Sticking my finger in the air, trying to reason with the five-year-old, I say, “I know what you’re thinking, Charlie. You like to make messes—gluey, gooey, glittery messes—and honestly, who doesn’t?” I shrug my shoulders, trying to pal around with him, gain his trust. “Personally, I like to swim in a vat of glitter and glue every night before I go to bed. It’s a sparkly way to exfoliate. You end up feeling like a magical unicorn.” He frowns from the mention of a unicorn, and I panic that I might be losing him. “Did I say unicorn?” I back pedal. “I meant a fire-spitting dragon. Grrawww—”
My pretend dragon roar is cut off by the squirt of the glue bottle followed by a puff of glitter dust, covering my face completely. Before I can retaliate, Charlie drops the bottles, giggles like a crazed hyena, and takes off toward the building blocks.
“Little rat bastard,” I mutter under my breath, removing my thick-rimmed brown glasses to glance at them. I see the definitive coating of teal glitter over my lenses. “Perfect.”
When I applied for the local art instructor job at the Boys and Girls Club, I didn’t know it was actually a glorified babysitting job while parents got their jog on in the cardio room. Having a master’s in art history wasn’t my best idea. Did I enjoy every single one of my classes? Of course. Do I know what I’m doing with my life? Not even close.
Can you imagine no jobs for art history majors coming out of school? Weird, right? Thankfully, my friend, Eva, had some connections at the local Boys and Girls Club and helped me find this job. Unfortunately, we were both unaware of the glitter bombs that would be thrown at me on a day-to-day basis. One would hope I’d get a clue and put the glitter away—seems like a smart and educated decision—but I’m not that intelligent.
It’s just so . . . sparkly. Everyone needs a little sparkle in their life.
For me, I apparently need it in my face every day.
“Got caked again?” Lola asks from the sink where she’s cleaning glue off paint brushes. She’s in high school and volunteering with the club. She’s a big help, but I also sense her annoyance with my need to spread the glitter around.
“A little,” I answer, brushing my bangs to the side but failing miserably due to the drying glue. It’s just one of those days.
“Should I say, I told you so?”
“I think you should keep that to yourself this go around,” I answer with a smile.
Glancing in the mirror, I look at the glitter perfectly circling my eyes, thanks to my glasses. Whoever thought of using spray glue with glitter is a genius! Whoever thought of giving said spray glue and glitter to a five-year-old is an utter moron.
“Ruby, may I speak with you?” Rita Harrington pops through the door, my boss and the center’s director. She pauses and shakes her head with laughter. “Still letting the kids play with glitter?”
“I don’t think I can ever make it stop.” I shrug. “I will forever let those kids sparkle.”
She motions to my body with her reading glasses. “And looks like they feel the same way about you. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes, of course.”
She guides me to the side, out of the way of all the energetic children. Energetic is the politically correct way to describe them. Demon children is not.
“I’m aware you’re friends with Eva Banks.”
“Yes, is she okay?” I ask, a little worried.
“Of course.” Rita waves her hand in front of her face, dismissing my worry. “She’s done very well for herself and made quite the donation to start a foundation in honor of her mom, who used to volunteer here.”
“Oh, how wonderful.”
Eva and I know each other from school. When she was getting her master’s, I was completing my bachelor’s, but we were part of the same dorky art clubs and became good friends. Something tragic happened to her parents when she was young, but I never went into great detail about it with her, because frankly it’s none of my business. But I do know she and her brother donate as much time here as possible.
Yes, her brother . . .
Sigh.
Bodi Banks, Olympic royalty, masterful swimmer, gorgeous human being, and the most closed-off and quiet man you will ever meet.
The man is incredible.
I’ve spoken two sentences to him the entire time I’ve known Eva, and they didn’t generate much conversation.
One being: “You’re Bodi Banks, the swimmer.”
Well, duh, Ruby, he knows who the hell he is. You try coming up with something intelligent to say when a beast of a man is standing in front of you, his denim blue eyes staring through you.
Second time: “So you like swimming, huh?”
