Page 25 of Just a Little White Lie

They crack up laughing again.

“And then you can tell us about your time with the Royal Ballet!” someone else calls out.

More laughter.

“Okay, okay!” I raise my hands. “I think it’s safe to say I didn’t attend some top-notch dance school.” I still can’t bring myself to admit that I didn’t attend a single lesson ofanydance atanytime. My pride won’t allow it. Instead, I launch into a little about me. “So, I was born and raised in east Auckland. Are any of you from Auckland?”

They look at each other and cross their arms. One hand starts to go up but quickly chickens out, tucking itself into an elbow crook and playing it safe.

I sigh. “You don’t want to tell me? Okay, well… I’m an Auckland girl, and I moved to London a few years back.”

They don’t look impressed.

“And now I’m back… living with my brother in Cambridge and, um… teaching you.” I force a smile.

They don’t want to hear this. They don’t want to know about my London life—the parties I attended, the countries I traveled to, the extravagant ways I used to spend my money (my parents’ money). That’s so far removed for them. It’ll mean nothing.

“Why don’t, um… Let’s all take a seat.” I search for some chairs and find one in the corner. Quickly grabbing it, I sit down and encourage them to do the same. They plunk onto the floor and lounge back on their elbows and hands. “Why don’t you tell me about yourselves? Anything you actuallywantto tell me. I’d love to learn some names and find out what you like to do and… you know, your stories.”

My bright voice isn’t working.

They just stare at me like I’m a try-hard kindergarten teacher.

“Anyone?” I squeak. “Nope. No takers?”

The tall one—Maverick, was it?—gives me a scathing look before pulling a phone out of his pocket.

“It’s Maverick, right?” I point at him.

He nods once. “Mav.”

“Mav. Okay, well, Mav, you’re not allowed phones during class time.”

He scoffs and ignores me. “This ain’t class time, Miss. This is shove us in a room where no one can see us. This is get us out of the school because we’re all pains in the asses, and the teachers can’t be bothered. Let’s not bullshit. Call it like it is. You’ve been hired to babysit so the outcasts can disappear.”

“Can’t tarnish the Haven name now, can we?” Mr. Intelligent gives me a quick glare, then points at himself. “Name’s Dante. And we don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Arlo points into the air. “We don’t need no babysitter!”

A small cheer goes up.

“So…” Mav looks at me, an arrogant smirk pulling up the edge of his mouth. “Why don’t you just sit there and let us do our thing, ‘dance teacher’?” He does air quotes to prove he can see right through me. And then he spins his back to me and starts messing around on his phone.

Blondie laughs and spins as well, leaning in to look at what he’s doing before pulling out her own phone and joining in.

The group clusters together, and I sit back in my seat, feeling lost and out of my depth.

The minutes tick by in extra-slow motion, and all I can do is watch them play on their phones, laugh with each other, and act as though I’m not here.

I count them. There are seven altogether. A miniature class size. I should be stoked. But if I can’t get these kids doing something constructive, this is going to be the longest, slowest teaching gig of my life.

Stop stressing. It’ll be easy. All you’ve got to do is sit here and watch the money roll in.

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose with a heavy sigh.

Even so, Jack is dead meat.

JACK

---