A 90's Friday Night Lights meets Fifty Shades, only the town is the sadomasochist and the two young lovers their pawns.
July Elizabeth Edwards is stuck in the existence her pretentious, rural East Texas town has allotted her. A shift in social statu...
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I sat through AP English watching the VHS tape Mrs. Rickie recorded of The Scarlet Letter from PBS. It was the version that came out before I was born. She had vetoed us watching the Demi Moore movie, not because it was too explicit for school, Mrs. Rickie was pretty cool that way. She hated it because they deviated so far from the book in the end. As a reward for our essay writing, we were punished with the movie companion of each book on the list. I like to think she was just giving us a break from a class lecture. At this point I wasn't sure which one was worse.
I don't know why I chose The Scarlet Letter for my essay. I guess it appealed to me in some way. Maybe it was because Hawthorne writes about a world surrounded by puritans in New England, and I lived in the bible belt of East Texas in Pure Pines. It felt appropriate.
"Okay, that's it for today. Stay tuned for when Dimmesdale squeezes the pus out of the letter "A" he carved on his own chest." Mrs. Rickie laughed at her own joke as she hit the power off. Collective disgust rang audibly through the classroom and the bell rang for lunch.
"It's true, they back it with a sound effect and everything. Oh, Adrian, could you hang out a bit for a few minutes. I hate to cut into your lunch, but I'm very excited about this and I had to speak to you guys."
"No problem." I put my notebook together and headed towards her desk. When I looked behind me at the exiting class, I saw July standing in the doorway waiting to come in. She was in that school girl skirt outfit I saw this morning that I had already saved a multiple images of. It's not like I expected her to change, I guess I didn't expect to see her again this morning. There is only so much a guy can store in his memory bank before he explodes, if you know what I mean.
Watching her enter the room a little longer than I should have, I assumed this was about debate. Only, shortly after it wasn't Lane or Reagan who came next. It was Brandon Powell. He was third in our class and a total dick.
"Hello July thanks for coming. Don't you look nice today? Brandon, come on in. I don't want to keep you all too long, but I did want to run something by you. There is an essay competition over the classics, and we can only send in one from the junior class for a small scholarship award. It's not much, more on the merit end." Mrs. Rickie looked us all over and continued.
