Page 32 of Just a Little White Lie

“If you want, I could call the school and explain the situation.”

“Don’t you dare!” Her eyes bulge. “I can’t tell them the truth! They’ll think I’m the world’s biggest idiot!”

“But—”

“No, Jack! I don’t want your help, okay? You’ve done enough.”

And with that, she storms out of the room, slamming her bedroom door with gusto.

I slump back onto the couch, scratching my chest and feeling kind of stink.

You didn’t lie on her résumé, dude. That was all her.

Even so, she’s mad at me.

And it’s bothering me way more than it probably should.

LAUREN

I’m so mad at Jack right now. The little—big—hyena!

Laughing at me and my… my…

Okay, fine, I’m pissed off with myself!

Why? Why did I think adding dance experience to my résumé would work in my favor? Jack has every right to laugh at my stupidity.

Slumping back against my bedroom door, I stare into my little gray room with a hopeless frown.

He offered to call the school and set things straight.

Oh my gosh, kill me now.

He has zero idea how humiliating that would be. I can just imagine the look on Erik’s face. He’d no doubt call every school in the area, warning them not to hire the fraudulent Miss Fillion.

Ugh! I have no choice. I’ll just have to keep up this dance teacher charade.

“Choices. Stupid choices,” I mutter.

When am I going to learn?

Sliding to the floor with a little thud, I rest my head against the wood and close my eyes, wishing for just a moment that someone else could make all my decisions for me. Maybe then I wouldn’t find myself in these painful predicaments.

After a few minutes of moping served with a healthy side of self-loathing, I force myself up, kicking my shoes into the closet and peeling off my dress. Comfy shorts and a baggy shirt are all I need right now. I pull them on, not even caring what I look like, then enjoy the comfort of brushing my hair before shoving it into a messy bun. Now suitably dressed for my pity party, I slump onto my bed and open my laptop.

Whether I want to face this or not, tomorrow will come, and I’ll have to drive back to that wretched school and teach those kids something. I need to figure out what.

I start by googling basic dance lessons and spend the next hour rejecting one YouTube clip after another. They’re either too babyish or too advanced. I need something that won’t make the likes of Maverick and Arlo roll their eyes at me and start laughing.

Their mockery grates, and I clench my jaw so hard my teeth start to hurt.

I will not put myself through that again.

With a sigh, I copy and paste a link to my planning document. “That one might be okay,” I mutter, wondering if there’s a TV in that dance studio. Spending some time watching dance clips might be a good way to go. It’d use up a chunk of the lesson, and all we’d have to do is sit there. Heck, maybe I should just be showing them dance movies. That’s like the double period right there.

It’s pretty tempting. I quickly open Apple TV to see which movies I own, but I’m interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

I stiffen, wondering if it’s Luke or Jack. I don’t feel like seeing either of them, so I press my lips together and don’t say anything.

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