Chapter 3
Candace
“Well, well, well, right on time, Candace. Good for you, honey,” Betty praises. I force a smile and take my seat at the table.
Of course, I’m on time. The first day of school was the only time I ever recall being late in my life.
Growing up, my dad’s rule was: fifteen minutes early means you’re already late.
My sister and I would have our curls set the night before an event, saving time the next morning.
Betty’s going to hold this over my head for the rest of the year.
My luck, she’ll roll it over into the one after that to.
“Good morning to you too, Betty,” I say, keeping my voice light.
Once we’re all seated and agendas ready to go, the door squeaks open, then slams, piercing my eardrums. Naturally, we all look up in surprise, suspicious of anyone entering our space.
“Sorry, dear, you seem to be lost.” The senior hallway is in the next building,” Betty scolds, eyeing the young woman up and down. “I should warn you, your outfit has broken at least a dozen dress code violations. Be thankful we’re about to get started, or I’d escort you to the principal myself.”
“I'm not lost, and definitely not a senior,” she says dryly, confidently waltzing to the table, setting her black leather bag down. “I’m the long-term sub, Nat Reynolds.” She sits down, pulls out a black cell phone and ignores us all, typing so fast I’m waiting to see her fingers crack the screen.
Meanwhile, our jaws have made a permanent residence on the floor, and Betty’s has left the building entirely.
“You’re the sub for Mrs. Cummings?” Betty looks Natalie up and down. “There must be a mistake. Our school wouldn’t allow one of those goths to teach our children.”
“Down, girl. No need to get your granny panties in a bunch,” Natalie murmurs, tucking her phone away.
By now, I would’ve said something. Introduced myself and the group, maybe even shook her hand.
I’m the president, for crying out loud! Most would agree it’s a very powerful role to hold.
At this moment, I feel no more powerful than a doe-eyed schoolgirl daydreaming about the star quarterback.
My brain and body are on two separate pages, and I can’t seem to look away from the twenty-something woman next to me.
Her long, jet-black hair’s being held together by a neon pink clip.
False lashes and heavy black liner make her electric blue eyes stand out.
They’re so mesmerizing I could get lost in them.
She’s dressed nothing like any substitute teacher I’ve ever seen, especially not in this town.
Where would someone even buy a studded belt like that?
Her skirt is shorter than Betty would consider appropriate for a school setting.
Nothing obscene, just a bit over-the-top.
Her shirt flaunts a slogan in bold print, that Betty turns her nose up to once she’s read it.
Everything about her, from the knee-length boots to the fishnet stockings, feels out of place.
“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself sooner. I’m Candace Montgomery, the PTA president,” I say, filling the pause before she notices.
She laughs, slamming her hands on the table. “There’s a PTA president, are you for real right now? How much does that pay?”
Confused by her question and a little embarrassed to talk about money, I lean into her. “We don’t get paid. This is a volunteer position.”
“Wow, that sucks. So, I’m stuck here all because your girl got knocked up?” she asks, leaning back against her chair.
Everyone’s knuckles go white as they grip the table, eyes locked on our new member, who looks completely unbothered.
I watch as she rummages through her purse, chapstick, hairpins, then a bottle of prescription pills slips out onto the table.
A soft gasp cuts across the room. No one moves.
I keep my eyes on the bottle like it might come alive and do a trick.
“Dude, that's a sick watch. Bet that cost a pretty penny. Where’d you get it?” She turns to Denise.
She stumbles on her words. “It’s a Rolex, umm, it was a push present from my uh, from my husband,” she finally blurts out.
“Pretty swanky.” Nat tilts her wrist, admiring Denise’s gold watch. “What's a push present?”
“Oh, my goodness, it’s like talking to a toddler,” Betty barks. “It’s a gift from your husband after the birth of your child.”
“Are you telling me your husbands pay you to ruin your vaginas? Classic.” Without waiting for a response, she returns her attention to her phone.
Betty stares straight at me, as if this is my fault. “Good heavens, she curses too. Why don’t we just invite the Devil himself into our group?”
“If you're afraid of the Devil, lady, you’re gonna hate it when you see the tattoo on my…”
Shutting my binder hard to cut her off before she can finish. “Okay, Natalie, great to meet you. Let's move you closer to me, and we’ll finish introductions later. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today and not much time to do it.”
Although it’s an obscene gesture, her eyes roll, hypnotizing me. It’s not just their obvious beauty. There’s a depth to them. If I were a painter, I’d be chomping at the bit to get a canvas out and draw them well into the night.
“Wow. You guys must throw back a shit ton of happy pills before walking in here.”
“Candace!” Betty shrieks, shooting daggers at me.
Natalie
What the fuck kind of sick and twisted punishment is the Parent Teacher Association?
Whoever invented this shit, needs to choke on a sandpaper dildo.
These desperate housewives spending hours every week planning the most frivolous events is insane.
I can’t count the number of brain cells I lost sitting in that pointless meeting.
Around minute forty-five, I checked out, uninterested in the twenty thousand dollar sauna going into the teachers’ lounge.
When I was in high school, the lounge smelled like farts and never had a clean microwave.
Now they’re so high-strung they need a midday sweat session.
That Candace chick is pretty hot though, in like a fifties housewife kind of way.
Her shoulder-length blonde hair was in a low ponytail, exposing her sharp collarbones.
Nothing else was revealed, beyond the shit-brown sweater and denim skirt that reached her ankles.
I wonder if she’s religious or if that’s the way her husband likes her to dress– Amish chic.
Even though her outfit screams sex-starved mom with a wine addiction, I’m into it.
“Natalie,” the Prez calls out, the heavy door shutting behind her.
“It’s Nat. Natalie’s too formal for me,” I correct, digging through my purse for my car keys.
“Oh, uh, okay. You did amazing today. I know we can be intimidating at first, but you’ll love it after a short adjustment period,” she reassures.
“So, do you guys get the day off work for this? What’s a typical day like for a member of the prestigious PTA?” I ask, raising a brow.
Her laugh is soft. “Goodness, no. We’re too busy for an office job. I’m actually headed to afternoon aerobics, and afterwards there’s a sale at my favorite boutique. I’ve been on the hunt for this stunning pair of kitten heels.”
Honestly, I wish I’d never heard that. It took a few hot points off the Prez.
“Wow, those husbands of yours must be rolling in it. Good for you, I guess.” I glance away.
Betty pushes past both of us in a hurry. “Candace doesn’t have a husband. She’s divorced. Now move along, Avon doesn’t sell itself, now does it?”
“Ew, that’s gross. I don’t give a shit if she’s divorced, and I’ve never heard of Avon, so go shove that fake job up your ass.” How the hell does she not want to slam that bitches face through a glass window for being such a raging cunt?
Betty scoffs, racing down the long hallway. Probably not the best impression to make on day one, but how does the school allow unhinged women like that to step foot on campus?
Pink blush covers Candace’s cheeks, and I’m all too aware I might’ve just embarrassed her. She didn’t even stick up for herself. Somebody had too.
“Sorry, I’ve been told I can get a little aggressive. Something to do with my star sign intermingling with my Venus placement or some shit. That was such a dick move, though. I don’t even know her.”
“It’s best to just ignore her. Sorry you had to witness that.” She hesitates. “Hopefully the first day jitters will be out of everyone's system next Monday.”
“What are you sorry about? You literally did nothing wrong.” I frown. Not even half an hour ago, she was running the room like a corporate sellout. Now, she’s shaking in designer heels because some lunatic with a stick up her clenched butthole called her out for being single.
What's so great about being married anyway? Maybe it’s a good thing she’s single? She’s way less annoying than that mole person who just ran by me like she was late to meet the president.
“It was really nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you some more.” She offers a quick, shy smile. This blonde bombshell, straight from heaven, exits the building.
Thank God the school day is over, and I can bail on this hellhole.
Don’t misunderstand the attitude and judge me before you get to know me.
Yes, this is my first job straight from college.
No, I didn’t understand how fancy and uptight it was until this morning when I parked my ten-year-old Gio in another teacher’s spot and was scolded for fifteen minutes as if I were intentionally ruining her life.
If I’m being honest, I forgot about the PTA part of the contract until this morning, and contemplated even showing up.
If it weren’t for my ridiculous student loans, I would’ve given the middle finger to this place and gone to work at the public library.
The Principal didn't say shit about my boots, or the raunchy shirt I found on sale at Spencer's. Betty the buzzkill was the only one with an issue, and I bet you twenty bucks that by tomorrow she’ll have made it everyone’s problem.
Too bad for her, I’ve got a whole closet full of shirts that will cause her a trip to an early grave.