Page 10 of Wylder and the Almost Rockstar
“But it isn’t, is it? Your class, I mean. It’s Mr. Cook’s.” It was a true measure of how much she disliked this guy that she was suddenly so protective of Sebastian’s domain.
“While I am here, it is my class. Now, do you have an answer, or shall we move on?”
“Ask your question, please, sir… teacher-man.” She attempted a respectful tone.
“It’s Mr. Carlisle. I suggest you commit it to memory for the foreseeable future. Now, can you please tell us—if you can—what methods Mr. Fitzgerald uses to describe East Egg and West Egg as symbols of old money versus new money?”
They’d moved on fromBeowulfafter a horrendous test Wylder was certain she’d failed miserably. Now they were on to something Wylder had actually read and understood. The Great Gatsby. “Adverbs and adjectives ad nauseam,” Wylder replied.
“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” The teacher turned his attention onto new prey. “Devyn, would you take the lead on this one, please?”
“I wasn’t done,” Wylder said.
Mr. Carlisle turned back toward her. Removing his glasses, he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. “If you have something useful to add, please go on. If not, please stop wasting our time.”
Wylder cleared her throat. “In the opening chapters of Gatsby, Fitzgerald uses every opportunity to describe East and West Egg—and you’d think he could have come up with better names than eggs for these places—to show the reader how the communities differ. West Egg is all new and working hard to impress anyone who’ll notice. It’s not nearly as fashionable as East Egg. That’s the place you really want to be, but they don’t let just anyone in. West Egg is where all the people with new money live. And East Egg is described as old and time honored with glittering family mansions steeped in long family heritages and dripping with old money. Fitzy’s every description suggests East Egg is the place to be. Only the poised and charming Daisy could call a place such as that home, while those from West Egg could never hope to attain everything she embodies. Daisy is the personification of East Egg.” Wylder picked at her green nail polish, refusing to give the substitute teacher her full attention. “Really, it’s all sort of like how you look down your nose at me, the Twin Rivers High riffraff, here at this school because my brother has new money, while some of the old names—the legacy students if you will—get your attention as well as your respect. Twin Rivers is West Egg and Riverpass is East Egg.”
“Not as eloquently put as I would prefer, but you’ve made your point.” Mr. Carlisle returned to his notes to continue their discussion.
“Is that substitute teacher code for I answered your question correctly?” Wylder interrupted him, picking the last of her nail polish off her thumbnail.
“While your overall observations are surprisingly correct, you lose participation points for dumbing down your answers. I suggest you learn to have an academic discussion at the same level as your classmates, Wylder.”
“Noted.” Wylder stuffed her books into her bag, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her humiliation. The bell rang just in time to save her from further embarrassment, but Wylder couldn’t seem to stem the flow of snark. “And I’d suggest you learn to make your classes half as interesting as Mr. Cook’s if you expect anyone to remember anything you teach. Spouting discussion questions and literary answers downloaded from the internet isn’t exactly teaching critical thinking.”
She stood as Mr. Carlisle sputtered and turned red with rage. “Sit.” He finally managed to speak as he pointed to the desk closest to his. “We are not done here.”
Wylder reluctantly sat, waiting for the room to empty. Devyn and Diego gave her hesitant smiles before they left.
“You try my patience, Miss Anderson.” Mr. Carlisle turned to erase his notes from the whiteboard.
“I do apologize if I was disrespectful, but it’s very difficult to have respect for a teacher who doesn’t inspire any and uses every opportunity to insult me.” Wylder let her eyes stray to the teacher’s desk. Sebastian’s desk.
“If I am hard on you, Wylder, it is only because I see your potential and I see you squandering it.”
“Got it.” Wylder stood and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I’ll do better.”
“See that you do. But another outburst like this one, and we will have much bigger problems.”
Wylder nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.” She headed for the door before he could send her to the headmistress’s office. She’d end up in Saturday detention by the time Ms. Jones heard about her outburst, but for now, Wylder just wanted a nap and some time to herself to figure out her next steps with Logan. She had a threat to follow through with. And a plan to put into action now that she had the means to do it.
* * *
Wylder tossed and turned most of the afternoon, hiding out in her dorm room, napping and snacking when she should have been in class.
She stared at the ceiling. Her brother and Nicky had experience with scandal. Back when he was just pretending to be Nicky’s boyfriend, Becks did a lot of hiding out at his apartment in Nashville. The Cook boys were in Nashville. She knew that from Killian. How long would they stay? Did they have a home there? She assumed they would have a permanent residence somewhere. A place for Luke to stay when he wasn’t on the road. A place for Bash and Logan to go when school was out.
“Nashville.” Wylder rolled out of bed and crawled into her closet for an overnight bag. Music City was the last place she wanted to go. Far too many memories there, but if they were there, she was going to find them. She just needed an address.
And some dark clothes. Dark jeans, a black sweatshirt, and black boots were just what she needed for the first part of her sketchy plan. And a car. She would need to stop by her parents’ house to get her car. Wylder glanced at the clock beside her bed. nine p.m., late enough for Devyn to be in bed, but not late enough for stealing cars. She’d have to be extra careful not to get her parents involved.
Wylder tossed some clothes and toiletries into her bag and fished around the bottom of her purse for gas money. She came up with forty-six dollars and some change. Enough for gas with precious little leftover for road trip snacks. Tiptoeing into the common room, she filled her bag with contraband snacks she’d pilfered from the dining hall. It would have to do.
She had a bit of time before curfew, just enough to do what she needed to do and avoid unnecessary questions from security. At least as long as she didn’t get caught—and Wylder rarely got caught.
Walking across campus in the moonlight with her duffel bag tossed over her shoulder, she looked like a student out for some late-night studying at the library. At least that was what she was going for. Not that she even knew where the library was. Who needed dusty old books when they had Google and Wikipedia?
The administrative building was dark and quiet, just like she’d anticipated. Now for the not so legal part of her evening. Wylder pulled her black hood over her face and used a long stick she’d picked up on the way over here to push the security camera slightly out of range without being seen. She swiped a card at the door. Not hers. Another thing she’d borrowed for her evening of adventure. Mr. Substitute Teacher could get in lots of trouble for losing his access card. Not that she was remotely sorry for stealing it. She’d nabbed the key card from his desk earlier when he was too busy berating her for her backtalk to notice what she was doing.
