Page 22 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“Blake!” Holland said excitedly, a telltale buzz of energy following in her wake. “How’s your week been going?” The craziest part was that she looked at Blake like she actually cared about the answer.

“Good. Busy. With the heat, Gumby’s has been nonstop,” Blake responded, shoving down the twinge of embarrassment she still felt whenever she told people where she worked.

But Holland knew. Everyone knew. And all that she could do these days was own it.

“That Gumby is such a sweetie. No one else I’d go to for an oil change, my daddy be damned,” Holland said a little conspiratorially as she leaned close, in a way only she could get away with. “He wants me to let him do it, but I swear that man can’t make heads or tails of a hood or a trunk, not that he’d ever admit it.”

Blake laughed along easily, believing what she was hearing. Mr. Hayes was as helpful as they came—she knew from all the times he’d dropped things off at the studio—but he was a strange bird, even by Cypress Falls’ standards.

Holland put a comforting hand on Blake’s arm. “How are you settling in here? Anything that I can do to help?”

Blake had started teaching classes about a month ago, after she’d run into Holland at the grocery store—who’d then shown up at her parents’ house later that day with the job offer—and she was grateful to realize that teaching dance was like riding a bike. The fundamentals never really changed, even if it felt like the attention span of the average kid had.

“It’s good. I’m liking it a lot so far, and I think the kids are, too.” Overall, things were going really well. Her only complaint was the parents, but it wasn’t like she could magically make them disappear.

Not that she hadn’t wished it silently on more than one occasion. She was sure they wished the same about her.

At the heart of it, she was pretty sure her presence reminded them that no one was safe from being disposable. They could be out just as easily as she had been, and so they’d rather keep her far, far away than be confronted with this truth almost daily.

That was just too bad for them.

Blake held in a sigh. At the end of the day, it was her own fault that she knew so many of the parents. Women she’d once called friends had kids at the perfect ages to start taking dance more seriously.

“I’ve heard nothing but good things from the students,” Holland agreed, though the rest of her words didn’t need to be said out loud.

“And the parents?” Blake asked pointedly. If the women of Cypress Falls were going to mount some sort of dismissal campaign against her, she’d rather know sooner than later. She could survive—barely—without the hours she picked up here, but it would be uncomfortably tight, and she could kiss her air-conditioning goodbye.

Holland leveled a charming smile in her direction. “Don’t you worry about them.” She glanced down at the smartwatch on her wrist. “Okay, I’ve got to get out there for my class. You’re good for yours?”

Blake nodded. The classes had a staggered start, so she had fifteen minutes to get changed and make herself presentable before she braved the trenches of a dozen energetic children and their judgmental parents.

“Good,” Holland said with an easy smile, leaving her with another arm squeeze before she disappeared down the hallway and into the studio on the left, where she’d be teaching a hip-hop class for preteens.

At five minutes before the start of class, Blake walked purposefully into her studio, her back ramrod straight. She’d changed into her own leotard and leggings, though she didn’t wear a T-shirt over the top. It was too hot for that, even with the air conditioning in the studio running at full blast.

Plus, chasing kids around was a sure way to work up a sweat.

The back of the studio was one large window that looked into the small waiting area, where parents could sit and watch the classes. This early in the evening, the sun coming through the windows on the building’s exterior bathed both rooms in light, making it hard to see how many parents were sitting in the chairs lined behind the glass.

Blake pulled her shoulders back even farther, feeling the stretch between her shoulder blades. She could pretend that it was because of the importance of good posture in dance, but she knew that it was to make sure she didn’t look like a wilting flower to any of the parents who’d love to carry that information back to the powers that be.

In this town—most towns, probably—information was power, and Blake was trying her best not to cede an inch to Stephanie or Allison or any of the other dozen or so women who fancied themselves the invisible hand of Cypress Falls.

This class was a drop-in, so the participants changed week to week, though a lot of the faces Blake saw as she settled in weren’t new to her.

That was good, at least. Given the size of the town and all the students who came from neighboring places, it wasn’t like she had to stare down her dissenters at every turn.

She counted heads and noticed a new student in the bunch with dark, wild hair tied up in a bun and big eyes that were, thankfully, not filled with tears for this meeting. Maisie.

Blake still didn’t know exactly what that was about, but it was clearly a sensitive subject. Maybe, given the way she’d left things with Monroe the other night, she’d eventually get to find out.

For right now, her focus was on wrangling the students to kick off the class promptly.

A few of the parents were in the room with their kids, the ones who were less confident being on their own, while about half of the students were playing or running around ahead of Blake, who was taking her place at the front of the class.

She gave the parents in the room a smile and a wave, which would hopefully put all of them a little more at ease. All but one waved and smiled back. From Annabelle, one of Stephanie’s best friends who’d had a later-in-life baby, she received a cursory nod.

On another day, that probably would have rankled her, but she was too distracted right now to care.