All That Really Matters by Nicole Deese (new books to read TXT) 📕

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 the 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