Page 4 of Class Act

“I’m sure she does.” Mr. Whittaker straightened a little and looked to me. “Hillary, why don’t you go get your taco before Henry eats it? I’ll give Miss Thomas the details so she knows how to get to the party.”

Hillary squealed and wrapped her arms around my middle. I felt a little bad that her shirt was going to have grease stains, but she let go before I had time to squeeze her back. Then she skipped across the cafeteria to where her older brother was sitting with a group of classmates. Warmth flowed through my chest as I watched her. That girl was going places.

“She’s something special,” I said softly to her father.

“She is,” he responded, his tone assessing.

I looked back to him, my face warming as the buffer she’d provided slipped away. I was face-to-face with a man who radiated something I was slightly afraid of. The pictures I’d scrolled had only hinted at who he was in person.

“I truly don’t want to push myself onto the guest list. I really would enjoy a few hours after school next week to soften the blow to Hillary,” I said, gathering my confidence around me.

“It’s obvious Hillary likes you. She talks about you enough. I hope the two of you aren’t plotting something.”

“Plotting?” I stumbled over the word.

He focused back on me--like really focused--and a buzz of electricity hit from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.

A tone of authority suddenly radiated from him as he stated, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Miss Thomas, but I’m not looking to date anyone or get remarried. Ever.”

My eyebrows flew up, and I took a step back before I could stop myself. Instant hurt and confusion warred within me. Why would he say that? Didn’t he know me better? No, Hailey, he doesn’t know you at all, I reminded myself sternly.

My jaw clenched and humiliation threatened to take away my voice, but I managed to speak in barely more than a shocked whisper when I replied, “The thought never crossed my mind.”

Lies, lies, lies. Fake Ford and I were getting pretty chummy. Rumor had it he’d been ring shopping. I wished he were here instead of this mannerless impostor.

“Hillary has her daydreams about getting a new mom. I just want to make it crystal clear that I’m not getting set up on dates by my eight year old.”

I nodded tightly, my emotions cooling into resolve. “It’s quite clear.” I glanced at his sweet daughter, feeling sad that she’d be disappointed, but not sad enough to be in company with her dad again. “Please express my regrets to Hillary.”

I avoided looking at him again as I walked away, head held high and blood boiling. I had a host of feelings shooting laser beams at Mr. Ford Whittaker. How rude. I hoped he choked on his taco tonight. I detested confrontation as much as the injustice of being put in my place for no reason at all. As if I’d ever plot with a child to snag her father. My bubble had officially been burst, and I firmly told myself there would be no more daydreams. My throat was thick as I returned to my place next to Meredith and started plating up tortillas and meat once more.

“Have you ever wondered what my most favorite night of the year is?” she asked as she slapped some lettuce onto the flat white disk I presented her.

“It’s obviously school fundraiser night,” I replied. “I’m having a hard time containing my excitement. If cartwheels were allowed indoors, I’d be doing them right now.”

Sarcasm oozed with every word, made sharper by the confusion washing through me over that ridiculous exchange and the loss of something I’d never actually had.

“Exactly,” Meredith stated with equal displeasure, glancing at me from the side. “When else do I get to stay late to run a taco stand and try to sneakily convince people to give us their money?”

“It’s like schoolteacher Christmas.” My reply was more cynical than it should have been.

She gave me more side-eye but finished serving another family before asking, “What were you and Mr. Business talking about over there?”

“Oh, nothing much,” I replied as I took a few breaths and worked to shake off my mood. I wouldn’t give this unfortunate interaction any control over my emotions.

“He looks like a politician, working the room. Is he sleazy?”

“I have no idea.”

“You stomped away from him, which tells me you do have an idea.” She sprinkled some lettuce and cheese in with the meat, handed it to a waiting mother, and asked the woman if she was enjoying herself and had had a chance to donate to the school fund. I was feeling pretty good about avoiding the rest of the our conversation, but five minutes later we’d cleared the bottleneck of taco lovers and Meredith was after me again. “I don’t see you stomp very often, and that blush could have heated a hot tub. What happened?”

I told her the whole story--well, not the whole, whole story--and rather than getting offended on my behalf, which is like her superpower, she chuckled. “Obviously you have to go to his party now.”

I’d rather crawl across broken glass. “Why on earth would I do that? I have a firm policy about staying away from places where I’m not wanted.”

“Isn’t he the guy you internet creeped last school year?”

“Maybe.” I studiously kept my eyes away from her, which was a tactical error. She knew me well enough to know I was avoiding something.

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