A few months ago, I started a new novel and shared some of these chapters on this blog. I am finally finishing up this project so I decided to start again at the top and release them to you. Over the course of the next few weeks, I will share the entire draft here on this page. Come back to read the rest of the story.
They say college is supposed to take four years but that’s a lie – no one gets out in eight semesters. No one. Freshman and sophomore year, when Yulia and Lisa were laying on a beach somewhere over summer break, I was sweating through Pre-Cal and somehow I’m still in the same Physics section as Yanni and Saumil, the Indian guys who drive cabs at night and register for just enough credits to maintain their status. Vicki, a pre-med student I met in Freshman orientation and who I used to eat lunch with before Junior, signs up for sixteen or eighteen credits every semester and drops whatever she’s not acing by the time mid-terms roll around. That kind of pick-up-then-drop class selection helps to keep her GPA at honors level. But you can’t do that when you have to pay your own bill. When you’re paying for the credits, you count your classes in terms of money. This semester, I am taking five thousand three hundred dollars worth of classes. I can’t drop out and pay that money again for the same thing. That’s five thousand three hundred dollars that I could be using for rent, or buying some nice things for myself. I see those girls with their textbooks in Coach Tote bags and I convert those luxuries into the freedom I imagine if I stick with these five thousand three hundred dollars worth of classes. No matter how long it takes, I have to pass them to graduate but I’ll defer the things I want now for the freedom I can get later. College is a little bit like prison – nobody gets early parole, no matter how good your behavior.
When he co-signed my student loan, Daddy said he’d either pay for college or my wedding. Not that anyone is saying “I Do” anytime soon but I want the fairytale magic when that time comes. Sometimes when I should be doing research for a class, I look at pictures of weddings that have taken place in real English castles. I know Daddy isn’t going to fly to England but I could settle for one of those lookalike castles that they have up in Connecticut. I guess they don’t come cheap. A 25-foot-train like the dress Princess Diana wore, minus the leg-of-mutton sleeves. The tiara that Catherine Zeta-Jones wore for her wedding but that Diana should have since she was the one becoming a real-life princess, but it just goes to show that I can wear one too.
When I’m done, Daddy is going to wish he’d just given me the money for college but it’ll be too late. Besides, he’s still paying for it. It’s easy enough to swipe a few dollars from his pockets to keep myself in cafeteria lunches. And the press pass from school is a great perk. No, I can’t call Junior a cheap date but I don’t have to pay for anything either.
Speaking of which, he hasn’t invited me anywhere that wasn’t a free ticket. Maybe we’ll do something big to celebrate after finals.
Did you enjoy this latest installment? Let me know in the comments. Thanks.
Copyright (C) 2017 by Karen Wright
The above is an excerpt from an ongoing creative writing project which will probably be heavily edited in the future. Please do not copy or otherwise share this content.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Thanks Tara Patrick who bought me a drink to fuel this latest edit. Click to visit her on Instagram. I will feature new sponsors here on the blog too.