All That Really Matters

by Nicole Deese

  “Or I can just take care of it for you since you’re busy with the charity stuff. You are good with a pool, though, right?”

  “Wait—a pool?” My mind raced ahead to a punchline I hadn’t seen coming until now. The subscription box was for early summer usage. That meant towels, sandals, sunglasses, sunblock. “Ethan, is this summer workout wear you mentioned actually . . . swimwear?”

  “I don’t believe they specified that term.”

  “But they specified a pool? Unless they’re asking me to try on a wet suit, my guess is they’ll expect me to be in swimwear, and you know how I feel about that.” We’d been over it countless times. “I do not want to model swimwear. Ever.”

  “Hey, hey, I know that. There’s no need to get worked up. I’ll take care of everything. Promise.”

  His reassurance eased the cramp in my stomach, and I exhaled a deep breath. Ethan knew me. And he knew my brand—after all, he’d helped build it to what it was now. He’d never let me down before; I had no reason to believe he would now. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding less like my manager and more like the boyfriend I so rarely got to see these days.

  “Hey . . . will this shoot be in California?”

  “Malibu. Why?”

  “What if . . .” I sat back on my haunches for a moment, thinking of how I might phrase this, of how I might ask him for more time when he already gave so much energy to my projects and my career and future. But it had been months since we’d spent any kind of significant time together. And even longer since we’d had a conversation about anything other than Makeup Matters or endorsement deals or metadata. “What if we did something together after the shoot?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  I sighed dreamily and closed my eyes. “What if we went to the beach for a date? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to walk on the sand together and eat ice cream from one of those cute little pedal trucks? It would just be so nice to . . . to have a day out of the office together. Like our entire purpose could just be to enjoy each other’s company.”

  At his lack of response, my stomach clenched in a whole new way. “But it’s okay if you can’t. I know you’re super busy and that you don’t really enjoy ice cream all that much—”

  “I think it’s a nice idea.”

  “You do?” I hated the girlish swell in my voice.

  “Let me see what I can work out, okay?”

  “Sure, great.”

  A door opened in the background, and I overheard someone speaking to him. “I need to go, babe. But we’ll talk more about this later. Keep next weekend open for travel dates.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  With a smile I hadn’t worn in quite some time, I rummaged deeper into my shoe shelves, looking for an appropriate pair. Strappy? Tall? Peep-toe? No. No. No.

  And then I saw them: my favorite leopard print wedge heels.

  I would be teacherly, yes. But I would definitely still be me.

  From the moment I exited my car, my nerves began acting as if tonight wasn’t just my first time teaching at The Bridge but quite possibly my first time interacting with humankind. Neither my persuasive speeches nor my late-night syllabus writing could guarantee me a victory tonight. Because tonight was live. As in me, standing in front of an audience, speaking to a group of actual people with real faces and names that didn’t start with an @ sign.

  “You doing okay back there, Kitten Heels?” Glo asked, leading me down a long hallway upstairs with renovated classrooms on either side.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to work the moisture back into my mouth while rehearsing the notes I’d talked through on my drive over.

  My mind slipped and stumbled in reverse, falling back more than a decade, to that first day of my senior year in high school when I’d questioned my ability to blend with such a new environment. To be accepted. Liked. Approved. And just like then, as the classrooms on the left came into view, I fought the urge to fidget with my blouse, my hair, my earrings.

  Only I wasn’t a seventeen-year-old girl going to an actual school building for the first time in her life. I wasn’t wearing borrowed clothing, makeup, or confidence. I didn’t need to remember the cool-kid phrases I’d practiced from watching the CW’s The Vampire Diaries at Mimi’s house.

  I was twenty-seven years old. And I knew how to be liked.

  That was just so much easier to accomplish from behind a screen.

  I concentrated on my steps, how the arch of my foot flexed with each strike of my heel, how my toes compressed with the exchanges of weight. How my ankle steadied itself over and over again. It was a dumb distraction trick I’d created years ago, a coping mechanism birthed on platforms in front of dozens of congregations while my parents dedicated their latest church-planting effort to God.

  As I turned my attention to the classroom door Glo was pointing at, a man charged out of the room directly to my left, knocking me halfway to the ground. But instead of feeling carpet fibers smash into my cheek, I felt hands lock on either side of my arms as he used centrifugal force to spin me in a circle rather than fling me to the floor.

  “Molly—” Silas blurted, dropping his hands to his sides the instant he steadied me back on my feet. “I didn’t see you out here. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I said a bit breathlessly. “Who knew a surprise waltz would be the perfect remedy for—” The words had tumbled out before I realized what I was saying, or to whom I was speaking. Silas couldn’t know I was nervous. I was on trial. Tonight was about proving I fit in, proving I could fit here.

  “A remedy for?”

  Stress. Panic. Anxiety. All of the above. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Silas looked from me to Glo, as if she might provide him a reason for my tight-lipped response. Instead, she patted my shoulder and said, “You’re gonna do great, kiddo,” then excused herself.

  Wait—did Glo sound nervous for me? I followed her with my eyes, hoping she might turn around and give me a reassuring thumbs-up. Or even an okay sign would do. But no, nothing more.

  “You all right, Molly?”

  I bobbed my head unnaturally, willing myself to pull it together. “Yep, great. I’m just curious where you were running off to so quickly.”

  “Just to the next room over to get your handouts off the printer.”

  The emergency had been over my handouts? He must have interpreted the question from the crinkle in my brow. “I didn’t want you to have to start without them.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  “Of course. Though I’m sure you’d have no problem winging it without notes.”

  I wouldn’t bet on that, Silas. At this point I’ll be happy if I remember not to lock my knees when they start to shake. Passing out on my first night would likely be frowned upon.

  I only smiled up at him in reply.

  He gestured behind me to the room he’d just exited. “Clara is setting up in there now. She’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

  As he took a step in the opposite direction, I blurted, “I’ll come with you.” Because at this point, I wasn’t ready to step into any classroom without him. Funny how a mere situational change could cause your adversary to become your safety net.

  Silas turned back and glanced over my head. “There’s really no need. I’ll just be a moment. Clara can help you with whatever you need for class.”

  I exhaled a deep breath but made no attempt to move toward the classroom.

  “Molly,” he said with a dip of his chin.

  “It’s just, I think it might be best if—”

  Once again he pointed to the open door behind me, to where a short-statured young woman smiled and waved.

  “Meet Clara,” Silas said. “My future sister-in-law and our math genius extraordinaire. Clara, meet our guest speaker for the night, Molly McKenzie.”

  As it turned out, Clara was not the embodiment of a member of Mean Girls circa 2004. She was, in fact,
a petite midtwenties Asian woman with a cute A-line haircut and an adorable pair of black-and-white polka-dotted glasses.

  “Hi, Molly.” She offered her hand along with a bright smile.

  “Your glasses are super cute.”

  “Really?” She touched the bridge of her nose and slid them upward a half inch. “I just got them. They’re actually way out of my comfort zone, but . . .” She snapped her mouth shut and then seemed to think twice.

  “But what?”

  She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “I watched your video on how to find trendy frames that fit your face. I followed your tips.”

  I couldn’t have been more surprised than if she’d told me she’d stolen the glasses off some unsuspecting person at a bus stop.

  “You watched my . . .” I shook my head. “But how did you even know where to find—”

  “Jake.” She beamed. “He told me your name, and it didn’t take long to find you online. We ended up watching one after another, straight through dinner.” Again, she pursed her lips. “I was super nervous about tonight. I’ve never met a famous person before.”

  “Oh gosh, I’m not famous.” I laughed, grateful the classroom was empty minus Clara.

  “Maybe not by your standards, but I don’t know anybody in real life who has six hundred ninety-four thousand subscribers on YouTube alone. That’s definitely celebrity status in my opinion.”

  Again, I had to laugh. “You really do love numbers.”

  She shrugged. “I have a weird knack for remembering whatever number I see. Even if it was years ago. They just stick in my head.”

  I turned back toward the door, hearing groups of footsteps coming down the hall.

  “That will be a few of the guys on the set-up crew. They’ll arrange the tables and chairs. We still have about twenty minutes before we start, though. So whatever I can help you with, just let me know. Need an HDMI cord for your laptop?”

  I nodded, too afraid my racing heart might actually shoot right out of my throat if I opened my mouth. What is wrong with me?

  “Sure thing. I have one right here.” Clara reached into a cabinet nearby and handed me the cord. “I’ll erase all this, too, so you can have access to the entire whiteboard if you need it.” She began erasing a dozen or more equations—numbers and letters mixed into a queasy blend of math I had zero reference for. “I get here a bit early on Tuesdays to tutor before mandatory starts.”

  “Mandatory?”

  “That’s what the kids call Tuesday night classes.”

  “Wait, like, they’re forced to be here?”

  Again, she hiked up her glasses and smiled. “They’re not led here in chains or anything, but yeah, they have to come. It’s a part of the commitment they sign to live at The Bridge.”

  Great, so not only would tonight’s trial class not be an elective class they chose to participate in, but these kids were actually required to attend my class to keep a roof over their heads. No pressure.

  As if Clara could sense my brain overheating, she said, “They’ll love you, though. I know it.”

  “I’m not too sure about that at the moment,” I said with more honesty than I usually allowed myself on a first meeting, but it was too hard to filter my words when I could barely take in a full breath.

  “Well, I am. Because you’re funny, and these kids haven’t had enough funny in their lives . . . humor is one of the best ways to get through to them. Just pretend you’re giving one of your fun tutorials, only instead of talking to a camera lens, you’ll be looking at a bunch of eighteen-to-twenty-one-year-olds.”

  Just pretend you’re giving one of your fun tutorials.

  Somehow, it was that sentence that calmed my breathing, steadied my brainwaves, and reminded me what I did best: improvise.

  11

  Molly

  In less than two minutes of sitting on the sidelines of the classroom, I realized just how underpaid our teachers really are in America. Why anyone would subject themselves to standing in front of a room full of students, who looked as if they’d be more interested in picking up lawn clippings than participating in anything educational, was beyond me.

  Wren had given me a tiny wave and smile combo as she’d come in the classroom, but she’d quickly diverted to a seat at the back of the room, alone, while a group of four talkative girls took the front. They immediately invited two of the guys to sit at their table. Their seating selection didn’t feel like an I-don’t-want-to-miss-a-thing kind of effort. Rather, they had more of a first-responder-to-drama vibe about them. I could sniff that breed of cattiness anywhere.

  “Evening, friends. Good to see you all could make it,” Silas said, addressing the class from the front of the room. “First matter of business: I wanted to give a public shout-out to the two of you who stepped up to lead kitchen crew last night so Glo could leave early.”

  Until that moment, I had no idea Silas had the phrase shout-out in his vocabulary, much less that he knew how to use it in a sentence. In all the conversations we’d shared to date, he’d spoken the tidiest form of English of any person I knew.

  He pointed to two girls huddled together on the right side of the classroom. “Monica and Sasha. Thank you both for serving. That’s the kind of initiative we like to reward around here—which means you can both help yourselves to a free treat from the snack closet after we’re done here tonight.”

  A guy sitting in the front left corner, who was obviously the comedian of the bunch with his backward hat and Haters Gonna Hate T-shirt, twisted fully in his seat to address the girls. “Keep in mind, ladies, that my birthday’s coming up. For the record, I like sour gummy bears.”

  “Or perhaps, Devon, you could collect your own reward by showing some of the same initiative. There’s ample opportunity in a house this size.”

  “Keep believing in miracles, Mr. Whittaker.”

  That got a laugh, even from Silas.

  He seemed more relaxed in this environment, and yet, more energetic, too. An unusual mix I hadn’t quite figured out, but I was fascinated by the change just the same.

  “As you may have noticed, we have a special guest tonight.” Silas gestured in my direction, and I waved to the students. “This is Ms. Molly McKenzie. She works in direct sales and marketing, and has spent the last several years as an online influencer within the fashion and beauty industry.” He glanced at me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had to practice saying that last part without gritting his teeth. It was obvious he was unimpressed with my work, but like most people, he likely didn’t understand what I actually did. There were often more myths associated with my profession than truth. And, unfortunately, some people weren’t as interested in the facts. Those weren’t nearly as flashy.

  “She’s taken the time to put together a class on budget-friendly work attire, and I expect you’ll show her the same courtesy and respect you’ve shown to Ms. Clara and our past speakers. With that, let’s welcome Ms. McKenzie.”

  The class clapped, and the girls in the front perked up a bit, whispering among themselves, one of them taking out her phone and using it under the table. I doubted that was allowed, but I was only a guest teacher on trial, not an authority figure. So little Miss Google would get a pass tonight.

  “Good evening,” I said, situating myself at the front of the class, aware of two dozen pairs of unblinking eyes, Clara’s supportive presence, and one lone nod from Silas at the back of the room that I interpreted to mean There will be no more redos if you screw this one up, Molly.

  I cut my thoughts away from him and made the decision to pretend he didn’t exist for the next sixty minutes. He was nothing more than a broody shadow in my peripheral.

  I turned my charisma up to the highest degree and spoke in my clearest on-camera voice. “Who can tell me why what we wear matters? And no, this is not a trick question.”

  A few chuckles and then a hand shot up. Naturally, it was the loud-mouth dude in the front. Before I pointed to him, I addressed t
he class. “If you raise your hand to answer a question, would you mind telling me your name so I don’t have to refer to you as Backward Hat Guy in my head?”

  The class laughed, and Devon, Backward Hat Guy, took a mock bow before he replied, “We wear clothes so we’re not all out there strutting our birthday suits at once—although nothing wrong with having a birthday.”

  “Stop bringing up your birthday every five minutes, Devon. We get it already,” said one of the catty girls from the front. Her frizzy bleached hair looked like it had been dyed far too many times. She could really use a deep-conditioning treatment.

  “And what’s your name?” I asked her.

  “Jasmine.”

  “And what do you think? Why does what you wear matter?”

  She thought for a second. “Self-expression, I guess.”

  “Absolutely. And our self-expression matters because . . . ?” I paused, then made eye contact with Wren. “What do you think, Wren?”

  Several girls in the class turned to look at her, and I could almost feel the way she shrank into herself. If the girl would have had a shell to hide inside, this would have been her cue.

  “Maybe because it’s how we make a first impression?” she answered quietly.

  “Yes, exactly.” I wanted to take the spotlight off her as quickly as I could. “Now, I’m going to need two willing participants for this next part.” I pointed to Devon, knowing he was the type who enjoyed attention. “How about you, Devon, and . . .” I was about to pick Clara for my female representative when one of the residents Silas had rewarded earlier stood up from her seat at the table.

  “I’ll do it.”

  I smiled. “Awesome. And you’re . . . Monica, right?”

  “Yes.” The curvy girl with the thick headband holding back a cascade of gorgeous dark braids and wearing dark jeans and a jewel-tone scoop-neck blouse moved toward the front. She definitely had a sense of style.

  “Great. Now, do either of you mind if I take your picture? It’ll only be used right here in this room, for the purpose of this exercise only.” I made sure to qualify that for Silas’s sake. Thankfully, a quick glance his direction confirmed he’d taken note of my disclaimer and didn’t appear to be bothered by it. He actually looked . . . intrigued?