The Framing Game
An Exclusive Look at Chapter 1
My newest book, The Framing Game, comes out this month on March 31. If you’d like to purchase the paperback book in advance, I will have some signed copies at the following two events:
Third Coast BookFest
Details: March 21, Grand Haven Vinegar & Oil, 115 Washington Ave, Grand Haven, MI from 11-4
OR
Sip, Shop, Read
Details: March 18, The American Spirit Centre, 10590 Grand River Ave, Brighton, MI from 10-4
But Jessie, how do I even know if I will like that book?
Hmm. Well… do you like YA Rom-Com/Mystery? How about prep school vibes? You know what, don’t take my word for it. Read the first chapter right here for free—then decide. :)
1
Waste of Time
The classroom intercom crackled with less than twenty minutes to go until lunch. “Virginia Benson to the dean’s office, please.”
I tapped in a new equation on my graphing calculator. One more problem and I’d be done.
“Virginia,” Mr. Newcastle said in a mild voice when I didn’t get up.
I held up a finger for him to wait. I couldn’t lose momentum, or I’d have to redo the whole thing.
“Virginia,” he warned.
“One second,” I mumbled. With one last scratch of my pencil, I had it.
I smiled at Mr. Newcastle, but his raised eyebrows told me he wasn’t impressed. Whatever. He should know better than anyone that you can’t stop mid-problem.
Trina nodded to me from the corner of the front row, and I smiled back. At least someone understood.
I dropped my books into my bag and slung it over my shoulder on my way to the door. The dean called me down to his office on a regular basis. I was always in the spotlight. Anyone else could be too, if they entered as many contests as I did. Awards were given to people who deserved them, and I worked hard to be one of those people.
But come on. They had to call me out of the classroom farthest from the office during a core subject? I picked up the pace, practically flying through Holder Academy’s wide, winding halls. Maroon flags and golden plaques of rich old family names winked at me as I passed by, people whose donations made all the marble and mahogany possible. My parents had two of those engraved plaques. Someday, my name would shine on the wall, too. I’d like nothing better than to give back to the institution that launched my Ivy League law career.
I expected a quiet walk because class was still in session, but when I skipped down one of the staircases to the first floor, I rounded a corner and almost slammed into a stepladder.
Gabriella was hanging an Anti-Vaping sign for the Student Council that read, PROTECT YOURSELF AND OTHERS. It was our big campaign this year. She teetered on the top rung trying to drape it over the doorway to the cafeteria.
I steadied the ladder. “A little to the left,” I said. She was the treasurer. I don’t know why she didn’t make one of the freshmen do this.
“Thanks,” she said drily.
Someone was in a mood. Whatever, not my problem. “While I have you, I’m going to need you to email me the most recent numbers for our budget so we can make some decisions about the class gift.”
Gabriella finished securing the banner. “I sent them over last week,” she huffed as she climbed down the ladder.
“I know, but where did the money for…” I trailed off as Mr. Darryn approached us. I’d been trying to avoid the Drama Club director since tryouts last week. Maybe he’d be in his own little world and wouldn’t even notice me.
“Look it over and get me the numbers again,” I hissed. Gabriella rolled her eyes as I tried to escape Mr. Darryn by speed walking in the opposite direction.
“Ah, Ms. Benson. We missed you at tryouts last night.”
Dang it. I turned to face him. “I didn’t sign up this year.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Do you still want an audition?” It was impossible to tell whether his smile was real or fake. Actors.
“Uh no, thank you.” One year was more than enough for me.
“Ah, that’s too bad,” he said, shuffling the papers he held in his hands.
I breezed by him. The drama club would be fine without me, even if I had a pretty decent voice. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Darryn!” I didn’t wait to hear his response before I ducked into the front office.
Ms. Anderson looked up from her computer. “Virginia. Dean Alton will see you in a minute.”
“Do you know why I’m here?” It had to be the Americanism essay. Took him long enough. I busted my butt on that one, visiting all those nursing homes to interview veterans about the conditions of their base camps. They’d had war stories for days. It was the perfect essay from start to finish. Even my mom had no comments to add when I sent it to her, and she wasn’t one to hold back criticism.
Ms. Anderson shrugged, turning her eyes to the papers on her desk. Okay, then. I took the seat closest to the dean’s door. It would cut down on time—and time was precious.
Five minutes passed. The dean was probably on a conference call or yelling at some poor kid too stupid to know how to follow simple school rules. That would make him doubly happy to see me. I’d be a nice break from all that.
I rotated my shoulders. God, my neck was tight. I needed to stretch. Better yet, I should see if I could get to my chiropractor for a massage.
I ran through my daily checklist in my head. With so much to do and so little time to do it each day, it’d become a habit. Then I remembered: the letter of recommendation for Yale! What better time to ask if the dean had finished it than when I was front and center, accepting an award from him? He probably already finished it, and that’s why I was here. Perfect.
“Has Virginia arrived yet?” Dean Alton sputtered through the ancient desk intercom.
Rather than answer right away, Ms. Anderson pressed her lips into a straight line and smoothed her frizzy red updo with practiced fingers.
At length, she finally pressed a button. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, any day now.”
Weird. Last year, they’d been more friendly with each other. Too friendly, if the rumors were true. And I mean, I got it. He was good-looking for a dean. He still had all his hair and kept himself fit. The dark suits he wore never had a wrinkle or a seam out of place. Dean Alton might be the actual definition of put-together.
Ms. Anderson’s eyes flicked in my direction like she could read my thoughts. I pretended to study my French manicure. It was none of my business.
“Ms. Benson? The dean will see you now,” she said.
“Thank you, Ms. Anderson.” I gave her a glowing, megawatt smile. My dad often reminded me to be polite to assistants, that they were the front line. Even young assistants with short skirts and wow, could her shirt be any tighter? Those buttons were working overtime.
I opened the heavy door with a strong hand and strode across the room, planting myself in one of the chairs across from Dean Alton. He was a serious kind of guy, intimidating to students, especially troublemakers. Thankfully, I never fell into that category. He was one of my biggest supporters.
The dean stood in the light of the window behind his desk, squinting at a handful of papers through reading glasses. He didn’t even look at me. It had been thirty seconds since I sat down. Hello?
First, he calls me in here, then he makes me wait while I’m missing class, and now when he asks Ms. Anderson to let me in, he doesn’t even talk to me? I cleared my throat.
He looked up, and I graced him with a winning smile.
Virginia, here’s your letter of recommendation. It was an honor to write.
He laid the papers down instead of handing me one. Strange. Then he centered his gaze on me. His very stern, unpleasant gaze that he reserved for someone annoying who had done something that was a “big deal.”
“Let’s take a walk, Virginia.”
“I’m sorry?” My smile dimmed. “Take a walk where?”
“To your locker.”
“Okay?” I barely ever used my locker. I rose to follow him out the door and down the hallway. My locker stood less than twenty yards from his office.
His keys jingled as he found the tiny silver one that would unlock any locker. He didn’t have to do that. I could’ve put my combination in myself if his gross invasion of my privacy wasn’t making my hands tremble.
I clenched them into fists. I’d done nothing wrong. I snuck a look down each side of the hall. I had no reason to feel nervous right now.
My locker swung open. I noticed nothing out of the ordinary about the contents until I spied a few spray paint cans lying on their sides on the bottom of it. What—where did those come from?
The dean gave a somber nod, like he’d expected this all along. He picked up each of the cans and put them under his arm. “Now, I know it’s your senior year, and many high school students start to feel a little rebellious when they see the light at the end of the high school tunnel, but this is—”
“Those aren’t mine,” I said. Crap, I shouldn’t have done that. Interrupting was rude, but I needed him to stop. This spray paint meant I was in trouble, but who cared if someone stored it in my locker? It could be for an art project or something.
“Then whose are they?” He pocketed his keys, putting on a show that he had all the time in the world. Adults loved to do that, but not the dean. Not with me.
“I don’t know.”
The bell rang long and loud, and students spilled into the hall.
The dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
My blood froze. Whatever those paint cans had done, now I looked guilty to everyone who walked by me and Dean Alton. “Can we…” My throat went dry. I could already hear the whispers.
“Is that Virginia?”
“Like, the Virginia? Straight A Virginia?”
“But she’s never in trouble.”
“What did she do?”
Dean Alton ran a hand through his hair and pretended to ignore the whispers and the way the crowd skirted around us, their beady little eyes scanning us for clues. “Does anyone else have the combination to your locker?”
“Um…” My locker stood in the central hall, which was prime real estate. When I was a freshman, people begged for my combination to stash their stuff. What was I going to say, no? Anyone could have it now.
“Virginia?”
“I might have shared it with a few people,” I muttered, feeling like I was confessing to a terrible crime, even though everyone else broke the same rules. I flashed a bright smile to a group of girls and waved. Everything is fine, I willed them to think. I’m not in trouble.
“Exactly as I thought.” The dean frowned as silence stretched between us. Yes, think it through. Whatever you’re mad about wasn’t me. Obviously.
He ran his hand through his hair again, oblivious of the fact that it ruffled his perfectly neat appearance. “Follow me.”
I forced my face into a politely puzzled frown, even though my insides quaked. Didn’t we just take a walk? Whatever he thought I had done, he was wrong. I’d never jeopardize my future.
Without another word, he swept us down the bustling hall. More than one of my classmates raised their eyebrows at me. I shrugged, my expression bored. Blood pounded in my head as I tried to think of something, anything I’d done wrong. I came up empty. Rules were important. The hall emptied out quickly—too quickly. Had everyone rushed to class to escape the tardy bell, or did they know something I didn’t know? Rumors were probably already flying about why we were out here. Holder Academy ran on gossip.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
The dean shook his head and kept walking until we paused next to the boys’ locker room. A hastily scrawled Out-of-Order sign was taped to the door. Uh, what?
“I’m not supposed to go in there,” I reminded him. This better not be some elaborate joke, because the heart attack he threatened to give me right now wasn’t funny. At all.
“That,” he said, “is a fact I am well-aware of, yet here we are.” He gestured to the door.
I used the elbow of my sweater to push through it. Boys were gross and didn’t wash their hands half the time. Lord only knew what kinds of germs grew on the doors they touched.
I crossed my arms when he took forever making sure the door was firmly shut behind us.
When I finally turned to look at the boys’ locker room, it was kind of a let-down. Tile and porcelain, sinks and toilets, all of it mimicked the girls’ room. The only difference was a wall of urinals, and gross, what was that smell? It reeked of mildew mixed with B.O. mixed with… paint.
Then I saw it. The reason Dean Alton dragged me out of math and into this testosterone-filled germ factory. Big, colorful lettering on the wall about six feet above the sinks:
DEAN ALTON IS AN ASSHAT
If you’re all about the eBook, The Framing Game is already available for Pre-order.
If you’re waiting for the paperback—come see me at one of those events! Or if you are NOT about that life, please consider ordering on the day it comes out (March 31) to boost the algorithm.
Thank you so much for all your continued support!
XO,
Jessie
P.S. How about that ACOTAR announcement? Cough, cough. I think I might be coming down with the Velaris Flu on the two release days next school year. :)
Ahhhh! I love a good first chapter reveal!