“You better still be at the park,” she answered. “If you lied about a work emerg—”
“I’m still here, I just needed a breather.”
“Aww poor baby, was a hot mom giving you too much attention?”
I felt like after the reunion, Lizzy had been even more determined for me to find someone.
“Look, I want to make a new deal. Name your terms, I just can’t keep doing these.”
“No, no, no. Sorry, not sorry.”
When Lizzy started quoting pop songs, I knew there was no hope. She was sticking to her guns. I wasn’t getting out of my verbal contract. I would have to do twelve more playdates over the next six months. I’d been through worse. I just needed to suck it up and power through. How bad could it be?
I glanced over at Heather who was holding her phone out in front of her and taking selfies with pouty lips and my question was answered.
Bad. It was going to be bad.
16
PEYTON
“It was sonice meeting you today, Principal Soto.” I stood and smiled as I shook the principal’s outstretched hand. “I mean, in person.”
My first interview had been over Zoom. She was much taller than I’d expected her to be. I stood five foot four and had on heels and she had to be at least four inches taller than me in flats.
“Please, call me Michelle. We are very informal here at The Bradley School.” Her jet-black hair was cut in a bob which complemented her square jaw perfectly. She wore a white silk blouse that if I dared to put on would be a wrinkled mess within minutes, but at the end of her workday still looked runway ready. “We should have the final decision by the end of the week. You can expect a call.”
“Sounds good.” I nodded and gathered my jacket and purse. “Thanks again.”
During our interview, Michelle had been upfront that she still had several more interviews to do. I believe she said she had three more candidates that were up for consideration. Three people that might get my dream job.
As I left the principal’s office, I did my best not to get my hopes up. This school was perfect. It was within walking distance from Nonna’s house, which was great considering I didn’t own a car. I hadn’t needed one in Brooklyn, because I just used public transportation. Nonna had offered to let me drive her Cadillac, but it was old and I would rather not rely on it to get me to and from work. The salary at Bradley was nearly double that of the public schools and the mission of the school was outreach and social justice. It focused on emotional intelligence, arts and music, as well as standard learning. The children in the school volunteered in the community and they held yearly fundraisers for several charities.
This school aligned with my beliefs, and my pocketbook. It was a win/win.
And the class that was available was first grade. I’d always preferred teaching that age. The kids could take care of themselves, but they weren’t jaded by school yet. Most of them were actually excited to be at school for a whole day.
My heeled boots clicked on the poured concrete flooring as I walked down the hallways. The building was a renovated textile factory. It had a very modern industrial vibe but somehow managed to still have a homey feeling.
I glanced in one of the classrooms. The walls were clean and white with large glass windows framed in black iron. Instead of the traditional desks there were both round and square tables with a variety of chairs to choose from. There were exercise balls, bean bags, and everything in between.
Seeing an environment that didn’t restrict a child’s learning by forcing them to be seated in an uncomfortable chair facing the front of the room, felt like a warm hug around me. I knew that I could succeed if I just got the opportunity to teach here.
I was so caught up in my daydream of being employed here, that when I turned the corner, I walked right into someone.
“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed as I heard the clink and clank of pens and scissors dropping to the ground.
“No problem, that’s what I get for being in a hurry.”
I bent down to help pick up the mess I made. As I gathered the fallen items, I instantly recognized the woman who I’d bumped into. Not specifically. I didn’t know her at all, but I knew who she was in the social stratosphere. She was the it girl. The popular girl.
With curly, shoulder length hair that was blonde at the tips and dark brown at the roots, light blue eyes that contrasted the thick dark lashes that framed them and flawless skin…she glowed. Wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck and high waisted jeans that ended about an inch before her ankle, which revealed a little skin above her white sneakers she looked effortlessly stylish.
She was one of those women I’d always admired that just radiated cool, confident, and together.
I’d always been intimidated by her kind; it was hard not to be. As we stood, I fought the urge to feel blah in my mustard trench coat, black slacks, and fitted white cotton button-down. Leo had packed this outfit especially for this interview and before seeing this woman, I’d felt great about what I was wearing. But now old insecurities flooded back to me.
I reminded myself that even though we were in a school, I wasn’t here as a student. I was here as a potential member of the faculty.
