I’d made myself cinnamon toast and I snuck it into the media center, in a plastic sandwich container, tucked between the binders and books in my bag. I registered at the front desk, and was given my cell. “One hour,” the boy with the spiky hairdo reminded me. There were just a few kids milling around, glued to their phones, fingers dancing. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to me. I settled into a cozy arm chair tucked in the corner, partially out of view, the most private spot I could find.
Me: I’m here. Ready to Facetime?!
Kylie: Yep… was just watchingFuller House. Mom’s getting toast ready.
Kylie: How was the first day? How is Pompom? Did you take him to school today?
Me: First day was great. Nope. Sorry did not take Pompom. Will do. How was your first day of school? Do you like your teacher?
Kylie: It was great! I like my teacher, and Mia and Ella are in my class.
Me: Awesome! Calling you now.
My heart swelled when I saw Kylie’s face on my screen, and then my mom’s. I’d forgotten how her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles, and the adorable dimple on Kylie’s cheek – she only has one, on the right side of her face, like me.
We caught up on everything. I told them about the plane ride, the school and my classes. I went on and on about the entrance hall and the tube. They were over the moon when I told them I had cinnamon toast in my bag.
I grabbed a huge book off one of the bookcases behind me and propped it over my knees in an attempt to hide myself. My heartbeat was frantic when I pulled out the container, careful that no one could see.
I only had one quarter of the toast, like I always do. Kylie’s smile as she bit into hers was priceless. I was happy, as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. When I looked up, I saw him sitting across from me.
“You’re sitting in my spot, love.” he said, his British accent made him sound somehow authoritative.
I froze, completely speechless. My heart practically leapt out of my chest.
“Breaking the rules already, I see,” he added and smiled, a sly confident grin. A dark purple aura hovered around him. Purple auras always intimidate me; they are usually highly pragmatic, exacting, and intelligent people. He leaned back comfortably in the chair across me, knees splayed, phone in hand. His striking blue eyes had a strange hold of me. And it wasn’t because they were beautiful, it was something else entirely.
I couldnotmove. A deer in headlights. Well perhaps nothing as majestic as a deer, a raccoon maybe, or a mole.
“Anna?” Kylie said. “What is it?”
“Nothing… I need to go, sweetie.”
“But…”
I looked up at him. He was still staring at me intently. “Gotta go.”
“Don’t forget to take Pompom to class tomorrow,” she reminded me.
“I will. Love you.” And then I logged off, ready to run for it.
“Mrs. Moore, the media director, might catch you,” he said, his words soft and languid, hypnotic. “She’s here often… everywhere. She looks exactly like your fifth grade teacher.”
I saw her then. I caught a brief glimpse of a portly middle-aged woman with thin wire rimmed glassed and crazy red hair. She wasthere, standing right behind him. I blinked and then she was gone.
“What the…”
He laughed. “I’m just taking the piss out of you, love. Mrs. Moore is nowhere around.” He smirked. “I quite like messing with people. You were completely gobsmacked.”
I exhaled a long breath, sinking into my chair. “But… I saw her. She was standingrightbehind you. She… she looked… she looked exactly like my fifth grade teacher,” I told him. “How do you even know what my fifth grade teacher looked like, anyway?”
He smiled again, that same wicked grin as before. “I don’t, actually… but you do.”
Hot British guy was a total weirdo.
He leaned into me. “Can I have one?” he asked, gesturing to my cinnamon toast.
I nodded, still completely weirded out.
