Page 58 of The Thought of You

Addie leans onto her heels, her lips pursed. “You keep trying to convince me you’re more than fun, but all you do is prove you’re not. This is all just a big game to you, as always.”

She whirls around, her scent lingering over my senses as her hair flips over her shoulder with a vengeance. I’m so distracted by her that I don’t immediately realize she’s heading away from her new classroom.

“Where are you going?” I call out, which grabs the attention of other teachers and a few students milling about.

All I get from Addie in return is a flick of her wrist, shooing me off.

I thumb the edges of the papers, skimming over the top, and my heart plummets into my stomach like a batter diving for first.

What I thought was a love contract is absolutely nothing of the sort.

Rather, it’s her class schedule, laid out with red tabs along the days of testing when she requests I take my class outside or use the Health room in order for her students to focus. I whip the packet open to the final page, which outlines her plans until Christmas break, just in case construction on her own classroom is delayed.

We were told it’d take no longer than a month, but she’s right—a little organization never hurt anyone. I’d like to add foresight and preparation to said harmless list.

I just wish I would’ve realized what I was holding before I stuffed my size thirteens into my mouth and played right into what she thinks of me.

And we were making such good progress before this misunderstanding.

I lean on the door again as the bell rings, the shrill alarm practically shaking the ground beneath me.

Instead of entering the building, I stare after Addie as she disappears into Building A, her large bag nearly catching the door, but she saves it at the last second.

I’m so glued to her every movement when the door behind me opens and smacks into me.

“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Conrad.” One of my students grimaces.

“It’s fine,” I assure him, then mumble under my breath, “I deserved it.”

chapter

eighteen

ADDIE

My Wednesday evening has been reduced to a pile of sequined costumes at the dance studio.

At least the new costumes arrived in the correct color. The company finally got it right, and to make up for the inconvenience, they expedited shipping.

The fitting tonight went about as expected.

Five- and six-year-olds ran around the room, a blur of Christmas red, the matching headbands in their mouths.

The older age group wasn’t much better. The number of complaints over itchy fabric and uncomfortable wedgies was off the charts.

Not to mention the decibel of moms, big sisters, and grandmas as they fought for attention. The mess would compete with a volcanic eruption.

Iris threw her back out trying to hold a younger dancer still while she pinned the costume in order to alter it for a better fit, so I insisted the poor woman go home, draw herself a warm bath, and relax.

Her niece and I cleaned up, and now I have the studio to myself, much to my delight. After the week I’ve had, I need this alone time.

I shuffle the last of the costumes onto the table at the head of the studio, the bright Post-Its with names pinned to the various costumes. Green means they’re ready, yellow means they need altering, and blue means they go in the pile of extras for future dancers. These are for the winter recital in a couple of months, and Iris and I have plans to reuse these costumes in the future.

I slump onto the chair next to the blues, my head spinning from echoes of the chaos of tonight’s classes. I enjoy a moment to catch my breath, but there’s no better way to alleviate some of the pressure in my body than what I plan to do next.

With a deep, steadying inhale, I retrieve my phone from my tote bag, open my music app, and click on a song. Tonight’s choice is a fast-paced one—I need something uplifting after the last week I’ve had.

The beginning notes soon blast from the Bluetooth speaker, the trumpet of “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira ringing out with passion. With a newfound zap of vivacity, I spring from my seat and glide into the center of the room by the time the song jumps into the first verse.

---