Page 27 of Class Act

I nodded at her. “Thanks for inviting me. I love watching dance.”

“You do? Have you seen a ballet?”

“I have. I go with my parents every year to the Nutcracker and sometimes to other performances too,” I replied, happy at the memories of the times with my parents.

“Daddy sometimes goes to . . .” Hillary began.

Ford interrupted. “Come on, guys. We can walk out with Miss Thomas and then go get some dinner.”

Hillary slipped her arms into the jacket that her father was holding and then immediately grabbed my hand, thrilled to be walking out together. For my part, I was grateful that Ford had interrupted what was most likely another attempt on her part to get him and me spending time together. She chatted happily while we walked along, Ford and Henry following behind us having a softer conversation of their own. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it felt oddly familial, and I shivered. It was dark when we left the building, and I blamed my chills on the light breeze cutting through my shirt. I’d left my jacket in the car, and now I couldn’t wait to get it on.

Ford seemed to notice. “Let’s say goodbye now,” he said from behind us when we reached the parking lot. “It’s cold, and Miss Thomas forgot a jacket.”

I didn’t bother correcting him but instead bent slightly to Hillary’s level. “You did great tonight. I’ll see you at school, okay?” She grinned, nodded. I turned to her brother. “Hey Henry, have a good night.” He smiled at me, ever the quiet one, and followed Hillary who had started skipping away.

Ford paused for a moment, watching them. “She’s always planning something.”

I kept my mouth shut, not knowing for sure what he’d meant, and not interested in asking.

“Goodnight, Hailey,” was all he said as he lifted a hand to wave and turned to follow his children.

With any luck, that wave was the final goodbye. The last thing I needed was more time around a man who made my skin spark and my entire logical mind become a teeming mass of glittering hearts.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“The way I see it,” Lizzie said the next night around a bite of warm chocolate chip cookie, “I very rarely hit my head on anything, my legs never hang off the end of a bed, and all blankets are long enough to cover me completely. Being short is best.”

“I disagree,” Aryn said from her cross-legged seat on the floor, back leaning against my couch. “I can reach cupboards without a stool. I can see over people in a crowd. I’m easy to spot when you’re looking for me.”

“Is that because you’re tall or because you’re loud?” Ruby asked and then squealed when Aryn threw a pillow at her.

“I can see over the steering wheel,” Aryn went on. “Pants don’t have to be hemmed when I buy them.”

“I have news for you, those pants you’re buying should go to your ankles,” Ruby tossed the pillow back. “They’re not supposed to be capris.”

“You should’ve tossed that pillow to Lizzie,” Aryn heckled. “She may need to sit on it to see over the dash.”

“Hailey, you need to end our debate. Tall or short? Which is easier?” Lizzie asked me.

I smiled, ready with the same neutral answer I always gave when this came up. “The average American woman is five foot four inches.”

“I’m closer to perfect than you are,” Lizzie laughed and wiggled her finger at Aryn. “Look at me, the ideal woman.”

“One who carries a step stool everywhere?” Aryn chuckled and popped a grape into her mouth.

“Hailey’s the lucky one,” Ruby sighed. “Not tall, not short.”

“Average,” I joked.

“If I could have picked my height, I’d have been five foot six like you,” Ruby responded.

“You’re only two inches taller,” I soothed, picking at my own cookie. “That’s roughly the height of a golf tee. It doesn’t buy you much.”

“Should I be offended that you wouldn’t have picked to be nearly six feet like me?” Aryn asked.

Ruby grabbed another cookie from the pile. “What I’d take from you is your lean limbs.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ruby. Your curves are great.” Aryn replied.

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