GOD, I CAN"T BELIEVE I OVERSLEPT.
GOD, I CAN"T BELIEVE I OVERSLEPT.Bypassing Fifth Avenue"s congestion, the taxi winds across Central Park toward 57th street, through cherry blossom-covered trees, gripping me with spring fever, but the anonymous email still sits foremost in my mind. I dismiss the mysterious message with thoughts of Ryan McThursten, the reluctant author I"d hounded for months until finally, he"d agreed to meet and discuss a contract with McClelland Publishing. With my luck, Ryan will change his mind and decline McClelland"s offer again.
Nonetheless, I seldom have high expectations of others. Since my parent"s divorce and the troubling, off-campus party, I always expect the worse, believing any moment, an unforeseen, life-altering event will upend my world. For me, at leas
