Page 27 of Just a Little White Lie

I thought it was the thing I’d do for the rest of my life. Until my body gave out, anyway.

No one ever warned me that grand plans were no guarantee, that life… people… could tear up your dreams without warning.

Lies. Little lies.

They ruined me.

She never apologized. Hell, I don’t even know if she realizes what she did was so damn wrong.

My dance partner.

I can’t even think her name, let alone say it.

She was so damn desperate to win, and she took me down with her.

There was no trophy for us.

Instead, I had to hightail my shame-faced ass back to New Zealand and hope like hell no one would remember the dancing couple who cheated.

I tut, shaking my head and walking out of the studio. I close the door behind me and focus back on the gym. On what my life is now.

Dance is a part of my past. And it needs to stay there.

I can’t go back and relive the good memories, because they just roll right into the bad ones.

No, what I need to do is live in the moment. Enjoy what I can. No dreaming, no planning, just taking each day as it comes.

And right now, I live with my best friend and his little sister. Right now, I work for an awesome boss, and sure, I’m a little bored, but it’s easy money.

That’s me.

I won’t think beyond this.

My thoughts shift and play, forming images from my current day that make me groan and tip my head back.

And I won’t stand here picturing Lauren in that curve-hugging tartan dress either!

LAUREN

It’s the longest day of my life.

I had to watch the “dance” kids goofing off until morning break, and then I got lost trying to find the staff room to grab myself a coffee, so I ended up back in the dance studio with nothing to revitalize me. Then it was another painful hour of watching time tick by in slow motion. I ended up playing on my phone too, figuring it’s just one day. I’ll get about two hundred and fifty bucks for this (less tax – ugh!). That’s the standard relief teaching rate in New Zealand, although sometimes private schools pay a little more. I’ll have to cross my fingers on that one.

Either way, I’ll get my money and then I can say “see ya later!” to this school. There’s no way I can handle these kids. It’ll be embarrassing to admit, but I’ve done it before.

The last school I taught at in London told me I’d done well to last the day. “Most teachers walk out after one period, so thanks for sticking around.”

That poor principal. I’d felt so bad for him. But not bad enough to come back.

And it’s the same here. I’m not the right lady for the job. There’ll be other schools and other ways to earn money. And there’ll be another dance teacher to work with these kids. One who is actually qualified for the job.

When the lunch bell rings, I’m the first to jump up and split from the room. Laughter chases me out into the hallway, and I dash for the stairs, bumping into a redhead with a round face and freckles on her nose.

“Hi.” She smiles and extends her hand. “I’m Bianca Jones. I teach music. It’s my first year.”

“Oh, great.” I force politeness as we ascend the stairs together. “You can show me where the staff room is.”

“Of course.” She seems really sweet and tells me all about how grateful she is to get a job at such a great school. Her husband is a PE teacher, and he’s in his third year of teaching. “I probably got the job because of him. He put in a pretty good word for me.” She blushes.

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