Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [88]
“It was great,” I lied. “Very positive.”
“Good for you,” she murmured, washing out her coffee cup, singing as she did. “‘I believe the children are our future…teach them well and let them lead the way—’”
I gritted my teeth. “How did yours go, Ava? Did the pushup bra sway the board in your favor, do you think?”
“Oh, Grace, I feel sorry for you,” she said, pouring herself some more coffee. “It’s not my cleavage they loved, hon. It’s my way with people. Anyway. Best of luck.”
At that moment, Kiki stuck her head in the door. “Grace, got a minute? Oh, hi, Ava, how are you?”
“I’m fantastic, thanks,” Ava half whispered. Blink. Blink. And blink again.
“You okay?” Kiki asked when I came into the hall and closed the door behind me.
“I’m crappy, actually,” I said.
“What happened?”
“My presentation didn’t go very well,” I admitted. All that work reduced to a Whitney Houston song. To my irritable disgust, my throat tightened with tears.
“I’m sorry, kid.” She patted my arm. “Listen, do you want to go to Julian’s Singles’ Dance Night this Friday? Take your mind off your troubles? I still haven’t met someone. God knows why. I’ve been trying those methods from Lou like they were sent from Mount Sinai, you know?”
“Kiki, that class was dumb, don’t you think? Do you really want to trick a guy into dating you by pretending you’re someone you’re not?”
“Is there another way?” she asked. I sighed. “Okay, okay, I know. But come to the dance with me. Please? Just to distract yourself?”
“Yick,” I answered. “I don’t think so.”
She lowered her voice. “Maybe you’ll find someone to take to your sister’s wedding,” she suggested, evil, black-hearted woman that she was.
I grimaced.
“It’s worth a shot,” she cajoled.
“Satan, get thee behind me,” I muttered. “Maybe. I’m not promising, but maybe.”
“Okay, great!” She glanced at her watch. “Dang it, I have to run. Mr. Lucky needs his insulin, and if I’m late, he craps all over the place and then has seizures. Talk to you later!” And she was off, running down the hall to the medical disaster that was her cat.
“Hello, Grace.”
I turned around. “Hi, Stuart! How are you? How’s everything?”
He sighed. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
I bit down on a wave of impatience. “Stuart, um…listen. You need to do something. I’m not your intermediary, okay? I want very much for you guys to work this out, but you need to take action. Don’t you think so?”
“I just don’t know what action to take,” he protested, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.
“Well, you’ve been married to her for seven years, Stuart! Come on! Think of something!”
The door to the teacher’s lounge opened. “Is there a problem here?” Ava’s chest said. Well, her mouth said it, but with the amount of boob she was showing today, who could pay attention?
“No, no problem, Ava,” I said shortly. “Private conversation.”
“How are you, Stu?” she purred. “I heard your wife left you. I’m so sorry. Some women just don’t appreciate a truly decent man.” She shook her head sadly, blinked, blinked, blinked, then sashayed down the hall, her ass swaying.
Stuart stared after her.
“Stuart!” I barked. “Go see your wife. Please.”
“Right,” he muttered, tearing his eyes off Ava’s butt. “Will do, Grace.”
LATE THAT EVENING, I sighed, triple circling would of in red pen and writing would HAVE in the margin of Kerry Blake’s paper. I was correcting papers on my bed, as Margaret was using the computer to play Scrabble downstairs in my tiny office. Would of. Come on!
Kerry was a smart enough girl, but even at the age of seventeen, she knew she’d never have to really work for a living. Her mother was a Harvard grad and managing partner at a Boston consulting firm. Her father owned a software company with divisions in four countries, which he often visited in his private jet. Kerry would get into an Ivy League school, regardless of her grades and test scores. And, barring some miracle, if she did decide to work instead of take the Paris Hilton route, she