Page 11 of If The Shoe Fits

“Oh my Goddess! What is it?” I ask, almost spilling my tea as I wait impatiently for her to catch her breath.

“D-Dora,” she gasps my name. “S-she told everyone you did it!”

“Agatha, I can’t understand you,” I say, handing my friend a glass of water.

“S-she said you did it on p-purpose. Singling her out. Poking fun.BULLYING. She said you bullied her. Oh Gah! I have to start jogging again,” Agatha mutters, blowing out and sucking in huge breaths of air.

“When have you ever jogged? Oh, my Goddess! Agatha, I can’t understand a thing you’re saying,” I say with a huff and roll my eyes.

There’s only one more day left in the week, and I can hardly believe it flew by this quickly.

We are halfway through the first quarter, and my students are all progressing nicely.

Except for one student, but that is not my problem.

“Y-you better get down to the office?—”

But before Agatha can finish her sentence, the ancient intercom system fires up with a screeching sound and everyone in the lounge covers their ears.

“Professor Troy, please come to my office,”growls the sexiest dang voice I have ever heard over the speakers.

“Is that Principal Tremayne?” I ask out loud.

“Yup, he wants to see you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she said you did it!” Agatha nods, and she is cringing. “I think you better go.”

“I’m having tea,” I mumble, and as if he heard me that samenails across a chalkboardsound screeches again.

“Professor Troy. I mean NOW!”

His voice echoes, and it is like super loud coming through the speaker.

I swallow.

Then I get moving.

chapter four

Ican’t help but wonder what fresh chaos awaits me as I hustle my fluffy butt down the corridor and then down three flights of stairs—yes, three—to the principal’s office on the first floor.

Who decided to put the most intimidating room in the building at the bottom of this architectural nightmare?

When I’m happy, I like the mansion just fine. When I’m not, well, you get the idea.

By the time I hit the last step, my calves are burning, my lungs are staging a rebellion, and I’m seriously rethinking my life choices.

Two muffins might have been overkill.

I pause just outside the office door to catch my breath, pressing a hand to my chest like a fainting heroine in one of those overly dramatic romance novels my best friend is obsessed with.

Only, instead of a dashing duke appearing to sweep me off my feet, I hear muffled sobs through the heavy wooden door.

Fantastic.

Taking a deep breath—not nearly as deep as I’d like, considering my sprint-induced wheezing—I push the door open, bracing myself for whatever awaits on the other side.

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