I held the smallPost-it note with the map the Starlight Grove Elementary School receptionist had drawn to help me get to Ms.Winter’s classroom. It wasn’t until I stepped inside that I realized Ms.Winter wasIvy, Lucy’s friend. She slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw me, stifling her laughter.
Oh yeah, the omegas were all in on this. While I struggled to find the hilarity of this situation, it would take more than this to scare me off.
“Okay, class, our guests are here!” She clapped her hands to get the attention of the horde of small children. “First up, we have Mrs.Isla Andersson-Spring here to talk about her job as a graphic designer!”
Time stopped as I slowly turned my head. Sitting in the back of aclassroom was a petite blond woman who bore a striking resemblance to my omega.
Welcome to my nightmares.
“Then we’ll hear from Mr.King about his, uhh, work.”
She clearly had no idea what I did, which I might have found funny if I wasn’t trapped in a roomwith one of Lucy’s moms.
Thankfully, the classroom of children prevented her from doing more than narrow her eyes as she passed me on the way to the front of the room. I took her chair in the back, my anxiety only growing as she delighted the class with her presentation on logo design. She showed different logos she’d made and had the children vote on which version was their favorite. There was much screaming and passionate debate.
I shrank down in my tiny chair. How the fuck was I supposed to follow that?
“Thank you, Mrs.Andersson-Spring! I’m sure you’ve inspired many budding graphic designers today. Next up is Mr.King.”
I walked to the front of the class to a smattering of applause.
“Hello.” I gave an awkward wave. “I’m the CEO of Empire Enterprises in New York City.”
At that, several children perked up.
“You live in New York City?”
“How tall is your house?”
“One time my dad took me to New York and we ate a hot dog from a cart!”
“Have you ever gotten a hot dog from a cart?”
The children stared at me, riveted.
“Um, yes. I have.” Not in a long time, but I had to admit those hot dogs were damn good.
“What do you get on your hot dog, Mr.King?”
“Ketchup, mustard, and relish,” I responded. If all of their questions were this easy, this would be a breeze.
“Mustard?” a child squealed. “I hate mustard!”
“I love mustard! But only the yellow one.”
“All mustard is yellow!”
“No, it’s not! Some is orange!”
“Orange and yellow are the same!”
I sought Ivy, desperate for her help, but she and Lucy’s mom just sat in the corner, smiling. I had been abandoned.
“So you work at a hot dog stand?” a redheaded girl asked.
I scrubbed my hand down my face. “No, I’m the CEO of a big company.”
“Oh.” She looked so disappointed I was tempted to change my career.
