Page 8 of The Boyfriend Swap

“Miss Lane. It’s time. It’s time.”

Motioning toward the third graders, who were dancing in place in line outside of the auditorium and ready to strut their stuff onstage, Lynn said, “Go to your kids, Robyn. The show is greater than great. And you, my dear, are spectacular. Whatever this rumor is, it’s just that—a rumor—and it has nothing to do with tonight’s performance. Who knows when, if ever, these changes would take effect? You might be retired by then.” She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. “The best thing you can do is lead those kids in the best concert this school has ever seen, and show them what they’d be missing without it.”

I nodded as giddiness and nervous tingles for the upcoming number replaced my paranoia about the future of the music program. Lynn was right. It had nothing to do with tonight. Turning to the kids, I said, “Ready, everyone? Let’s show them how it’s done.” To Lynn, I said, “Want to watch this performance from the stage with me?”

Lynn clapped her hands together like a child entering the gates at Disney World. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“And last but not least, please put your hands together for our music teacher, Robyn Lane.”

My breath caught in my throat and my legs wobbled as I walked to where Principal Hogan stood centerstage waiting for me. He had already thanked Lance, the band instructor, for heading up the instrumental portion of the performance. I waved at the audience, who were now on their feet and clapping, before taking the hand he offered and shaking it. Even though I knew what was coming from the prior year and the year before that, it didn’t stop the butterflies that danced in my tummy as three of the first graders ran up on stage, each holding a giant sunflower.

“Thank you, Ms. Lane,” they said one at time before handing me a flower and giving me a hug.

Sneaking up behind them, Aimee Clay, a fifth grader with red hair like Little Orphan Annie and a singing voice to match, said, “We love you, Ms. Lane” before placing a large box wrapped in paper emblazoned with musical notes in my arms.

“What’s this?” I whispered, raising and lowering the heavy box in genuine surprise.

Aimee’s eyes twinkled as she feigned nonchalance. Shrugging, she said, “You’ll have to open it.”

My fingers ripped off the paper. “Did you guys know about this?” I asked the audience. Not surprisingly, the crowd responded with a collective “No.”

I reached into the box, gasping when I saw what was inside: a wooden plaque engraved with the words, “Robyn Lane. World’s Best Music Teacher” and signed by every student in the school. I held it up for all to see and blinked back my tears. Was this gift my swan song—a “thanks for everything, but we won’t be needing your services anymore” present? My lips trembled and I locked eyes with Lynn, who had returned to her seat in the front row. She gave me a sad smile and mouthed “No” to my unspoken question.

Forcing myself to let go of the rumor—it was just a rumor—I embraced the moment. I smiled at Aimee and the little ones. “Thank you so much.Youguys are the best.” Into the microphone, I said, “Thank you all so much for coming and for helping to make this year’s winter concert a massive success.” I looked pointedly at Principal Hogan and then back at the crowd. “I look forward to directing many more amazing concerts in the years to come.”

When Principal Hogan cleared his throat and said, “Thanks for coming everyone, and drive safely,” before placing his hand on the small of my back and escorting me off the stage, I prayed it had nothing to do with the fate of the music program and everything to do with wanting the kids to get to sleep at a reasonable hour on a school night.

Afraid I would say something I shouldn’t, I declined a teacher friend’s invitation to go out for a drink and headed directly home. The brisk fresh air I breathed during the thirty-minute walk from the school in midtown to my apartment on the Upper West Side did wonders for my psyche, and by the time I waved at my doorman and stepped into my elevator, I was feeling better about things. Tonight was the first I’d heard about these so-called budget cuts. As a current teacher in the school and one who would be directly affected by any change, I would be the first to know, along with Lance. Lynn’s sources were probably mistaken. I smiled as my phone pinged a text message. It was probably Perry on a break from work asking how the show went. Locking the front door behind me, I plopped myself on the gray fabric sofa and reached into my bag for my phone. The text wasn’t from Perry but from an unknown number, and I opened it with curiosity.

Hi Robyn, it’s Sidney. Anne Marie gave me your number. Are you free on Saturday night? I told Will we were having drinks with my new friend and her boyfriend. Waiting until we’re all together to drop the TBS bomb. Let me know if it’s good for you.

Letting the phone fall to my lap, I closed my eyes and leaned against the couch in confusion. TBS? I was only twenty-six, but felt too old for all the new lingo. Aside from the basics—LOL, FWB, TTYL—I didn’t understand half of the coded vocabulary used by the kids at school. Wasn’t TBS a television station? Oh. I opened my eyes.Oh.

TBS: The Boyfriend Swap.

Chapter 3

Sidney

“Who are we meeting again?” Will asked as we climbed the stairs up from the subway onto the street.

Will walked briskly, and despite engaging in at least an hour of cardiovascular exercise five times a week, I had trouble keeping up with him. I squeezed the hand I was holding to slow him down. “Whoa, buddy. I’m wearing heels.”

“Sorry. I always forget you’re older than me and might not be able to keep up,” Will teased with a straight-teeth smile that, even though he’d implied I was a cougar, made me wish we had time for a quickie. He was only a year younger than me. He slowed his pace and blew on his hands. “It’s cold.”

Leaning into him, I said, “I’ll warm you up later” before stopping in front of the restaurant. “We’re here anyway.” I opened the door and scanned the dimly lit room, looking for Robyn. “There they are,” I said, pointing to where she sat at a table laughing with a guy, presumably Perry. Even though they were sitting, I could tell he was at least a foot taller than her and, to my relief, very attractive. Actually, he was gorgeous. Not that Will was a slouch in the looks department—he was totes sexy—but this guy looked like a movie star, with longish hair the color of caramel and giant blue eyes under full eyebrows. He had to be lacking in talent big-time to look as good as he did yet struggle to get work as much as Robyn had implied at her wine party the previous weekend.

“You never answered my question. Who’s ‘they’?” Will asked from behind me.

Waving at Robyn, who had just looked our way and flashed me a timid smile, I said, “My new friend Robyn and her boyfriend.” When the hostess approached, I pointed at Robyn’s table, said, “We’re with those guys over there,” and kept walking.

“Hi. So sorry we’re late.” I gave Robyn, who had stood up to greet me, a kiss on the cheek.

Robyn straightened out her bright yellow pencil skirt and tucked a wavy strand of hair behind her ear. “No worries. I had a drink.” Pointing at Perry, she said, “He had two.” She introduced us.

“Good to meet you,” I said, shrugging off my winter white wool coat and draping it against an empty chair. “This is Will.” I turned around to the empty space I thought Will was filling behind me. “Where the hell…” He had stopped to chat with a couple at another table. “I swear, he’s like the mayor of the Upper East Side. Knows people wherever we go.” I watched him in amusement until he finally looked our way.

Approaching us with a smile, he said, “Sorry. Friend from law school.” His grin broadened as soon as he set his dark hazel eyes on Robyn. “Snow White? Is that you?”

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