Page 7 of Can’t Say No

Still wrapped in his embrace, Connor mumbles, all tender and sweet, “Haven’t heard from you in years. Been missing you, Lanie Lou.”

That cozy feeling of nostalgia runs right out the door, replaced with rumblings of anger.

“Last time I checked,” I snap, pushing out of his hold, “the telephone works both ways. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but consider your proverbial olive branch rescinded. You don’t get to go radio silent for years then get all mushy on me. And you sure as shit don’t get to call me Lanie.”

Connor shakes his head, a playful annoyance etched across his gentle features. “Damn it, Delaney,” he huffs out a laugh, “I’m just trying to tell you that I missed you, not start a fight. Still as temperamental as ever, I see. Some things never change.”

I poke him square in the chest, and really put some weight into too, but he doesn’t budge. “I resent that! I’m not temperamental. Opinionated, sure, maybe a little loud,” I say, dropping my voice as I look around at half a dozen interested faces. “But temperamental is just mean.”

Connor’s grin doesn’t waver.

“A tortured artist then.”

“Certainly beginning to feel that way, being stuck here in Ridgecrest with you for the next semester.”

More memories flood my head of moments just like this: Connor riling me up just for the hell of it, and me always taking the bait.

I hear a throat clear. From around Connor’s broad shoulders, a tall woman with dark hair steps into our conversation.

“Well, that was…” she waggles her brows. “Fun. I’m Caroline Brighton. Biology teacher, Connor’s best work friend.” She jerks her chin towards Connor. “And I’m pretty sure the press is calling you feisty lately, which is way better than temperamental.”

“Thank you! I like you already.” I extend my hand to her, “Delaney James. Volunteer assistant choir helper person… or something.”

Caroline laughs, loud and carefree, sending her sleek black hair flying around her face.

“We’re gonna have fun, don’t worry. Ridgecrest isn’t too bad. Mrs. Crane is our choir director. She is pretty strict but you’ll get on her good side in no time, I’m sure!”

Her free flowing warmth and acceptance catches me a little off guard. My friend group in L.A. is strategic, made up of either newcomers trying to ride my fame or established artists my team thinks I ought to align myself with. Or they’re on payroll. Matty is my only real friend and he's even been hired to manage my socials.

“Thanks,” I reply with a genuine smile.

An older, rather squat lady claps her hands at the front of the room, and all attention turns to her.

“Good morning, Ridgecrest faculty. Happy first day of school! I trust you kept up with all my emails this summer.”

A chorus of grumbles ripples through the staff, and Caroline and Connor share a knowing look. The woman scans the room before locking eyes with me.

“There you are! Team, I’d like to introduce you to our newest temporary faculty member, Delaney James! As per my email, you are expected to treat her just like any other member of our staff. I don’t want to see any fangirling or snapchatting or whatever else the kids say. She’ll be working with us for the first quarter, helping out Mrs. Crane.”

Straightening my back, I plaster on my practiced smile, the one on album covers, billboards, and countless brand deals. The one that says, “I’m so happy to be here!”

The one that’s a big fat lie.

“Excited to join y’all for a little while.”

I learned pretty early on in my career that a little Southern charm helps sell the girl-next-door package. I keep on smiling, my cheeks burning a little, until Rutledge brings the attention back to her with another clap and heads turn away from me.

Instantly, I default to my resting bitch face. Connor catches my eye, a bewildered look on his face, like he’s just witnessed a Broadway-worthy quick change.

Add it to my resume, baby.

The principal rambles on, reminding everyone of their after-school duties, how to take attendance, and her expectations for the new school year.

As she talks, I scan the room and spot an older lady holding a jumble of sheet music. With a scowl etched so deeply into her face that I assume it’s her permanent expression, I figure this must be my new boss, Mrs. Crane.

As Mrs. Rutledge finishes her spiel, I take a fortifying breath then head straight for Mrs. Crane, charm and poise dialed up to ten.

Before I can speak, she locks eyes with me and shakes a spindly finger at me. “No funny business in my music room. I don’t care who you are or how much money your daddy gave this school. My choir will not be made into a spectacle for your gain. You can do whatever you’d like to out in L.A. but this is my choir and my rules. Remember that.”