Call Me Read Online Free

in Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting , seeing how real the struggle is as it plays out in a two-hour film, accompanied by a soundtrack that complements it to perfection. Or better yet, Boris Pasternak’s tale, Doctor Zhivago, one of my all-time favourites; watching a complicated story of love unfold before my eyes, confirming it is indeed as beautiful as I knew it to be in my imagination when I read the book.
    Now, don’t get me wrong, there are bad ones out there, ones that do not do justice to the literary geniuses that penned the tales, but I hope to be one of the greats. I will be one of the greats. One day, I will be a screenwriter like Trainspotting ’s John Hodge or Zhivago ’s Robert Bolt, bringing these books to life for the masses. I, Ellie Hughes, will be the person writing and creating some of the most amazing film adaptions to grace the silver screen, ones people will fall in love with, not the kind where people say: “It was awful, nothing like the book.”
    “Listen to these questions.” Courtney sits up a bit straighter, drawing me out of my head, her tablet in hand once again. “This course sounds like it may be all right. Is there enough of a difference between erotica and pornography? Should they be considered the same genre? Ohhh, I like the sounds of that. Lots of fodder for rousing debate!” She taps her black-polished nail on the screen, rattling off another question: “How much should we censor erotic films compared to pornography, especially if they are deemed similar? How does artistic freedom and censorship relate to larger issues of oppression, entrepreneurship, and technology? Ah, and this one’s even better: How are sexual desires and identities shaped around appropriate sexual representations? I think I’m going to like this course, Ellie.”

Chapter 5
    Ellie
    P ulling out my iPad, I open the course syllabus to read along with Court.
    My eyes stall on the professor’s name: Doctor A. Ryan.
    “Oh, man. I hope the ‘A’ in his name doesn’t stand for ‘asshole’. ’Cause that would really blow.” I huff the joke out a little louder than intended, my comment causing a few people around us to snicker. They laugh, and I die a little of embarrassment. “Shit.” I sink down in my seat.
    “Nice one, Els, good for you. Look at you all losing your scholarship and becoming a badass. Class clown on the first day. I’m so proud, sweetie,” Courtney mocks, clearly thinking she’s funny.
    “Hardy har har. Easy on the scholarship jokes, lady. Too soon. But thanks for making the effort, I feel better already…” I shake my head at her and she mouths a “sorry”. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now back to the issue at hand—this professor, what do we know?”
    “Well, I hear the class itself is good, hence the throngs of people,” she waves her hands gesturing to the packed theatre “Let’s recap, shall we?”
    I nod. “Go for it.” I sit back up.
    “So far, we know: one, there’s a wait list a mile long. Two, the course load seems reasonable,” she waves her tablet in the air, “And, three, the prof is new, which I think is the biggest plus if you ask me. It means we can only go up from here. We all know how Professor Dobbs was the worst. And like I said, I heard this guy is allllllll kinds of yum—”
    “Please hold that last bit, miss. I need to take my place at the front of the room, but I must admit, I’m curious to know what you were going to say about me,” a deep voice booms, directly behind us.
    Suddenly, there is a sinking feeling in my stomach. That pesky one, you know, the one you get whenever you know something isn’t right.
    Please be a joke. Please be a joke , I silently pray, waiting for the stranger to tell us he’s only kidding!
    Much to my dismay, my pleading goes unrewarded. Code red, this is not a drill. Houston, your and Courtney’s big fat motormouths have caused a major problem. My mom’s voice lovingly reminding me that sometimes I really need to