Page 5 of Class Act

“Yes. You told us he was a ten out of ten, and you’d looked more than once.”

I scooped up another tortilla and filled it before passing her the plate. “An obvious misjudgment. Looks don’t matter if the personality is atrocious.”

Meredith bumped her shoulder against mine. “You sound disappointed by that.” I shrugged, and she pushed ahead. “Are you honestly telling me it wouldn’t give you some satisfaction to show up at his party, dressed to kill, and schmoozing all his guests with your fancy manners, all the while knowing he didn’t want you there?”

“I’m not going.” I felt like I’d just been dumped, and no one wanted to see their ex again that soon.

“Not even for cute Hillary? Imagine how lonely she must be with a dad like that and no mom?”

My stomach felt woozy at the thought, and I looked to Meredith to gauge her sincerity. She was making it really hard to work my way back to calm. “Do you really think she’s lonely?”

“Hailey, she’s latched onto you. She begged you to come to the party. Do it for the children.” When she could see I wasn’t convinced, she started singing a Whitney Houston song under her breath.

I cracked up. “Knock it off.”

“So you’ll go?”

I shook my head. “No. Going places I’m not wanted, banging down doors, making people pay for misjudging me? Those are your happy places. My happy place is far away from arrogant single dads throwing themselves birthday parties. Pass.”

Which is exactly why two days later I was walking up the front steps of Ford Whittaker’s mansion, wearing a knee-length, rose gold, sequin wrap dress and a smile that could give frostbite to a fire.

CHAPTER TWO

The Whittaker home was over-the-top arrogance. Of course, if I’d seen it before Real Ford had been a total jerk, I would have had a different opinion. I’d probably have said the place was one hundred percent storybook material, the kind of home I could celebrate living in with the man I loved and his two adorable children. For now, though, it only represented the bittersweet reality that we lived in very different worlds, and he did not want to invite me into his.

The front doors were opened for guests to arrive without knocking, and every arrival was ushered into the impressive circular three-story entrance. The entryway was roughly the size of my entire classroom, and it performed its function as a greeting area with cool simplicity. Stark white walls that shot sky high, a white floor, and a chandelier that would have made my mom weep with joy all worked together to impress greatness on anyone who entered.

I may have officially been in a castle, but everyone who’s read a fairy tale knows that villains can live in castles, too.

The September evening air was cool, even though summer was still holding on, and I shrugged out of my black cashmere shawl when a young man in a white and black uniform offered to take it from me. I silently thanked my parents for the pricey clothing item as it wasn’t something I’d have bought for myself on my teacher’s salary.

A goblet of something sparkling was offered to me as I watched my shawl disappear down a side hallway, noting where it was taken so that I’d be able to duck out later. I reached for the stem of the glass and mentally went over my plan as I followed the flow of people through an arched doorway into a palatial gathering room.

The morning after my disastrous interaction with her father, Hillary had come to my classroom with a handmade invitation. She’d promised her dad had said she could invite me and begged me once again to come. While I didn’t believe for a second that Daddy Dearest really did want me there, I channeled my inner Meredith and agreed to make an appearance for Hillary’s sake. Then I hustled to Meredith’s classroom before the starting bell rang and asked her what to do.

The plan was simple. Show up looking worlds away from the lady covered in tacos and then spend the evening with Hillary, ignoring the birthday boy altogether. (Meredith had no idea that was easier said than done, considering I’d trained my brain to watch for any sign of him.) Bonus points if I knew some of the people in his circle. Chances were high that I would, because . . .shh . . . these were my parents’ people too.

According to Meredith, Ford Whittaker had no idea who he’d snubbed. I didn’t see it the same way but borrowing courage and determination from Meredith had worked in the past when my tendencies toward peacekeeping rendered me mute. And if I maybe daydreamed a little about being fearless and making him question his judgment, well, there was nothing wrong with that.

The room I’d entered had the same white walls as the front hall, but it was softened with tans and blues in furniture and decor, making it feel homier. I sipped at my drink while I looked around for any sign of Hillary. Conversation topped the faint sounds of instrumental music as well-dressed guests chatted easily. There was a feeling of ease among the guests, and I tried to let it seep into me. I was confident in myself and my ability to be in this world, but I meant what I’d told Meredith about not wanting to push myself into places where I wasn’t wanted. Humans are complex, and I was living proof that it is possible to be confident and shy at the same time. I was probably going to lose ten pounds tonight from the knots in my stomach and sweat tracing my backbone, but I glided through the room as though I didn’t have a care in the world.

I finally spotted a flash of hot pink fluff sprinting past the couches across the room, and I smiled to myself as I began working my way through the crowd. There must have been at least two hundred people inside, not to mention the people I could see mingling out on the terrace. Lights strung from tree to tree lit up the backyard, and cheery conversation floated in through the open double doors. This was the kind of birthday party I would never personally enjoy. My thirtieth a few months ago had been ideal: me, my parents, my four best friends, and some takeout sushi. Simple and peaceful with happy conversation around my parents’ large dining room table.

“Hailey Thomas?” a woman’s voice snagged my attention at the same time Hillary and I made eye contact.

Hillary whooped loudly enough for a few people to glance her direction and then came barreling my way as I turned to see who had called my name. It was my dad’s boss, the dean of the education and human services college where Dad was a psychology professor.

I reached out my free hand to grip hers. “Agatha, how lovely to see you,” I said as I pressed a light kiss next to her cheek, careful not to leave any trace of my lipstick. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” she gently chastised, squeezing my hand before releasing it. “I hear you’re an elementary school teacher now.”

“I am.”

I was jostled forward as Hillary bumped into me from the side, very nearly splashing my drink on poor Agatha and her stunning aqua dress.

“Miss Thomas,” Hillary cried happily, “you’re here.”

Agatha laughed heartily. “I suppose this tells me how you know Ford?” she asked curiously.

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