Redesigned (10 page)

I’d give him kudos for forging ahead if I weren’t so furious.

A scowl darkens his face. “I’m not sure what came over me. I won’t it happen again.”

I should confess that I’m not sure what happened with me either, and I’d be lying if I said his announcement didn’t fill me with disappointment. But instead, I grasp onto one of his phrases, because anger is safer than the wanton lust flowing through my veins. “Random women? You’re calling me a
random woman
?”

Confusion fills his eyes before he realizes what I’m talking about. “It’s not how it sounds.”

And while I know that, I don’t really care. I need to vent these strong emotions somehow, and if I can’t make out with him, I’ll verbally attack him instead. “How many women are you in the habit of kissing anyway?”

“Not many. I’m usually more selective.” His anger returns. His hands fist at his sides.

“Was that a slam against my character?”

He takes a step toward me, and we’re less than a foot apart. “Should it be?”

Reed looks like he’s about to kiss me again, and to my shock, or maybe not, I want him to.

But I can’t forget that he made a fool of me before. Who’s to say he won’t do it again? I take two steps back and swivel my head around, trying to figure out where Lexi and Evelyn went. I need a chaperone, and I need one quick before I do something I’ll regret. “Where are we supposed to go?”

I expect a sharp retort, but the fight seems to have left Reed as well. “We need to go to the building on the left.” He waves his hand toward a house. “It houses the afterschool program.”

As I walk the concrete walkway behind the houses, I try to pull myself together. My reaction to Reed is a combination of hormones and seeing the photo of myself. I’m emotionally vulnerable. All the more reason to stay away from him.

When we reach the door, Reed lightly touches my arm. “Caroline, wait.”

I shiver from the cold, but Reed blocks the wind. The heat of his body draws me toward him, and I can’t resist looking up.

He lifts his hand toward my face and as he leans closer, I’m mesmerized by his dark brown eyes.

I wait for him to kiss me, but his fingers brush my hair on the back of my head. “Your hair was messed up,” he murmurs, his lips a mere six inches from mine. His fingers tangle in the strands, and he slowly rakes them down, taking longer than necessary, yet I can’t seem to find the will to stop him.

“Thanks,” I finally say.

His gaze has fallen to my lips. He leans closer, but the door opens, and he jumps back as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

Which of course he has.

Evelyn’s back is to us as she faces into the building. When she turns around, she’s missed our strange behavior.

“Oh, there you two are. I was about to send a search party out for you,” she laughs.

Reed gives her his stick-up-his-ass smile, not that she notices. “No need. We spent a lot of time checking out the photos.”

“Well, come in.” She pokes her head outside to look up into the sky, then backs out of the way for us to come in. “I do believe it’s getting colder.”

Reed studies me. “Funny, I hadn’t noticed.” Then he motions for me to go in.

That’s the first time he’s actually acknowledged that I do something to him, even if his body— and his mouth—has told me otherwise.

I follow Evelyn into a 1970s-era kitchen, gold appliances and all. She stands in the middle of the room and holds out her hands. “Since our headquarters are here in Greensboro, we have on-site services. We have the children dropped off by bus for our afterschool tutoring program. In other areas where we have a tutoring program, we usually run the program on the school property. With the Monroe Foundation donation, we’re hoping to open more programs, especially in more rural areas where state funding is stretched to the limit.” She looks over her shoulder as a young woman comes in and grabs several small paper cups and a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator. “We also provide snacks. They’re usually starving after school.”

We follow her down a hall to a room with a table and several children that look to be ten or eleven years old. They’re huddled over papers and notebooks. A college-aged woman sits at the table with them. She looks up and smiles.

Evelyn stands in the doorway. “We’re fortunate that Southern’s school of education sends students to help with our kids.”

Evelyn continues down a hall to what looks like it used to be a large bedroom. A teacher kneels down on the floor talking to a small child. There are about ten other children in the room, some sitting at tables working on homework. Others play with board games or work on puzzles. “This is the room for our first-and second-graders.” I walk into the space, suddenly transported back fifteen years, to a particularly rough financial time when my father was laid off for twelve months. That year my older brother and I went to a program exactly like this.

My stomach knots at the memories. “You have one of these programs in Shelbyville.”

Evelyn beams. “Yes, they were one of our pilot sites.”

That’s how they have a photo of me.

Thankfully, I don’t react like I did with the photo.

A little blonde girl slams her pencil on the table and drops her head over her paper. I kneel next to her and to see what’s frustrating her. She’s working on subtraction problems, and she’s gotten several wrong. Her name is written carefully at the top of the paper—Desiree.

“Subtraction’s hard, huh?” I tilt my head to get a better look at her, but her hair falls around her face.

Her head bobs, but she keeps her gaze down.

“My name’s Caroline. Can I have a look?”

Her fingers splay across the sheet and she slowly slides it toward me.

“Do you use a number line?”

“I forgot it at school.” Her voice is muffled.

“We can make you a new one.”

I look up the teacher in the room. “Do you have a scrap piece of paper I can use?”

She gets up from the table. “Sure.”

Reed fills the doorway, his face expressionless as he watches me. Evelyn stands inside the room and looks like she’s ready to move to the next room.

“You go ahead,” I say. Lexi is the integral part of this meeting. I’m just a tagalong. “I’m going to stay here with Desiree for a little bit if that’s okay.”

Evelyn smiles. “Yes, of course, dear. I love that you’ve made a connection with the children.”

Reed takes a step into the hall to let Evelyn out, but he hesitates in the doorway and looks torn about leaving me behind before walking down the hall. While the hormonal part of me is disappointed to see him go, the rational part of me is glad.

The tutor hands me a piece of paper. “Thanks for helping out. The program has gotten more kids this semester and we’re having trouble helping all the children.”

“Glad to help.”

The tutor turns her attention to the boy next to her.

Desiree is still hiding behind her hair so I start to make a number line, making twenty tick marks.

“I wasn’t very good at subtraction, either,” I say as I start to number.

The little girl stays silent, but her face has lifted more so I can see her cornflower blue eyes.

“Do you know what’s funny?”

She shakes her head, her eyes wary.

“I do all kinds of subtraction now, and I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yep.” I give her a big smile. “Did you know I go to school too?”

She shakes her head.

“I go to college. Guess what I’m going to be when I graduate?”

The girl sucks one side of her lower lip into her mouth before she says, “A teacher.”

I shake my head. “Uh-uh. I bet you’ll never guess.”

“A doctor.” Her voice is bolder, and she’s looking directly at me now.

“Nope. A fashion designer. Do you know what that is?”

She shakes her head, looking embarrassed.

I lean closer as though I’m about to share a secret. “Well, a fashion designer makes clothes for people to wear, but it’s so much more than that. They decide the fabric and color of the clothes, and how it should be cut out of the cloth. They can help people feel good about themselves by making them something beautiful to wear.”

She’s still silent, but she’s listening intently.

I write the last numbers on the line and place it in front of her. “But measurements are important.

You have to make the clothes fit the person’s body or it doesn’t look right. Moving a seam just a tiny bit can make the difference in a person looking just okay or beautiful.”

Her eyes widen. “It’s like magic.”

I smile. “It sounds like it, doesn’t it? But it’s really math. Knowing how to add up the measurements and subtract them is the trick of it. And it all starts here.” I tap on the paper with her subtraction problems.

We work on the problems for several minutes, using the number line and Desiree is more confident when we finish. “I get it now.” She offers me a shy smile.

“Good. It just takes lots of practice. And do you know what?”

She shakes her head, her gaze on me.

“Maybe you’ll like math so much you’ll study it in college like my friend Scarlett.” I look up at the doorway. Reed is standing on the threshold watching me with an unreadable face. I have no idea how long he’s been there. “And my friend Reed.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise.

Scarlett would choke if she could hear me right now. I’ve done nothing but tease her about her math-geek status and here I am suggesting this little girl consider it for a major. “Math is really important. You use it for everything, and it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”

“But you make people beautiful.” Desiree says. “I wish you could make me beautiful.”

A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it to answer. “Oh, Desiree. You’re already beautiful.” But I know what she’s saying. I was her years ago. I see her faded and worn jeans. Her stained T-shirt that’s been worn many times.

“Why do you want to be a fashion maker?”

“A fashion designer?” I could give her my pat answer, the one Reed made fun of, and she’d never know the difference. This little girl was me. She deserves the truth, but Reed is standing in the doorway listening to everything I say.

I brush her hair from her face and wipe a smudge off her cheek with my thumb. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl who didn’t fit in with all the other kids. She felt ugly while all the other girls were pretty and wore pretty things.”

“Did the little girl get pretty dresses too?”

No, the little girl didn’t
, but I can’t tell Desiree that. She’s waiting for me to give her a fairytale ending, but there isn’t one. The little girl didn’t find a prince. She didn’t become a swan. She went off to college with the hope of scoring a rich boyfriend/husband and ended up alone. The major she picked was mostly because it was what she already knew. Already loved. And now she was scrambling to figure out what to do with it. I can’t tell Desiree any of this, but I can empower her.

“She learned to make them herself.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together as she thinks about what I said. “Like she’s her own fairy godmother?”

“Yes, exactly.” I take a breath. “The pretty girls in my story, they may have worn pretty clothes and had pretty hair, but they weren’t pretty on the inside, Desiree.” I tilt my head down to look in her eyes. “They’re pretty packages with nothing but fluff and jealousy inside. There will always be people who tell you that your clothes are ugly or that your car is old and rusted. That your house needs to be painted or your shoes have holes, but those people will never be your friend. Not even if you get all the pretty things they have. Real friends don’t care about any of that and they love you for
you
.”

She looks unconvinced. “But I still wish I had a pretty dress and looked like a princess.”

“Of course you do. All girls do.” I laugh. “Do you know what? If you try really hard with your math homework for the next week,
I’ll
make you a pretty dress.”

Her eyes widen. “You mean it?”

I smile. “Yes.”

The other girls at the table have remained quiet but now burst into shouts.

“I want one!”

“Me too!”

What have I started?

Even as their excited voices shout in my ears, I realize this is the answer to my problem. I can create a children’s line and maybe I can use actual children in the center as my models. It’s the perfect blending of the event and the cause.

Reed moves next to me. “Caroline, a word, please.” It’s a demand, not a question.

I stand and turn to face him, already knowing his concern. “Reed, I know you think it’s a lot to promise to make them all—”

He grabs my arm and pulls me into the hall. “You can’t toy with these children’s hopes.”

“But if I can use them as models in the show then—”

His eyes fly open. “
You can’t use them as models for the show
!”

Anger tempers my excitement. “Why in the world not?”

“Haven’t you heard of confidentiality? Do you really want these children to be paraded on stage? It would be like them wearing signs that say
I’m a charity case
.”

While I understand his concern, I’m not fond of the derision he uses. “And are you saying these children aren’t worthy of being in the show because of who they are and where they come from?”

“Of course not!” But his tone reeks of backpedaling instead of conviction.

“Did it ever occur to you that these little girls might feel better about themselves if they were models on a runway? That for one day, they’ll feel pretty and special. They’ll be the envy of the mean kids in their class instead of the other way around?”

“Well, no….”