Seven Deadlies by Gigi Levangie

Author:Gigi Levangie
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781611739725
Publisher: Center Point Pub
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Recently, I had to get a cell phone. I was

initially against the idea, because I don’t want anything getting in the way of my five-, ten-, fifteen-, and twenty-five-year plans. (Bennington College . . . bestselling author . . . Harvard Law . . . Supreme Court bench.) Cell phones are a distraction: Cell phones mean texting, cell phones mean music, cell phones mean apps—which mean playing games.

Esteemed Admissions Committee, you know me, Perry Gonzales, pretty well by now. Do you think I want to waste my life playing computer games? I’ve seen it happen before. I’ve seen what games can do.

Games kill.

My mother, the upstanding Yelena Maria Gonzales, insisted that I buy my own phone when her voice mail crashed after so many Mark Frost Academy parents left messages asking for my services. They offered money, apartments, vacations, sports cars (I’m fourteen years old). As you know, I’m a highly regarded tutor at Mark Frost Academy. I’m not being cocky—my reputation precedes me, as they say. I’ve been known to rescue even the dullest kids from the doldrums D’s and the far-from-fantastic F’s. I have a knack, a gift, if you will.

One of the parents who called me was Sheldon Turkle (pronounced “Turk-LAY”) the head honcho of Completely WorldWide Studios. To be more precise, his office got in touch with me. His assistant, Bethanny, called, then put me on hold for five minutes, then called me again and forgot what she was calling about. She sounded like she was crying. In the background, I heard a lot of yelling and swear words, the specifics of which I won’t share with you.

Between her tears, Bethanny begged me to go to the Turkle household that very afternoon. I told her I was busy, which is true. I have school, I’m the goalie for the Mark Frost Academy ninth-grade girls soccer team, I play clarinet in the school band, and I work five days a week. I couldn’t possibly tutor any more hours.

Bethanny said Mr. Turkle would put me in a movie if I tutored his son, Timmy.

I have no interest in being an actress, I told her. I’m a writer.

She said Mr. Turkle would buy my first script.

I told her I wanted to be a journalist. Or a novelist.

She told me he would buy my opening line.

We’ll see, I said. She didn’t sound too happy.

A few days later, I called her back. I was feeling guilty, and as it turned out, one of my clients had gone into juice rehab (he’s fifteen and addicted to juicing). I had an opening that afternoon at four. Take it or leave it. Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for the purposes of this story and my future career as a Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist/PEN Award–winning novelist, the Turkles jumped on it.

And on that day, at precisely four p.m., in an enormous, enormously cold, ultra-modern home filled with art and sculptures and absolutely not one speck of dust, nor carpets nor pillows nor comfortable chairs, I met Sloth.

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