Chapter 3

three

ISLA

This is a terrible idea.

"I'm sick," I say as I open the door for my two overly-excited besties. I do my best to look absolutely pathetic. A little shoulder hunching, a few coughs straight out of the finest production of Oliver Twist , and my hair looks like a rat's nest. Though, that's just because I haven't combed it yet today. It's Saturday and summer. I don't have students or fellow teachers to fool into thinking I have my life together, and I'm embracing the mess.

Be the mess you want to see in the world . Gandhi said that, right?

In they come: a tornado of snacks, makeup cases, and massive smiles. Jess boops me on the nose as she passes me by. "Nice try."

"I am," I say, trying to make my voice sound raspy. I'm not a good actress. It doesn't work. "I'm so sick, Jess. Guess one of you will have to go on this date with Mr. Hockey. "

Nevaeh arches one eyebrow as she grabs my cheeks with one hand, squeezing my lips open like a fish. There's a thermometer in my mouth before I can even register what she's doing.

"If your temperature isn't above one hundred degrees, you're going, missy." She ignores the sputtering sounds I make around the thermometer. Turning to Jess, she rolls her eyes. "Told you she'd pull a stunt like this."

"That you did," Jess says. "Dinner's on me tonight."

Did they make a bet on me? "Not cool," I mumble.

"No talking, or I'll have to take your temperature again, young lady." Nevaeh has the mom-glare down. I swear, she's even more terrifying than my mother sometimes.

When the thermometer beeps, it's no surprise it reads 98.5. Damn. It's hard to spin that. So I cough a few more times. "I don't have a fever, but my throat… I think I have strep."

Jessica grabs me by my shoulders and gives me a little shake. "You. Are. Going. You're going to get all glammed-up, have a free fancy dinner, ogle a hot hockey player, and at the end, you'll take a selfie which you can post on social media."

"Why?"

She rolls her eyes. "To rub how great you're doing in Alex's face. He's going to see you looking hot on the arm of a broody hockey god and think, man, I done fucked up ."

I look down at myself. There's a coffee stain on my right boob in the shape of Ohio, my sweatpants have holes in them, and I definitely have a wedgie. "Yeah. I'm doing so great."

"He doesn't need to know the truth," Nevaeh says. "This is for social media. Nothing on there is true. He just needs to think you've moved on to greener pastures and bigger dicks."

"Wouldn't be hard," I grumble.

"Honestly," Jess says, tugging me toward my bathroom and starting the shower, "I know you thought you were in love with Alex, but did you ever orgasm during sex with him?"

"Only if I helped myself along."

"He couldn't even lend a helping hand to make up for his pinkie-sized manhood?" Jess shakes her head, and the two of them start to undress me like I'm some errant toddler who'll fight them on getting into the shower. I mean, I will, but can't they even give me a chance to prove them wrong?

"Nope." Alex was all quick, frantic thrusts and weird, animalistic grunts. And when he'd come, he always made this high-pitched noise that sounded like a bad impersonation of Michael Jackson singing ‘ hee-hee .' A real two-pump chump. For him to lend a hand, he would have had to last longer than two minutes.

Jess looks wistfully into the distance. "I bet Maddox Graves has a dick the size of my forearm."

I wrinkle my nose as they shove me into the shower. "Would he be able to skate with something like that shoved in his pants?"

Jess shrugs. "Probably not. Now wash your hair twice before you condition it. You don't want stringy hair on your date."

"Rude," I grunt, but do as she says.

"Did you leave the house this week?" Nevaeh asks, hopping on my vanity where she sits guard. Are they seriously not going to let me shower alone ?

"Yes, actually. I checked in on one of my students. He lost his dad toward the end of last school year." It had been a heavy week. One that will always be burned into my brain. "I don't know if I ever told you guys about it. They called him into the guidance counselor's office in the middle of the day to tell him. I could hear his sobs from down the hall."

"Oh, god." Nevaeh covers her mouth. "Do they know what happened?"

I nod. "He worked at a warehouse, and there was a forklift accident. The driver was rushing and bumped into a tower of pallets stacked way too high, and it crushed him. Apparently, he survived until they took the last palette off. It had been staunching the worst of his internal bleeding." My voice catches. I'll never forget the sound of my student's cries as they echoed down the empty hallways.

"Jesus. I can't even imagine." Jess's eyes are glassy. She knows some of the struggles my kids go through. Like any city school, we have kids that span a wide spectrum of affluence and situations. Some live in nice, big houses in the older part of town. Some live in cramped little apartments where they share a room with two other siblings. A few even live in shelters. But no matter what their home lives might be like, my students are amazing.

They're the reason I get out of bed in the morning. And, as trite as it sounds, after Alex and I broke up, I used to remind myself that if my kids who live in a shelter could get up, take public transit to school at an ungodly hour of the morning, and still show up every day and do their best, then so could I.

They keep me going, and I want to be the person who encourages them to keep going, too. I just wish there was more I could do to bring some encouragement to their lives. It's why I've checked in on my student and his mom a few times this summer. I've brought them groceries, given hugs, and just tried to be there for them. Even though anything I do feels utterly inadequate.

It makes going on this date feel icky. I don't know how much Nevaeh and Jess spent on winning this dinner, but it was probably enough to buy groceries for a week for half of my students and their families.

"Hey," Nevaeh says, tapping on the glass shower door. "Just because some of your students are struggling doesn't mean you're not allowed to have fun and do something extravagant."

"I know."

"Do you? Because you're always looking out for everyone else, Isla. You put the people you care about before yourself—and that can be great and all—but who puts you first? Not Alex. He was happy to let you support him throughout law school, but did he support you in the same way when you took a job in the city making less money?"

No. He didn't. He never understood why I'd choose to work in a district with more issues and less pay. Money is king to Alex. That's his passion. Mine is making kids believe they can do whatever they put their minds to if they work hard enough and persevere.

Nevaeh takes my silence as the answer it is. "Well, we're putting you first. We're going to do nice things for you until you remember what you knew back in high school when we met. That you're Isla Harding. You're smart, and funny, and kind. You're one of the most confident women I know. You have a killer body, your laugh is the best sound ever, and any man would be lucky to spend even an hour in your presence."

Silence stretches between us when she's done speaking. Only the patter of water on the tiled shower floor fills the bathroom. I wish it were as easy as all that. If someone came up with some magic pill that restored all the confidence to your soul that some evil ex stole, I'd be the first in line to buy it. But it's not that easy, and I don't know if I'll ever be that woman again.

"What do I even say to some famous hockey player?" I need to change the subject. "I know nothing about hockey. I've never watched a game in my life."

Jess shrugs. "You don't have to talk about hockey. Talk about movies or your favorite foods. Ask him questions. Treat him like a normal person. He'll probably like that more, anyway."

"Besides," Nevaeh adds as I run conditioner through my hair, "he's a public figure. He's probably great at making conversation with people he doesn't know."

God, I hope so. "I really don't want to do this."

"We know." Jess unpacks makeup from her kit and sets it out on the counter beside Nevaeh. "But seriously, babes, this is the perfect way to get back in the game. I swear. You get to have a pressure-free first date with a hot, attentive man and rebuild your confidence. He's not someone you're trying to start a relationship with—hell, he's not even someone you probably have anything in common with—so it doesn't matter if you blow it. And since you know it doesn't matter if you blow it, you won't feel pressured to be the perfect date. It'll let you relax and enjoy yourself."

Nevaeh nods. "Exactly. And then when we create a profile for you on some dating sites, you won't feel nearly as out of your depth as you would have."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I never agreed to dating sites."

"Not yet, you haven't," Jess says. "But you will."

"I just want to focus on me for a while. Alex and I were together for so long, I don't even know who I am without him." Probably because he wore me down with his snide comments and backhanded compliments. "Besides, maybe I just want to stay single."

"Forever?" Jess's face is comical. She can't believe I'd say something like that.

I shrug because who knows? I'm just talking out of my ass. "Maybe. Are men really worth the trouble?"

"Oh, sweetie, Alex wasn't worth the trouble. But that doesn't mean there isn't a man out there who is." Nevaeh's voice is soft as she continues. "We know you're scared. It's hard to put yourself out there after getting your heart broken. Especially after something like what happened to you. But you can do this. I know you're strong enough to open yourself up again."

I'm not sure I am. Don't get me wrong, I want to be strong enough. And I really am fine on my own. But when I lie in bed at night, too tired to be anything but honest with myself, I do hope I find someone to share my life with. Someone who will look at me and truly see me. Who'll love me more than his money or his status or his career.

"But what if I'm not strong enough? What if this is my life now? What if I wasted all of my best years on a man who never really loved me?"

"I'm sure he loved you, Isla."

I finish washing off, making sure my legs are smooth and my pits aren't hairy. "That's the thing, Jess. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure he didn't. Alex never loved me. He loved being loved. He loved having someone around who would stroke his ego and support his dreams. I was a tool to further his own happiness, and at least at first, I fit the image he wanted to project. Whatever he felt for me, it was selfish. I can see that now."

I only wish I'd recognized it sooner.

"Maybe," Jess says. "But I can tell you one thing for sure. You did not waste your best years on Alex Jones. Not by a long shot. You're only twenty-six, you're a badass teacher, you're smart and successful, and girl, look at you. I'm looking at your naked body right now, and it is bangin' ."

"Oh. My. God. Stop being weird, and stop looking at my nakedness!"

"Then hurry and finish showering, already. We have to get our pretty princess ready for the ball."

I cringe as I turn off the water and wrap myself in a towel. If this is a ball, why do I have the feeling I'm going to end the night amidst a wrecked magical carriage with a missing shoe and pumpkin guts plastered to my ass?