Page 32 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

I specialize in the medieval and Crusades eras. I’m going to do my thesis on Byzantine princess Anastasia Laskarina, who isthought to be one of the earliest female historians and the first known teen historian.

Learning about her as a young girl sparked my passion for history. I loved imagining her in her castle chambers or out on walks with her ladies, observing history brewing all around her. I loved to think about her with her journals, writing everything she saw.

I have a dream of writing a book focused on teenagers in history—not just those who shaped events but those who recorded their experiences firsthand. I want my textbook to encourage kids to observe, reflect, and think critically about their worlds.

This idea of mine helped me land a full-ride scholarship, but it wasn’t bullshit I said for the scholarship. It’s a plan I mean to carry through. Write the textbook. Be a teacher.

It’s a plan that Bender could destroy with one word. Nobody will hire a teacher with a criminal record.

Chapter Eleven

EDIE

“There’s the sleepy bird!” Odetta’s beaming up from our favorite nook of the 98th Street library, extra cute in braids and the orange hat that she knit last week.

“Shh!” I slide in next to her. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”

“When did you get in?”

“Don’t ask.”

She pulls her book to her chest and leans in, grinning.

I told her yesterday that I was meeting a city guy, a businessman, in a restaurant. A friend of a friend, I told her.

“And? How was it?”

I sigh, remembering the way he took me over with his big, weathered hands and his dirty talk and his dark confidence.

“It was… intense.”

She searches my gaze. “In a good way?”

I stare up at the stacks, stretching up into the dusty silence high above us. “I don’t know. Intense in a different way.”

“Hmmm.” She’s not sure what to make of this answer. “What did you guys do?”

“Had a few drinks at a weird bar in the Bronx and then hung out a little.”

“Like hung out how...?” She wants the hot details.

“Yeah, like, we hung out.”

“You kissed him.”

My face goes red. I didn’t kiss him. There was no kissing.

“You fucked him!” she squeaks.

“Maybe,” I breathe.

Her eyes go wide.

“What?” I protest. “People do that.”

“People that aren’t you.”

“Well…” I make a face. “Surprise?”

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