The Great Gatsby Project Gutenberg Novelas e Histórias

His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down Vivian's spine as he spoke to her. “Pardon,” Vivian was totally confused by what he just said. “Tales of the Great Gatsby, it's a quote from the novel. You have read the book, right?” Eric Damian said, waving the book he had in his hand in the air. The book had the title “Tales of the Great Gatsby." “Oh...I haven't really read it to the end. I just got the book today. It's quite interesting,” Vivian said, somehow forgetting she had no idea how he got into her room despite the doors and windows being locked shut.

I have a class to attend, he is in detention, his punishment can’t get any worse than that but mine can. Hurrying to the literature section, I pick out the first copy of The Great Gatsby I find on the rows of shelves with first edition novels. A crumpled note falls out as I am about to tuck it into my bag, I look around to see if anyone is here but there’s no one within walking distance. I open the note and frown. It is a letter. A handwritten letter.

of course, I’m a bit quirky. How about you? Do you like books? I pulled up my second phone and logged into a burner account to search for her profile again. After a moment of intentional scrolling, I saw that she was obsessed with one book in particular. The Great Gatsby. I felt my interest pique, and before I could stop myself, I shot a quick text to the family's personal secretary; “Get me a copy of The Great Gatsby before nightfall tomorrow, Jones.” “On it, sir.” His response came in instantly, but I didn’t spare it a second glance as I threw the phone to the side and focused on my original.

It's not a shock they're here to say the same damn thing. “Here you go.” Gabriel passed me a brown folder. “You want me to read this time. Cool.” I snatched the folder from his hand and tore it open. Gatsby was a darling and passed me my reading glasses. After reading a few lines, I told myself I'd had enough of this thing. “This is a load of crap.” I tossed the paper aside. “Caden!” “You expect me to be watched 24/7? I'm not a child!” I yelled.

She sighed, her voice tinged with thinly veiled frustration. Dylan, the nerd, straightened his shoulders and coughed slightly. "The central theme of 'The Great Gatsby' is the corruption of the American Dream," he said, his deep voice grating on Lila's already frazzled nerves. "Fitzgerald's critique of the decadence and moral decay of the Jazz Age elite serves as a scathing indictment of the pursuit of wealth and status at the expense of human decency." Dylan's lips twisted into a smug smirk, his chest heaving with pride at having delivered the textbook answer with robotic accuracy. Lila resisted the need to roll her eyes, her fingers twitching with the desire to launch a caustic retort.

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

I murmured, staring down at my calculus worksheet. "You don't have to thank me for respecting you, Tamine," Evans said, his voice a low, steady anchor in the chaotic cafeteria. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a battered paperback copy of The Great Gatsby. "Now, are you going to help me understand chapter seven, or are we going to sit here and glare at differential equations all period?" A genuine, relieved smile finally broke across my face. "Page 154, Thorpe. And if you make one more joke about the valley of ashes, I'm charging you double for this session."

We sat in the quiet room. “Gabriel,” I said. “Mm.” “Your father was right, about most things.” “I know.” “It’s insufferable,” I said. He smiled. “In the best possible way,” he said. I picked up the folder, put it in my bag and stood up. “Come on,” I said. “I have a lesson at two.” He stood. “Theo?” he said. “Theo,” I said. “What are you teaching?” he said. “The Great Gatsby,” I said. “The green light.”

The next morning I walked into AP English Lit early for the first time, which was partly because I wanted to avoid hallway commentary and partly because I'd left my annotated copy of *The Great Gatsby* in the classroom the day before and needed it back before the quiz. The room was empty except for the teacher. Ms. Okafor was maybe thirty-five, with natural hair pinned up on one side and reading glasses pushed to the top of her head that she'd clearly forgotten were there. She was at her desk with a red pen moving fast across what looked like a stack of essays, and she didn't look up when I came in. "Kane. Third desk from the left, second row. Your Gatsby is under the chair." I blinked. "How

"Thanks. Got a book in mind?" "Yeah, 'The Great Gatsby' by F. Scott Fitzgerald," I say, and she points me to where it might be. "Just one left should be along that wall. Good luck." With that, she heads back to her desk. After about 10-15 minutes of searching, I finally spotted it on the fifth shelf. As I reach for the book on the fifth shelf, I find myself stretching on my tiptoes, struggling to grab it. But then, I start to tip backward, almost taking a tumble.