Page 36 of I Wish I Would've Chosen You

GENEVIEVE

My mother treats me like I’m nothing more than a prized doll, picking me up to play whenever my father or her other boyfriends aren’t around.

I’m nothing more than a prized doll to my mother.

I’ve always longed for attention from my mother, but she’s never had more than a few seconds to give.

Ugh!

I toss my pen against the wall in frustration, hating that I can’t nail the opening line for our upcoming “Paint a Portrait of Someone Who’s Hurt You The Most” assignment. Essays like this usually flow easily from my fingers, but I’ve been struggling with this forhours.

Then again, I usually get to work with a peaceful early sunrise, without the hushed whispers and laughs that are currently happening below my window.

Annoyed, I walk over to slam the pane shut, hoping they’ll get the memo, but I hesitate once I see who they are. It’s threemembers of my tennis team, four girls from my English class, and two girls I worked on group projects with last year.

“I heard he’s fucking Miss Shaw,” Raine Sailor says.

“What?” “Since when?” “Yeah, since when?”

“I saw her walk into his place wearing a pantsuit, and then she came out in a dress.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s in such a good mood lately,” Diane Parker says. “She’s been needing to get laid since our freshman year.”

They all laugh, and I lean closer, trying to figure out who they’re talking about.

“I swear, if I was his, I would never—Shhhh! Here he comes!”

I follow their collective gaze as a shadowy figure runs through the courtyard. It takes several minutes for him to fully come into view, but when he does, it’s utterly breathtaking.

Mr. Donovan is shirtless and in shorts, and his sweaty abs are glistening under the soft morning light.

He stops at a bench and stretches before lying on his back.

“Go over there and sit on his face, Raine!” “How big do you think his cock is?” “Do you think he would suck on my tits if I took off my bra?”

I sigh and finally shut the pane, but I can’t stop staring at Mr. Donovan.

As much as I’ve tried to stop thinking about the gift he gave me, it keeps crossing my mind. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, and perhaps he has an ulterior motive, but a part of me can’t shake the idea that the way we met is water under the bridge now.

That maybe, just maybe…

I pick up my phone and draft a message for him, hitting send before I think it through.

Me

Hey. What are you doing right now?

I watch him pull out his phone and sit up on the bench. He stares at the screen for a few seconds and then taps it.

Mr. Donovan

Let’s get back to the boundaries. You can only use my phone number for mentor/class work, Miss Edwards.

Me

I’m working on my opening for the pain/portrait assignment.

Mr. Donovan

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