of students paying image consultants to help them with their university applications. Meanwhile, I’d just barely gotten into Langley. It had taken me nearly a year to prepare all the application materials, and it wasn’t like I’d had parents to help me step by step. The foster parents I’d lived with after Sara and I had been split up hadn’t been to college themselves, so they couldn’t have helped even if they’d wanted to.