Page 2 of Class Act

“Hailey,” Meredith hissed next to me, “you just dropped taco meat on my shoe.”

Heat flooded my face as I was called back to the fact that I was holding a spoon full of juicy taco meat up in the air, causing the sauce to run down my hand and the meat to slip onto Meredith’s sneakers.

“I . . . sorry,” I stuttered, yanking my arm away from her foot and back toward the tortilla I was supposed to be filling.

“The only thing I hate worse than getting taco duty on school fundraiser night is going home wearing the taco meat. What’s got you distracted?” she asked, taking my filled tortilla and adding lettuce and cheese before passing it to a mother waiting in line.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nudged me and nodded toward the tortillas. “Why don’t you grab another one of those and fill it up then, Miss Laser Focus?”

I blinked a few times, eyes still refusing to budge from the man who always looked better in person than he did on my computer screen. I hadn’t seen him often, but every time I’d caught a glimpse of him around town, I’d wondered if my mind was playing games. He couldn’t possibly give off that level of magnetism. Tonight, however, the undeniable truth hit me straight between the eyes. That man was my personal kryptonite. His draw was more potent than I’d imagined.

And I’d done a lot of imagining.

In my mind we’d had quite the whirlwind affair including several romantic dinners, a yacht trip in the Mediterranean, attending the theater, and a particularly embarrassing bit about him feeding me chocolate-dipped strawberries. It wasn’t like me to live in a fantasy world, but it had felt safe, I wasn’t hurting anyone, and I was never going to actually talk to the man in person.

“Hay-Lee,” Meredith sighed as she reached past me to grab a tortilla. “Head in the game, please.”

“This is bad, this is so bad . . .” I muttered as his daughter spotted me. She let go of his hand and headed my way with a big smile. “I’ll never survive this.”

Meredith’s eyes followed mine to where Hillary Whittaker was walking my way. “Hillary? You’re not going to survive seeing her? Is she going to murder you with her cheer? Drag your body out from this booth and tickle it to death?”

“Her dad. She’s going to want me to meet him.” Without thinking, I scrubbed my dirty hands against the apron I was wearing, smearing orange across the cream color. “I can’t do it.”

Meredith sighed once again and bumped me out of the way with her hip. “Go meet her dad and maybe take a little bathroom break. I have no idea what has you all riled up, but I hardly recognize you right now. You are definitely not in the zone.”

I finally dragged my eyes back to her. “This is a two-person job.”

I needed the excuse to keep my distance. What if somehow two hearts appeared in my eyes when I met him and he could see right through me? What if he knew that I’d formed a completely unwarranted and fictional attachment to him without ever having actually met? What if my body took over and I flung myself into his arms?

“And one person has been doing it ever since you froze like a possum under threat.” She nudged me again, and this time I shuffled to the side. “Go on. Say hi to Hillary. Come back when you’re done.”

Hillary arrived at the taco station just as I managed to come around the side. My expression was tight, my lips feeling like ice as I glanced down at her with a half-hearted greeting. I felt terrible about not being my usual, warm self, but I was going through something, and Hillary had the power to make or break me in the moment.

Please don’t introduce me to your dad, I thought loudly, hoping it would miraculously project through space into her small ears.

“Miss Thomas!” Hillary called cheerily, oblivious to my hesitance. “My dad came tonight.”

Yes, that I had noticed. It was as though the air had changed and something strange had whispered at me to look to the doorway the moment he’d entered.

Ford Whittaker.

My mind flashed to the previous school year. With only one month until school would be ending, I’d gotten a new student. Hillary Whittaker was bright, precocious, and imaginative, and we’d clicked immediately. She’d constantly talked about her new house, her brother, and her dad. The way she spoke about her father, though, had made me begin to wonder if any of her stories were real and if he even existed. I’d seen a nanny at pickup and drop-off but no sign of a parent or guardian in the short weeks I’d been her teacher. It made sense in a way, though. There hadn’t been parent-teacher conferences or really any reason for him to have come to the classroom in that short amount of time.

One Friday afternoon, on a whim, I’d decided to look her father up online. That had led me down an unfortunate, and spine-tingling, rabbit hole. I’d spent over an hour reading articles, scrolling his social media, and researching his business. After that I began watching for news of him, which had somehow morphed into a humiliating tendency to attach his face to the heroes in my daydreams. I’d even created a personality for him. Yes, I was a thirty-year-old daydreamer and possible stalker. This was a strict secret that I’d never told anyone.

Because that type of starry-eyed behavior should have ended when I was fifteen years old. At thirty I knew better . . . at least in my mind. My stomach, however, had a terrible tendency to launch into butterfly mode and steer me down desperate paths.

At least no one else knew that I’d assigned Ford such a central place in my mind. I’d only ever mentioned him once, on a girls’ trip over the summer, and not one word had been said since. I was pretty sure no one remembered.

Hillary didn’t wait for any response on my part as her expression shifted to that peculiar look children get of pure delight before it morphs into scheming. Her two round, gray eyes, and missing teeth in a jumbo smile had another set of nerves zipping along my arms, but they were different than the ones her dad had set off. I wasn’t sure what to expect when she opened her mouth, but it wasn’t “You should come to my dad’s birthday party.”

Her blurted words sucked all the air out of my lungs as I slid a glance over her head to where he was still standing a couple of feet away. His body was relaxed, both hands now tucked into his pockets as he chatted with the other parents who currently had his attention. A slight wrinkle sat between his eyebrows, however, and I imagined that he was wishing he were somewhere else. I blinked and let go of the idea that I had any clue what Ford would be thinking or feeling. We were strangers.

I tore my gaze away from the silky layers of his dark blond hair and focused on the little girl in front of me. Did a tiny, irresponsible part of me celebrate a little at the idea of being invited to his birthday party? Yes. But, the bigger part of me, the introverted and less heart-eyed part, knew it would be a mistake. It would only serve to deepen my attraction and attachment, and I really needed to be moving in the opposite direction: away from possible heartbreak when reality came crashing into my fantasy world.

This was my wake-up call. My long overdue, seriously humiliating, wake-up call.

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