Getting Schooled (The Wright Brothers #1)

Getting Schooled (The Wright Brothers #1)

Christina C. Jones

Getting Schooled

When 26 year old Reese accepts a position as a grad assistant, she has no idea an unpleasant encounter with a student will lead to the discovery of what she calls “the trifecta”: fine, intellectual, and a little bit rude – three qualities she finds irresistible in a man. She has no intention of doing anything with that discovery – nothing long term, at least. But everybody knows what happens to best laid plans.

Jason is a grown man. 28 years old, seasoned and scarred by his real-life experience in the world, he’s at Blakewood State University to finish his degree and move on. The last thing he’s interested in is the female population on campus… but sexy, infuriating Reese might be a notable exception.

This isn’t a story of opposites attract.

More like counterparts clash.

Neither of them is afraid to do battle, and neither is willing to back down. Love and war, win or lose… somebody’s gonna end up getting schooled.


“This is part of why I want to reiterate and reinforce my previous point, that this author is, frankly, full of shit. He’s using the fictional character of Vaughan to act out his absurdly patriarchal views of women as objects to be gawked at and abused for his sexual gratification, because in real life, the type of woman that Vaughan obtains would never give Cory Jefferson a second look. Well-educated, confident, worldly women don’t tend to flock to self-important, borderline abusive assholes. At least, not in my experience.

Further, it’s a glaring indication of self-hatred that none of the “beautiful” women in this piece are described as darker than a paper bag, have good old “brown” eyes, or have hair any kinkier than a loose wave. Darker skinned women are consistently referred to as aggressive, ugly, low class, and uncultured. Vaughan has “relationships” with at least fifteen women through the course of this “book”, and none of them have braids? Locs? A fro? A fade? In 2016? Come on. Cory Jefferson is as black as you can get without being blue, but he can’t see the beauty in skin the color of anything except milk with a splash of coffee? That’s not a preference – it’s a pathology.”

So… yeah.

This paper earns a goddamned bae-plus if you ask me.

I squeezed my thighs together, and let out a small, inaudible sigh as I focused on the essay filling the screen of my laptop. Propping my elbows on the desk in front of me, I folded my hands together, using them to support my chin as I lifted my eyes to the lecture hall full of varying shades of brown faces.

Which one of you is going to impregnate me with your socially-conscious babies?

Was it the caramel-toned cutie with the locs and the ankh tatted on his bicep?

Or Mr. Future Insurance Agent, who always came to class in polos and khakis?


Maybe the pretty boy with the mahogany skin and designer prescription frames?

Or, Mr. Black-in-Every-Way-Except-Race, with the exaggerated swagger that earned him a spot in the world of melanin-rich Greek life?


Probably the white boy.

I shook my head, and turned my attention back to the screen. They were students – I wasn’t. At least not in the same sense as them. Nobody in this classroom, junior level course or not, was old enough for me to do anything except mumble about how “they didn’t make them like that” back when I was a junior – a whopping five years ago.

There was a whole lot of fine in this lecture hall, sure. On the Blakewood State University campus, period. But looks aside, I preferred men with a little more seasoning.

A little more experience.

A little more not still living in the dorms or on-campus apartments.

A little more enlightened worldview.

Like whoever actually read more books than the ones on the required reading list, and retained enough to write this paper.

I let out another sigh.

It was really too bad.

I clicked in the margins of the document, opening a comment bubble.

“Excellent social commentary here,”

I started there and stopped, putting a completely unnecessary pen between my teeth, biting down as I carefully considered my words before continuing.

“Unfortunately, much of this doesn’t fall within the bounds of the assignment. Scoring this based on the rubric you were provided, this paper wouldn’t earn more than 68.75 out of a possible 100, if this were a final draft. Consider the following revisions for a higher score:”

I spent the next few minutes making suggestions in various places on the document, including a little reminder to focus on the work, not the author, even though his opinion was spot on, if you asked me.

At least I assumed the student was a “he”. Something in the linguistic choices and style screamed male to me, even though the name, J. Wright, did nothing to encourage that notion.

Whoever it was, they’d be busy this weekend making those revisions. They were smart to take advantage of the offer to send in a first draft for review, with the paper itself not being due until the following week. None of them were expected to actually be good writers yet – this was a junior level course. By the time they left, their skill level would hopefully be a different story, but for now, especially since it was still early in the semester, they got a few crutches.

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