Page 45 of Just a Little White Lie

“The Haven Hoofers.”

I pause, my hand stilling on the magazine page as I look up at her with a confused frown. “The what?”

“The Haven Hoofers.”

I blink and am not sure how to respond to that.

The Haven What?

Her enthusiasm falters, her expression dipping into a little pout. “Hoofer means professional dancer.”

I can’t help a cringe. It pulls my lips down before I can stop it and… what should I do?

Truth or lie?

Truth or lie?

Always the truth.

“It sounds dumb,” I blurt. “The kids are gonna hate it.”

Her mouth drops open while her eyebrows dip into an angry V. “No they won’t. Not when I tell them what it means.”

I scoff and shake my head. How is she not getting this? She’s a high school teacher! With obviously zero memory of being a teenager.

Trying to make her understand, I soften my explanation with a little smile. “You’re wanting to make them feel good about themselves. Walking around the school saying they’re ahooferis not going to help.”

Her eyes narrow into a heated glare, her nose wrinkling on the side.

I can’t help a small laugh. “You crack me up, Tinker Bell. Good luck tomorrow.”

Yikes, that look is trying to burn my eyebrows off.

With an awkward wince, I stand from the table, trying to get out of the line of fire.

I’m just doing her a favor, saying it like is.

“They’re gonna love it,” she mutters to my back.

I spin with a wide smile. “Wanna bet?”

She sends me away with one of her cute little growls, and I walk out of the room with a snicker.

I don’t envy her day tomorrow, and part of me wishes I could be there to somehow back her up.

Slipping into my room, I dump the magazine on my bed and flop down beside it. I open it back up to where I was but can’t concentrate.

I can’t stop imagining how it’s going to go down tomorrow.

I haven’t met these kids, but Lauren’s built a vague picture for me, and yeah, they’re gonna hate that name.

Poor Tinker Bell. I feel sorry for her already.

LAUREN

Jack’s teasing gnaws at me, and I quit on my dinner, throwing out the rest and rinsing my plate. It’s not just the name that’s potentially a bust. As I chewed on my chicken, another anxiety-inducing thought hit me like a bullet.

These guys are going to have actually put a dance together, and I have no idea how to do that. I’m no choreographer! I doubt the kids are either, which means I need to find someone who can help me.

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