Page 41 of Just a Little White Lie

“How’d it go today?” Her eyes sparkle with a hope that I’m about to dash.

“Crap,” I mutter. “I couldn’t get them to move one finger. They just sat there ignoring me.”

April sighs. “It’s gonna take time to win them over.”

“It’s dance! When I was at school, I had to do science and statistics and history.” I poke out my tongue. “Ugh! I would have killed for a dance class. These kids have no idea how lucky they are.”

“Yeah.” April winces, scratching the side of her ski-jump nose. “I guess it depends what you consider luck. They’re not seeing this as an opportunity. They’re seeing it as a rejection. Half of them probably didn’t want to come to this school. They’re fishies out of water, and they know it. The only thing they really have is their pride, and now they’ve been shoved into a dance studio with a teacher who obviously doesn’t want to be there.”

I open my mouth to argue but can’t.

“I’m sorry.” She lightly squeezes my arm. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really think you need to go into this with a different mindset. You’re getting the chance to do something wonderful for the kids. Dance brings people together, it’s empowering, and if they could put on a kick-ass performance for the school or something, they could blow our minds. They could prove every doubter wrong. How cool would that be?” April’s face lights with a smile. “Man, if I could teach dance, I would absolutely be taking your place.”

I nearly fess up right there and then.

But I’m too struck by her words to speak.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe this isn’t just about me earning money. Maybe I could reach these kids. I just need to figure out a way how.

“I gotta go,” I murmur, quickly heading for the office.

It takes me twenty minutes to talk the receptionist into giving me access to the students’ files. I’m not a permanent member of staff, and there are privacy concerns, but Erik just happens to be passing by and overhears my request.

He stops, gives me a meaningful smile, then tells Jeanette to hand them over.

She scribbles down a link and access code onto a piece of paper and gives it to me with a reluctant frown.

“Thank you.” Clutching the strip in my palm, I head to a cafe ten minutes down the road, order the biggest coffee on the menu, and hide away in a corner booth. The next two hours disappear as I pore over each file, focusing mainly on Maverick and Dante. If I can get those two on board, then I’ll have a much better chance.

My coffee turns cold as my guts writhe uncomfortably. These kids have…

I shake my head as I read the same words over and over: domestic violence, parental drug addiction, deceased parent, divorced, expelled, fighting in school, homeless, foster care. These kids have grown up in poverty, known nothing but chaos, and here’s me in my pretty platforms having grown up in my upper-class home with two parents in stable jobs and a solid marriage. I ate lunch every day, and I had jackets in the winter and shoes all year round.

I know nothing of pain and suffering with my petty little first-world problems.

Tipping my head back, I blink and doubt myself all over again.

How am I supposed to reach them?

I’m so not cut out for this job.

But every time I think that, I keep coming back to the same question.

If I don’t try, who else will?

LAUREN

Iget home late, but no one seems to care. Mallory is over, curled up with Luke on the couch while they watch a documentary on the evils of processed meats.

With a little eye bulge, I bypass the lounge and park it in my room. Give me a movie or laugh-out-loud sitcom any day over some doco that’ll make it impossible to eat again.

I so don’t get my brother sometimes. How do we share the same DNA? We’re so different.

Unbuckling my shoes, I slip them off, my brain still swirling with ways to win over Maverick and Dante.

What do they need?

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