The young blonde weaves through her sea of students, not even noticing me.
“Miss Conrad?” I whisper—because the whole atmosphere of this room tells me I should be quiet.
Her gaze lifts. “Oh,” she whispers back, a hand smacking over her heart. Stepping over a boy sprawled out on the ground, she makes her way over to me. “Red Tail?”
I nod. “Callum Whitaker, number ten.” I reach out a hand for hers, and with the movement, my eye catches on another adult in the room—one just behind her. Short brown hair, warm, glowing skin, and pretty pink lips.
Holy crap—kissable lips.
Also, a singing voice that reminds me a whole lot of flat soda. Okay, not flat, exactly, but not particularlybubbly.
“You’re a little early. We have ten more minutes of quiet reading. Can you sit and read with one of the kids for a bit?”
I swallow. My eyes dart to the woman behind her once more. She’s talking to a boy in a low voice, her brows knit in concentration.
“I can do that,” I say.
Miss Conrad smiles her approval of my answer. She moves about the classroom once more, quietly checking on her pupils. She steps over each child as if she were walking through a field of landmines.
I sit on the thin classroom carpet, next to a little girl who’s reading a book about an elephant and a pig. She’s engrossed and doesn’t notice me at first. She’s also positioned close to my karaoke songbird and the spiky-haired boy she sits with.
“Hi,” I whisper to the girl when she finally peers over at me. Glassy blonde braids hang over each shoulder. “Can I read with you?”
She shrugs and returns her gaze to her book.
So, I guess we’ll both be reading in our heads… fine with me. That will make it easier to eavesdrop on the woman in wide-leg jeans and a T-shirt, sitting cross-legged two feet away from us. Because I’m curious about something my songbird just said to her young friend. Something aboutromance…
“You’ve never seen a romcom?” she asks the kid, her brow furrowed with wrinkles like the thought of this little boy never watching a romance movie is impossible to her.
“No,” he says.
“What about a Disney movie?”
“Um.Duh. I’m eight.”
“Right,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind herear. She taps the pencil in her hand to the notebook in her lap.
I remember the feel of her hair, soft and fine, like feathers. I admit, it’s an odd thought for the environment we’re in. But it comes just the same. And maybe it’s not so odd. The only thing I know about this girl is singing and kissing—and the feel of her hair. Oh, and the smell of her body spray.
What in the world is she doing here? She’s not the teacher. Maybe she’s volunteering too. Maybe she’s a teacher’s aide. Or a lunch lady gone rogue? Maybe one of these kids is hers—but then she can’t be older than me, and while it’s possible, that would make her one young mother.
“So, your parents?—”
“My mom and my stepdad,” the boy says.
“Yes. Do they remind you of any of those Disney movies? MaybeBeauty and the Beast?”
He doesn’t look impressed with her comparison. “More like Yzma and Cronk.”
Her brows lower. “Yzma?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty grumpy and Dan’s pretty stupid.”
She scribbles in her notebook. “Okay, do you remember how your mom and stepdad met?”
The boy shrugs. I don’t blame him. Who knows that at eight?
My songbird sighs. “Okay, thanks, Briggs. You can get back to your book.” She peers around the room, her eyes landing on me and my reading buddy.
