Page 21 of Class Clown

I did the only thing I could do. I released the shirt sides, letting them dangle there like the opening to a circus tent, slammed my fists onto my hips, and glared.

“Don’t you ever knock?” I asked. “I know I locked it!”

Cole’s laughter echoed through the small office as he shoved Nico fully inside and closed the door behind him. He took in the scene quickly, and started laughing even harder. I folded my arms. Based on Nico’s reaction, folding my arms was a mistake. He blinked once and then abruptly turned to face the closed door. Uni-boob = one. Nico = zero.

“Do you need help?” Cole’s voice was strained with amusement.

“Yes, get maintenance in here to check your lock. It’s broken.” I huffed.

“Or, you didn’t actually lock it,” Cole replied.

I raised my eyebrows and he held up his hands in the peace sign.

“I came in here to change clothes, of course I locked it.” I gestured down at my exposed belly. “Looks like you don’t know what size I actually wear,” I gritted out, striving to keep cool.

I wasn’t mad, but I was embarrassed. It wasn’t an emotion I experienced often, and it probably wouldn’t have happened even in this ridiculous situation if Nico had laughed with Cole, but something about his flustered reaction had me wanting to hide myself.

“Sorry,” Cole rasped. “But not sorry either, because this is gold.”

Rats. My nightmare had become a reality. Our oldest brother, Porter, would be hearing about this from Cole before the day was out.

“Why don’t you two go away while I finish surgically removing this cotton straitjacket?” I motioned to the door, and when I did, one flap of the t-shirt fluttered, sending Cole into another batch of hysterics. Unable to talk with him, I focused on Nico, or at least his profile. “And you,” I said, causing him to glance my way over his shoulder before blinking again and jerking his gaze to the ceiling, his whole body going rigid, “next time a woman tells you the shirt is going to be too small, maybe you believe her rather than insisting she try it on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.

“Please tell me there are some bigger sizes available?” I asked.

Nico nodded, but remained silent.

“Good. Now, please leave. I would prefer to handle this alone.”

Nico zipped right on out the door, barely opening it wide enough to shimmy through. I was assuming it was about offering me some privacy from whomever might be in the hallway, which was a five percent redemption. Cole was slower to follow, his dark eyes still dancing over mypredicament. With Nico gone I relaxed and a grin rose. Soon I was smiling along with Cole.

“Does this have to be discussed with Porter?” I asked as I adjusted the shirt.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m afraid it does.”

“Same rules as always?” I asked. Meaning: no one tells Mom and Dad.

He nodded in agreement. “Do you need some help tearing yourself free?” His smile filled his face and he bit down on his lips, trying to be a little bit cool.

“Absolutely not. Although, do you happen to have any better scissors?”

He shook his head, making his way to the door. “Sorry, you’re going to have to use your Hulk strength to defeat the enemy.”

With another laugh he was gone and I sagged into the chair behind his desk. Of all the humiliating things. Nico’s horrified face flashed into my mind. He’d looked beyond uncomfortable, and when I realized he’d been as embarrassed as me, the last of the mortification fizzled. How funny to be such a strait-laced guy and walk in on your best friend’s sister attempting to cut herself out of a too-tight tee. Man, I’d give anything to share this incident with my friends. They’d find it as funny as Cole had.

The thought of my friends had me sitting up and grabbing my phone. I stood and snapped a selfie, getting my entire torso in the shot, torn shirt gaping.

Since Cole’s office had Wi-Fi, I attached it to a text in our group chat.

Me: Day one at camp, going great!

Then I picked up the scissors and got back to work. It took a few more minutes, and a lot of hacking and tearing, but eventually I was freed. I took off the uniform shorts before putting my own clothes back on and made my way back out to the main lodge area carrying the pile of clothes topped by the massacred t-shirt.

The chairs had been put away and no one was milling around anymore, but Nico was standing facing the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back. It was a military stance and I won’t pretend it didn’t do some nice things for his shoulders and arms. Strictly as a matchmaker observing her client. (Yes, he can still be my client even if he doesn’t know he is.)

I walked up to him and broke the stillness. “This uniform isn’t quite right,” I said. He rotated to face me. “I’m going to go in a different direction.”

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