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But an hour and a half later, I was surprised to see that Angela had been right. She picked out a pair of black cigarette jeans for me that hit just above the ankle and a pair of sandals with a low heel that looked deceptively sexy once I was wearing them.
“You do innocent well,” Angela said. She narrowed her eyes and surveyed me. “So, you should stick with that and make it work.”
I sighed and twisted my long black hair into a knot.
Angela held up a blouse. It wasn’t like most of my tops. It was navy cotton, with puffed short sleeves and ribbon threaded around the eyelet cuffs.
“Try this on,” Angela said.
I took it and slumped into a dressing room. I was tired – even on the best of days, I hadn’t always enjoyed shopping. It always felt like tedious work to me. And even though I knew I had a decent body, I always looked so puffy and fat in the florescent store lighting. Even expensive stores, like Neiman Marcus, didn’t seem to have very flattering fitting rooms.
I sighed as soon as the blouse was on and stomped out of the dressing room. Angela grinned when she saw me. She tugged the neckline of the blouse down and moved the short sleeves so they sat just off my shoulders.
“That looks sexy,” Angela declared. She spun me around and pointed to my reflection in a mirror. “You agree?”
I bit my lip. “I hate to say this,” I said. “But you’re right.”
Angela grinned triumphantly. “Come on,” she said. “I need a new pair of shoes, and then we can go get ice cream. You look like you’re ready to drop dead.”
I nodded. “I hate shopping,” I told her as I carried my purchases to the counter.
“This was worth it,” Angela said. She gave me a satisfied smirk. “Thomas is going to flip when he sees you in that shirt.”
I blushed. The truth was, I’d been really hoping to hear from Thomas. But two days had passed since our last day and he hadn’t called. I knew that it was the twenty-first century, that men didn’t always have to make the first move. But somehow, I also knew that Thomas was a guy who enjoyed making the first move, that he was the kind of man who would be turned off by a woman who was actively pursuing him.
On Sunday, Angela and I went to the park and I did some schoolwork while she read. The days were growing chillier. I had a feeling by the end of October, I wouldn’t want to be outside at all. As it was, I was wrapped up in a blanket cardigan and enjoying the feel of the sun warming my black hair.
I tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread in my stomach. Thomas seemed to really like me, I thought as I rolled over onto my belly and stuffed the paperwork back into my bag. Why hasn’t he called me yet?
Monday morning, I woke up almost too late. I managed to pull a dress over my head and match it with tights and boots before stumbling out of the apartment and catching a cab all the way to P.S. 151. Cabs were normally a forbidden luxury for me, especially on the salary of a public teacher. But I couldn’t risk another tardy, especially not when it was so early in the school year.
It started raining in the middle of the morning, which put all the kids in a bad mood. Brett was acting especially terrible. Now that I was dating his father, I knew I had to walk a very thin line between Good Teacher and Possibly Dangerous Teacher. Still, I wasn’t going to tolerate any more bad behavior. At ten-thirty, Brett slipped out of his chair and yanked Lily’s pigtails so hard that she shrieked. I dropped the chalk onto the ground and whirled around, glaring angrily at him.
“Brett March,” I said angrily. “Come with me.”
The other students were silent as I took Brett’s arm and walked him down the hall to the principal’s office. He was silent the whole time, his face clouded with anger and rage.
“I didn’t even do anything,” Brett whined. “Why are you picking on me?”
“Because you’ve been a really naughty little boy,” I said angrily. “And I’m not going to tolerate that kind of behavior in my classroom.”
The principal was in a meeting, so I left Brett with his secretary and pushed my way into the hall. My face was flushed with anger and my heart was pounding. I knew that Thomas wouldn’t be happy with Brett, and I desperately hoped that I wasn’t killing our relationship before it had even gotten off the ground by disciplining his son.
“Hey June.”
I jumped. Andy was standing right behind me, smirking.
“Oh, hi,” I said quickly. “I’ve got to run back to class, Andy, I just had to take a kid to the principal.”
Andy raised his eyebrows. “So, when can I take you out again, June?”
“I’m really busy,” I said quickly.
Andy laughed and looked hurt. “I didn’t even mention a date yet,” he said. He crossed his arms and frowned. “Why don’t you want anything to do with me?”
I swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m just really dealing with a lot of stuff,” I said.
“Well, I’m not asking you to marry me,” Andy said. “Come on, June. I’m asking you for a date. Just one more date, okay?”
