Scandalous Read Free

of the way.”
    Despite herself, Sasha’s heart lurched when she saw the Cambridge postmark.
    “St. Michael’s.”
    She already knew she hadn’t got in. But the weight of the envelope confirmed it. Everyone knew that if you were accepted, they sent you a fat package full of pamphlets about grants and accommodation and reading lists. This, quite clearly, was a single sheet of paper.
    Sasha wandered through into the kitchen. Don started to follow her, but Sue held him back.
    “Leave it, love. Give her a minute. She doesn’t need an audience.”
    In the kitchen, Sasha stood with her back to the stove, turning the envelope over in her hands. Sensing her anxiety, Bijoux heaved his fat form out of the dog basket and sat loyally at her feet.
    “Thanks, boy.”
Why did the stupid rejection have to arrive today?
She wanted to remember this as the day Will Temple made her a woman. Not the day that St. Michael’s Stupid College rejected her because she didn’t know about globalization and her cardigan was buttoned up wrong.
    Wrapping her anger around her like a cloak, Sasha tore open the letter.

    On the other side of Frant village green, the Carmichael family was enjoying a summer barbecue with friends when they heard the scream.
    “What was that?” Katie Carmichael put down her beer and moved toward the garden gate.
    “Nothing.” Her dad, Bob, turned over the last batch of pork sausages. “Just some kids playing silly buggers. Any chance of another jug of Pimm’s out here, Kelly? It’s thirsty work you know, slaving over hot coals.”
    But Bob Carmichael’s wife wasn’t listening. She was standing at an upstairs window, staring openmouthed at the spectacle unfolding before her.
    “Oh my God!” Katie Carmichael had reached the gate. “It’s Mr. Miller. He’s got no clothes on.”
    “You what? Don Miller?”
    Bob Carmichael dropped his tongs. Half the village was outside now, pouring onto the green. Some of them were taking photographs. Most of them were laughing, or screaming, or both. Everyone knew Don Miller. He’d run the local post office for the last fifteen years, not to mention heading the Frant Neighborhood Watch Committee.
    Now it was Don that the neighborhood had come to watch. Stark naked, whooping for joy, he tore around the cricket pitch, screaming. “She did it! She bloody did it!”
    “He’s flipped his lid.”
    “I don’t believe it. Don Miller!”
    “That’s put me right off me sausages, that has.”
    “Where’s Sue?”
    A few moments later Sue Miller’s solid, dumpy figure could be seen waddling toward the growing crowd of spectators, mostof whom were now cheering loudly. The last time Don had felt compelled to take all his clothes off had been the night of his twenty-second birthday when England had beaten the All Blacks at Twickenham. It was a sight Sue would never forget, and one she’d hoped she’d never have to see again. Don, however, was clearly having the time of his life, playing to the crowd with a series of pirouettes and other improvised ballet moves. His plié left nothing to the imagination.
    “I’m sorry about this, everyone.” Sue Miller smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid Don’s gone rather off the deep end.”
    “No kidding!” Bob Carmichael wiped away tears of laughter. “It’s his birthday, isn’t it? Is he drunk?”
    “Not yet, but he will be. We just heard.” Sue’s smile turned into a grin. “Sasha got into Cambridge.”

    Three hours later, Don Miller was in bed, snoring loudly. The combination of the excitement, Sue’s homemade chocolate fudge birthday cake, and at least a bottle and a half of the best red wine the Abergavenny Arms had to offer had finished him off, poor man.
    “I knew you’d do it. I jush knew it!” he told Sasha repeatedly as he staggered upstairs, leaning on her for support like an exhausted boxer. “You’re going to be the greatesht scientist this country’s ever prd’ced. My daughter. You’re gonna change the world.