The Lesson Plan (Extra Credit #3)
Page 14
Excerpt from The Partnership, Extra Credit Book 1
They're just partners….
Kyle’s got a problem. He needs to pass college composition to graduate but he can’t get words on a page. And it’s landed him in a pilot class called Extra Credit for students in trouble -- when all he wants is to be left alone.
Lani’s got a problem too. She doesn't like making waves and it gets her stuck in that Extra Credit class. When she ends up partnered with Kyle things start getting complicated. Kyle is angry, restless, impatient; Lani is calm, introverted, bookish. But when these opposites attract how will they manage to stay “just partners”?
Extra Credit is a New Adult series that takes place on a college campus and puts three unlikely couples together to see what happens. Each book is in dual point-of-view with a happy ending that can be read as a standalone, though they’re better together…! The series includes sexy times that are only meant for readers over 18.
Chapter 1: KYLE
I hate this bullshit. I look around the classroom. A small gray-haired woman writes some stuff on the blackboard. A few students are already slumped in chairs dragged into a half circle. Others are still straggling in. They look young--like I’m here with freshmen and sophomores, for fuck’s sake!—and they must be losers if they’re here, right? But then I’m the loser who failed freshman comp and put off re-taking it til spring of senior year…. And it’s 8 a-fucking-m! Maybe I can sleep through this crap. I tip my baseball cap down, lean backwards until my chair is half off the floor, and close my eyes.
A low level of murmuring voices from the room runs under the hot dream I’m having. A chick wears short shorts that cling to her ass and wraps her long legs around a stripper’s pole. Her long hair sweeps forward as she twists and turns, her tits swaying in a brief top that shows a strip of bare skin at her waist.
“KYLE MADISON!” The teacher’s voice sends my chair crashing back to the ground and I jerk awake. Christ, did I groan? I raise my eyes and everyone’s staring. The girl in the next chair over turns to face me and I get stuck on a pair of golden brown eyes. Yeah, golden. Like, not light brown or dark brown, but brown and yellow mixed together. Wide-set and slightly tilted, with long, dark lashes. And calm. Not angry, not sad, not mocking, not accusing, not disappointed, not angry…. I blink. How long was I dreaming if I didn’t notice her come in?
“MISTER MADISON?”
“Uhh—“ I tear my gaze away from those eyes to search for the voice. The teacher reads from a piece of paper at the front of the room. She’s waiting for me to say something.
‘Uhh—Here?”
I hear some snickering and the teacher sighs, dropping her paper to study me.
“Is that a question? You tell me. Are you Kyle Madison and are you here?” Her voice is patient, but there’s more snickering. I just nod.
She continues calling the roster so I go back to Golden Eyes, but her eyes don’t meet mine now and I miss that shot of calm. Still, it gives me a minute to check out the rest of her. Creamy golden skin, lush pink mouth, high cheekbones, long, long, hair—very dark and very straight. My eyes are drifting down, looking forward to the rest of her, when I freeze in horror. Is that…even a sweater? It looks more like a rug with sleeves. I can’t tell if there’s a body under there at all. And the rest is worse—she could be wearing three skirts for all the ruffles she’s got. I can’t help shaking my head. The waste!
“NALANI ITO?”
Golden Eyes gives a little wave. “Please call me Lani,” she says in a quiet, husky voice. So much sexy potential there, just thrown away! She must have seen my expression because her eyes are back on mine and this time there’s a hint of laughter in them. What’s she laughing about? I scowl at her, but she smiles shyly. And again there’s that calm.
The teacher interrupts again. “Welcome to a pilot program we’re calling Extra Credit. I’m Marjorie Jordan. You can call me Marjorie. We’ll start today with some talking and some writing and some….”
I raise my hand impatiently and she pauses, perching on the edge of her desk. “Are we being graded for this?”
“No. This isn’t a course. It’s a required program for students in borderline situations. If you participate in good faith you’ll receive extra credit in the course you’re struggling in….” Her look at me seems pointed, which is annoying as fuck.
“Or your disciplinary problem will be excused….” Wait, was she looking at Golden Eyes? Disciplinary problems!? That I need to hear about.
“It depends on your situation. There will be some homework assignments but think of them more as exercises in self-knowledge.” She scans the room and I’m curious what we’re all in for, but mostly I’m speculating about Golden Eyes’ misbehavior. Maybe it’s for crimes against fashion. I snicker.
“Wait, back up, please.” A pretty blond chick raises her hand and she seems familiar. I wonder if I ever made out with her. Mostly I keep to myself, but a guy’s got needs.
“What do you mean by ‘good faith’?” she asks in accented English, frowning.
“Good question, Annika.” The teacher seems pleased, and I want to roll my eyes. “Good faith means you fulfill the spirit of this work as well as the letter. You question your assumptions, reflect on your behavior, keep an open mind about our process….”
Process? WTF?
“To begin, then, I’d like you to take out a piece of paper and pen and write for a few minutes about why you’re here and what you hope to get out of this experience.”
I drop my hand against my desk and the sound is surprisingly loud. Everyone looks at me.
“Anyone have a pen I can borrow--?” I didn’t think we were going to have to do anything the first day…. Isn’t that like a tradition? Someone hands me a pen.
“And a piece of paper?” Most of the others are writing already and I feel frustration rising as usual. I clench and unclench my fists, stretch out my legs, glance around again. Marjorie is watching me. This sucks. Golden Eyes shoves a piece of paper torn from her notebook at me and I mumble some thanks.
“Can we write on our laptops instead?”
I shoot a glance over to see which geek brought a laptop to the first class. Yeah, that one. Wrinkled oxford shirt, glasses, stick up his butt.
“No,” Marjorie responds. Then she starts, looking at the wall clock. “So sorry, guys, but I forgot there’s something I have to tell my colleague before he leaves for the day. Keep writing. I’ll be back in ten.” The door bangs shut behind her.
We all look at each other in confusion. Then the room quiets so the only sounds are rustling papers. I’ve started after everyone else but I finish first. I glance around uncertainly. What are they writing? I got two good sentences.
“What’s your name? You live in Barnes, don’t you?” Conversations start up across the half circle and I recognize the guy on my other side. Everyone knows Matt—he’s president of his frat, captain of the soccer team… a real BMOC. I heard his dad is a judge and his mom is a senator--and that sounds about right.
“Hey, Matt” I say, putting out a fist. What is he doing here?
He nods, bumping my fist with his.
Blond Foreign Girl looks over at me and Matt from across the semicircle. “I’m surprised to see you here, Matt.” Her eyes flicker over him.
“Likewise,” he mumbles and his eyes flicker over her.
Just then Marjorie bustles back into the room, her face expectant. “So,” she says, hands on hips. “Now I’d like you to write down an account of what happened in here while I was out of the room. Did you notice any patterns?”
We freeze and all the whispering and joking stops.
“What do you mean by ‘patterns’?” someone asks. It’s a girl I haven’t noticed before. She’s sitting on the far side of the room in a sweatshirt with the hood up.
“Decide for yourselves,” Marjorie says. Holy crap, I hate it when teachers won’t answer a fucking question! Isn’t that what they’re paid for?
I check on Golden Eyes because sometimes I catch her looking at me and then I get to stare into those deep calm eyes again. This time she’s got her head down and she’s writing furiously. Her long silky hair slides forward and she tucks it behind one ear. I crane my neck to see what she’s writing, but it’s half hidden by her arm. She bites down on her plump lower lip like she’s totally focused on what she’s doing and I’m glad she can’t see my expression.
After a few minutes Marjorie makes us read what we’ve got. The girl in the hoodie reads one written like a screenplay that has us all cracking up.
“GIRL, actually writing something down. Who is she trying to impress?
BOY, sprawled in chair, leans over to look down girl’s shirt but loses balance and falls on face. What kind of dumbass doesn’t even bring a PEN to class?”
My eyes narrow and my head snaps up to glare at her.
“Really, Kyle?” Matt sounds fake-disappointed. And, shit, I wasn’t even looking down her shirt! And I didn’t fall on my goddamned face so that’s FICTION. I open my mouth to defend myself, then close it again. Marjorie has moved on.
Geeky Guy reads from his notebook. “When left to ourselves, the veneer of civilization drops away and we all talk at the same time, jostling for position on the social hierarchy….” He goes on and the room quiets. Man, that one’s deep. Next to me Golden Eyes is still scribbling.
When it’s my turn I read, “I’m here because of college composition. I hope to get out of this experience.” Matt snorts next to me and I continue. “Bullshit. We serve it up. Teacher feeds it back to us. That’s been education since the dawn of time. Those ten minutes were like a brief recess before we’re put back in our cages.” I can’t help ducking my head. That came out kinda harsh, didn’t it? Marjorie doesn’t respond.
Matt reads something long-winded about identifying a problem first so you can solve it. Diagnosis is the first step to treatment…. I got to hand it to him. It sounds good. I give him a thumbs up.
Then we’re on to Blond Foreign Girl. “Dear Marjorie, when you left the room Matt and Kyle started talking to each other and I could tell Matt was gossiping about me. I don’t think I should have to take a class with a stupid lying jerk who must have done something pretty dumb to get stuck here. Besides I didn’t do the thing I was accused of doing that got me sent here (I can talk to you about this after class if you have time).”
I shoot an incredulous look at Matt, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Annika.
“You’re a world-class bitch, you know that, Annika?” he says coolly. She smirks as if she has made her point and their stare-off continues. The rest of us wait on tenterhooks for Marjorie to respond. She tilts her head at Annika.
“What are you trying to say to Matt, Annika?”
Annika jerks her attention off Matt. “Whaaat?” It’s a magical moment.
“You want him to know that you really don’t like him? Is that it?”
Annika flushes and Matt smiles broadly. “It’s okay. I get it, Annika,” he says soothingly. I think I can hear Blond Foreign Girl grinding her teeth from over here. And now I’m certain I haven’t slept with her. And pretty certain Matt has. In fact, their whole story is coming back to me now.
I raise my eyebrows at Matt and he shrugs. “Been there. Done that.”
Whoa, that’s kind of low. The girls in the room suddenly look like warrior maidens. Backs go rigid like they’ve been stuck with cattle prods. Arms cross in front like actual breastplates. It’s kind of scary.
Matt leans back in his chair, doing a pretty good imitation of not giving a fuck about the attention he’s getting. Annika is still trying to carve him into pieces with her eyes. She looks like a supermodel so I can see why he tapped that, but her personality is really a problem.
“Why is it so important to embarrass Annika?” Marjorie asks Matt. He straightens.
“She started it!”
Marjorie sighs and moves on to Golden Eyes. I sit up, interested now. In that low soothing voice Golden Eyes reads what she wrote. And it’s a list. Of patterns, for fuck all.
“Defensive: no one actually fesses up to what they are here for. Sarcastic: no one states seriously what they want from the class.” This is what she was writing all that time. We were all snarking at each other and she was making her list of patterns. “Noah’s was the longest. Kyle’s was the shortest. His complained about writing, but one of his sentences was punny.”
I want to raise my arms—touchdown! Wait, who’s Noah? I look around suspiciously as Golden Eyes continues.
“Matt’s was all pseudo-smart bullshit. Annika’s was bitterness embodied. Holly’s was the funniest. And as for the time we spent alone? The conversations I heard were works in progress, overlapping, interrupted, fragmentary, unfinished. Some are beginnings and some have history. I wonder how we’ll look back on this first class when we get to the last one.”
Marjorie beams. I stare at Golden Eyes, who looks a little tense--but so she should. It’s hard to take a prompt seriously and not sound like a complete idiot or a suck up. I know that for a fact because I can’t do it. But Golden Eyes did it in ten minutes.
The prof dismisses us and tells us to bring a notebook to the next class because we’re going to have to keep a journal for the rest of the semester. I’d groan except I’m too busy trying to figure out this girl with the mesmerizing eyes and mad writing skills. She’s packing up her bag and as she stands I can tell that she’s taller than average, slender, and graceful. I hear a little tinkling sound like bracelets in motion, but I can’t tell where it comes from. I wish like hell she wasn’t surrounded by that force field of fabric.
She sweeps her dark hair behind one shoulder as she picks up her backpack, then meets my eyes again. I shouldn’t keep staring at her. I’m almost outta here. All I have to do now is keep my head down and pass composition….
“Bye Kyle,” she says softly.
“Bye Lani,” I say. That’s all I’ve got.
Chapter 2: LANI
Focus on breathing. In…. I breathe deeply through my nose. Out…. I exhale hard through my mouth. I close my eyes and picture the ocean. Waves come in and retreat. Push forward and move back. Over and over. Without cease. The air in my lungs, the blood in my veins slows and calms.
But when I open my eyes I’m still on stage and there are still strangers in the room, watching. My pulse speeds up again and I feel my limbs tensing, flailing around when a moment ago they moved to the music. It’s just a rehearsal. Those scary people are just observing. You’re only one of many dancers on stage…. But it feels as if there’s a big red arrow pointing down at me wherever I move in the crowd. If only I could fade into the group, become invisible.
By the time we’re done I’m panting with exertion, sweaty, and frustrated with myself. Why did I ever think I could do this? I’ve gotten as far as this as a dancer because I work hard and I love it more than anything. I’ve moved across a continent so I could dance here, but I’m starting to realize it won’t be enough. To take it to the next level means performing in front of real crowds. It means auditioning in front of strangers. It means actually wanting those solos…. And I can’t. Or don’t. Or won’t. Or something.
As I stretch out my calves, bending to the ground and shifting into a downward-facing dog pose I overhear the guests murmuring something about inviting Jenny and Ting to a summer intensive with a prestigious modern dance company. And that’s why I’ll never make it as a professional dancer. Because I don’t get those offers. I’m just another girl in the corps.
“Lani, a word?”
My teacher steps away from the other murmuring voices as I finish my stretching. Wiping my face with a hand towel I nod and approach her.
“Do you have summer plans?”
For a moment my hopes teeter on the edge of a knife: I want to dance; I don’t want to perform. I want to be noticed; I want to disappear. What do I really want?
“Yes, but I could…”
Ms. Biwani-Jones interrupts me. “Oh good! That takes care of you then. I was worried about finding you a placement.”
If I want to disappear, it’s working.
I murmur something and move away to pull on leg warmers over my tights, then cover both with the heaviest skirt I have, even though I’ll still freeze my butt off out there.
I wasn’t sure about going to college in New York. My first winter was a literal shock to the system. I still feel like five months a year it’s hard to get warm enough. Since coming to Carlyle College two and a half years ago I’ve perfected the art of winter layering. It’s a survival tactic. And I guess, to be honest, it’s camouflage. It helps me look like everyone else. I’ve spent three years here without attracting much attention.
For some reason that thought reminds me of the guy in that Extra Credit class yesterday. Kyle. Guys usually don’t pay much attention to me at all, but every time I looked up there he was, taking up way too much room and watching me. Stretched out at full length, he was too long, too broad for the chair he had tipped against the wall. For a moment I saw him as if in a yoga balance pose, and his muscular body seemed suddenly light. For the whole first class I struggled with this strange magnetic pull my eyes had toward him. Why him? There were other attractive guys in the room. Matt had that preppy frat boy thing going and Noah was adorably mussed and lanky. It couldn’t be his personality either because Kyle seemed like a pain in the ass. He fidgeted and snorted and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated performance of impatience and annoyance. Still, I liked the snarky sentences he wrote. I find it hard to believe he’s failing college comp, but I guess I find it hard to believe I’m there either.
On Wednesday I’m the first to class at 7:45, leaving me enough time to sip my chai tea while I review what I wrote in my notebook. Marjorie had given us homework: think about how and why we got in trouble and what might help. We were told not to obsess about the writing. It could be notes to ourselves, lists, even doodles. But the writing was the fun part.