Page 15 of The Charade
Elyse and Scarlett were in my class, along with Mack and Nash, so it was nice to see some friendly faces among the new ones.
"Which class do you have next?" Elyse asked me as we walked down the student-crowded hall after English.
I glanced at the schedule that I'd printed out and slipped into the front cover of my floral binder.
"I have Statistics." I groaned. "Talk about ruining the day before it really got started."
Elyse chuckled, knowing well how much I loathed math. "At least you'll get it over with, right?"
"For the morning portion, anyway."
"Do you start your tutoring right after school then?"
I nodded. "As per my agreement with the headmistress."
"Who knows, maybe your tutor will be really cute," Elyse offered, like working with a cute guy would make the tutoring sessions less torturous.
"If only I could be so lucky." I sighed, hugging my books to my chest. "Pretty sure Mom knows all about my study sessions with Jameson last year and knows better than to let me be set up with someone like that again."
Elyse laughed. "For your grade's sake, I suppose I should hope that your tutor is a middle-aged woman so you're not caught making out in the library stacks instead of studying."
"Yep," I said.
We came to the end of the hall where Elyse would go one way to her next class, and I would go the other.
"Good luck with math," Elyse said, turning to look at me before separating. "Who knows, maybe it’ll be your favorite class this year."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Elyse had been on this positive psychology kick recently and seemed determined to make it rub off on me.
"I'll see you at lunch," I said.
"See you then."
I watched Elyse disappear into the crowd of students wearing cream and blue blazers. And then, deciding not to put off the inevitable, I headed toward the A hall where Mrs. Simmons's class was.
I walked into the room, which had large east-facing windows and posters with various inspirational quotes. There was a handful of students already seated at the tables, chatting among themselves.
There was a middle-aged woman with red, shoulder-length curly hair standing at a whiteboard writing notes for today's class. When she noticed me out of the corner of her eye, she stopped writing.
"Oh hello," she said, placing the cap on the black dry erase marker she'd been using. "You must be Ava."
"Um, yeah, that's me," I said, surprised she knew my name even though we'd never met before. But in a school with less than five hundred students, it shouldn't really surprise me. They probably didn't get much turnaround at a place like this.
"It's so great to have you at our school," she said, her smile wide on her burgundy-colored lips. "I'm Mrs. Simmons."
I just nodded, not sure what I should say since saying I was excited to meet my new math teacher would be a lie. Math was a torture device invented by disturbed humans, and math teachers whochoseto immerse themselves in the subject had to be possessed by a math demon to willingly spend multiple hours of their day surrounded by the subject.
So I went with a simple, "I love your shoes."
My mom had taught me that the best way to get on someone's good side was to give them an honest compliment. And since I needed to get in Mrs. Simmons’s good graces more than anyone else's at this school, I planned to give her a compliment each day I had her class.
Because surely she wouldn't fail someone who was always looking for the best in her…right?
It was the best plan I'd come up with so far, at least.
She looked down at her black peep-toe wedges briefly, a smile slipping onto her face. "Thank you. They were a birthday present from my husband."
"He has good taste." I smiled earnestly because I truly did like her shoes. In fact, for a teacher in her early forties, she actually had a great sense of style.
