Gone by Francine Pascal

Oliver, and Skyler, and Chris, and just about every other man she’d ever met. This little phone call was just a microcosm of her entire experience with men. All she’d wanted to do was make contact with Jake and put his mind at ease. But what had she ended up with? All of these men shouting at her orpawing for her phone, just dying to do battle with each other. All of these men assuming that she was utterly incapable of taking care of herself—of solving her own problems. What the hell was the matter with men? What were all the mothers and fathers of this world doing wrong with their baby boys? Because as far as Gaia could tell, money wasn’t the root of all evil. Male pride was. Not that she could necessarily speak for the rest of the world. But as far as she was concerned, male pride had been decimating her life since she was six years old. And someday it would surely be the death of her. Somehow that seemed inevitable.

spewing testosteron
    When she thought about all those boys now, they all seemed like such shallow, materialistic, irmiature tool.

Idiot Child
    â€œGET ME GENERAL COLTER ON THE line.
Now.”
    â€œYes, sir, and who should I say is calling, sir?”
    â€œYou tell him this is Robert Rodke. Tell him it’s urgent I need him on the line
pronto.”
    â€œOf course, sir, yes, sir, please hold.”
    Chris had to stifle a giggle. He felt like he was right smack in the middle of one of those huge, crappy Michael Bay blockbusters, and he was loving every minute of it.
“Get me General Colter on the line”
It was just the kind of line Chris had always been dying to say. That and the word
pronto.
There couldn’t possibly be anyone in real life who said pronto. It was almost as good as
“Get me the president!”
He could just picture those military drones on the other end of the line, rushing around to find the general based solely on Chris’s demand. He could picture the general marching through some office filled with American flags and picking up the red phone. Of course, it probably wasn’t red, but this was Chris’s movie now, and in his movie the phone was red.
    He’d gotten Colter’s classified phone number right off the “classified” contract—a little less “classified” now that Chris had seen it. All he’d had to do was dial, speak, and wait. So freaking easy…
    â€œThis is Colter,” the brusque voice finally barked through the phone.
    â€œYes, is this General John T. Colter?”
    â€œSpeaking. Rodke…?”
    â€œYes,” Chris said.
    â€œThis is Robert Rodke?” The general sounded unconvinced.
    â€œWell… no. This is Chris Rodke, actually. I just needed you to take the call. We met earlier today…?”
    Dead silence on the line. Chris had expected as much, but it was only a matter of time before he’d have the general listening.
    â€œHow the hell did you get this number?” Colter asked.
    â€œThat really doesn’t matter, General. What matters is the information I am about to give you.”
    â€œListen, boy…” Colter’s western drawl seemed to grow with each dismissive word. “I don’t know how you got this number, but I don’t have any time for crank calls, you understand? Don’t you call this number again—”
    â€œThis is no crank call, General. This is, in fact, a deadly serious call, and I suggest you listen, because once you hear what I have to say, you will be thinking very differently about the deal you are about to make with my father’s company.”
    â€œAnd what the hell would you know about that?”
    â€œWhat would I know, General? I’d know
a lot.
A hell of a lot more than you know, that’s for sure. And given that you haven’t hung up yet, I know you’regoing to listen. So here’s a refreshing dose of
truth
for you, General…. That drug my father is trying to sell