A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2)

by Q. T. Ruby

  “Well, it’s probably too late for the ‘not knowing’ part, but if it was me, and God knows I wish it was, I’d give as little information as possible if they ask.”

  “If? You know they’re going to ask.”

  “Okay, so when they ask, just don’t say much.”

  I nod and stand. “Right. Avoid the topic. I can do that.”

  We pause, hearing the familiar rumble of teen feet stomping up the stairwell.

  Donna hugs me. “I’m so happy that you’re happy. Now relax.” She pulls back. “And I want details at lunch, got it? Every single detail!” She smiles, and we head into the hallway to supervise the morning rush.

  The moment the stream of teens bursts through the door, I know this day can only spiral downward. Stares, whispers, and giggles abound as they pass, and by the start of first period, I’m already fielding questions.

  I finally raise my voice and give the ol’ “this is an inappropriate conversation.” They stop asking, sure, but they aren’t done with the whispers, which aren’t all that quiet. At the end of the day, I bolt out of work, which is unlike me but very necessary. It’s the first time work doesn’t feel much like a salvation.

  I head to the gym for a head-clearing workout—the hardest workout since, well, since my last night with Dan. I can’t help but smile while I jog on the treadmill, which reminds me of our silly treadmill race, which reminds me that I want time to fly by. I’m desperate for another dose of him, but without photos this time. How do photos surface so quickly, anyway?

  After a razzing from Camille and Bridget, who pretend I’m not sitting right there while they randomly ask each other, “Who’s that girl?” which is the caption on most of the online photos, I head to my bedroom to start on some grading. My phone rings three papers in.

  “Hi, Claire. How are you? How was the first day back?” Dan’s voice is just the remedy I need after today.

  “Hi. It was odd, very odd.”

  “You all right?”

  “I’m better now, but I was a bit of a wreck this morning when I saw photos of us on the Internet. I just got home yesterday, and it’s online already? How does that happen?”

  “Yeah. Saw them. It’s always off-putting how fast they are.”

  I pause. “You saw them? Were you Googling yourself?”

  “What? No. Len told me there were some photos of us, so I looked them up.”

  “You did? And what’d you think?”

  “That you look downright smitten with me.” He laughs.

  I can’t help but smile. “I look smitten with you? Ha! Do you always Google yourself? Is this a hobby of yours?”

  He laughs. “Yes, I am completely in love with myself. In fact, I printed out the photos, cut you out of them, and pasted myself around my bedroom walls—you know, for nighttime inspiration.”

  I’m laughing so hard I can’t speak.

  “Claire?”

  “I’m sorry.” I gasp and wipe the tears from my eyes. “You’re so funny.”

  He chuckles. “Actually, I searched us because I have no photos of you. I can’t believe I didn’t take one photo of us. Anyway, I figured since the paps make enough money off of me, I can at least use it to my advantage once in a while.”

  “Very true.” I’m smiling from ear to ear and relatively speechless. He wants a photo of us!

  “So, aside from the photos, did you have a good day?”

  “Well, other than the fact that my students pummeled me with questions first thing, and now they think I’m some sort of groupie, it was good. How was your day?”

  “A groupie?” He laughs.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t funny this morning. It was humiliating, and I’m not looking forward to work tomorrow. I feel like a sideshow freak with all the stares aimed my way.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, this will be old news by the end of the week. It always happens fast and fades out just as quickly.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What if it doesn’t die out by the end of the week?”

  He pauses. “Then when I see you, I’ll make sure to comfort you over and over and over. Actually, I’ll do that anyway. You are my girlfriend after all.”

  Girlfriend. That one teeny word shifts all my focus to just how much I miss him. “Sounds like a plan.”

  We’re silent for a moment.

  “All right, off to sleep with you. Tomorrow will be better than today. Trust me.”

  “Okay, Mr. Hollywood, I’m relying on your professional opinion.”

  He laughs. “I miss you, Claire.”

  “I miss you, too . . . and thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For making me feel better about today.”

  “That’s what boyfriends do, don’t they?” He chuckles. “Sleep well. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, good night.”

  “Night.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tuesday isn’t nearly as bad as Monday, and now that it’s hump day morning, I’m more confident that Dan’s prediction was right. Things are calming down—slowly, but it’s happening. The stares were fewer yesterday, the whispers quieter, and the questions asked less often. I’m confident, that is, until something catches my eye at the newsstand I pass on my way to work.

  Is that me? On a pole!

  I stop dead. Falling. Down, down, down . . .

  “Hot for Teacher,” “Dance of Love,” and “Stripping Down” are the headlines on several papers.

  I reach for one in what feels like slow motion. I examine the photo on the cover—a grainy photo of me with my leg extended while I grip the pole.

  Oh God!

  I quickly flip through to find the article. On the left side of the page is a collage of Dan and me, some photos from the other day, and new, far more horrifying ones, too. In one, I’m in motion, twirling around the pole, my hair flying behind me. I’m straddling the pole in another. Dan and I are against the wall in a third, with his hand hovering near my breast. The last one shows Dan hauling me out of the club.

  Wide-eyed and unable to move, I can’t stop staring at the horror printed on the pages. I’m afraid to read the accompanying article, but I swallow and read on.

  Hot for teacher? Daniel Chase, star of Life in Eden and the upcoming film A Long Walk Through Night, sure is!

  Making L.A. their playground this past weekend, Chase and Claire Parelli, a New York City schoolteacher, had quite the lunch recess!

  From hitting eatery after eatery to grocery shopping to spending time at a Blue Devils concert, the two seemed quite a cozy pair. A source at the concert reveals, “They made out the whole time!”

  The couple was seen at dinner and around town, but it was their night at The Big Top, a popular circus-themed burlesque club, where Parelli’s class on How to Turn On Our Favorite Hollywood Heartthrob was in session.

  Hopping up on stage, Parelli danced for her man by slithering along the steel pole. According to eyewitnesses, Chase couldn’t keep his hands off Parelli after her sexy display. The two reportedly left soon after for a one-on-one tutoring session!

  Reps for Chase refuse to comment, but stay tuned—more details are flooding in fast!

  The paper shakes; I realize it’s my hands. I glance at the other papers and see similar photos on their covers. Dear God, it’s everywhere!

  “You gonna buy that, Miss?”

  My head snaps up to the vendor. “Um, yeah.” I pull cash from my bag, pay, and shove the paper into my satchel.

  Head down, I race to the school, where I pace in my classroom before anyone arrives, strategizing how to handle the day and the students. But then . . . Wait! They already know I’m dating him. Yes! I sigh in reli
ef. They just don’t know about the pole! I panic all over again, pulling at my hair. This is terrible!

  The students arrive, and it’s obvious from the loud whispers they think they know every sordid detail. A few students even bought copies of the papers to share my dirty bits of shame with their friends.

  By three o’clock, I’m desperate to leave. I pack my bag and can’t wait to hit the gym; I need to release some of the anxiety flooding my system. When I step outside the building, a flurry of flashes greets me. I’m stunned and confused for a moment, and then I hear my name shouted.

  What the—?

  Paparazzi!

  I quickly snap-to and realize I need to move—and move fast. I begin the longest two-block bolt of my life from the school to the gym. Three men follow me. They click away, asking if I’m Claire Parelli, asking about Dan, asking for more and more information. I’m overloaded but grateful I’m wearing sunglasses so they can’t see the tears welling in my eyes.

  When I arrive at the gym, I’m shaken. I don’t work out. I can’t. Instead, I sit in the locker room, deciding how to escape. Once I’ve made a plan, I tell one of the trainers about the men following me. He looks at me like I’m insane, which I may very well be.

  Nonetheless, the trainer leads me to an unused, secondary entrance. I climb over old, dusty equipment to the warehouse-like door and escape into the creepy alley, which leads to the opposite side of the building.

  I race home and barrel through my apartment door, where Bridget and Camille are preparing dinner.

  “I see you’re back to working late again, eh?” Bridget teases.

  “I was just followed.” I drop my bags and lean against the closed front door, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

  Camille and Bridget whip their heads around to look at me.

  “By who?”

  “You okay?”

  “No! I’m not okay. There are photos from the strip club out in the world, and they know who I am!”

  “What?” Camille asks, her eyes wide as she rubs my arm.

  I fiddle though my bag and find the paper I bought this morning. I hold it out to Camille. She and Bridget look it over.

  “My name, that I live in New York, that I’m a teacher, that I humped a pole! It’s all there! I have no idea how they know. I barely held myself together at work, and when I left school, there were paparazzi waiting. They followed me to the gym!” I shake my arms out and shudder.

  Camille hands me a glass of water while Bridget runs to peer out the front windows.

  “I don’t see anyone out there now,” Bridget says. “You shook them?”

  I nod and take a drink. The cold water is soothing and takes my panic down a tiny notch.

  “Let’s sit,” Camille says, leading me to the sofa. Bridget joins us.

  We’re silent. It’s all too much.

  Finally, Bridget says, “You know, I don’t see the big issue. You were on vacation and having fun. There’s no harm in that.”

  “Absolutely. Letting loose is the whole point of a vacation,” Camille adds, nodding.

  “You’re just trying to make this seem better than it is. This is not cool! Not at all, and you know it! I work with teenage girls. I’m supposed to be a role model, and now their role model is not only dating a famous guy, but she’s also working a pole! A pole! They probably think that’s how I ended up with Dan. In fact, I know that’s one of their theories. I heard everything they said today.” I lean against the back of the sofa and cover my face.

  Another stretch of silence takes over the room.

  Camille touches my knee. “This is the same as the other day; it seems bad now, but it’ll calm down in a couple of days. Plus, it’s probably just a local thing anyway. You know how the papers here are. Now, breathe.”

  I breathe as instructed. I don’t feel better.

  “He’s really famous, Claire. You can’t get around that, you know? This is to be expected,” Bridget says matter-of-factly.

  I nod. “I guess.” I breathe again. “The thing is, in my head he’s just Dan. He’s not Daniel Chase, Super Movie Star.”

  “He wasn’t at first. You just know him now . . . and you’ve seen him naked.” Bridget raises her eyebrows at me.

  My eyes pop out of my head, and we erupt into laughter, relieving some of the tension. I’m not sure how they do it, but my friends always make me feel better, even if I don’t believe all their hooey.

  After all the commotion from the day, the moment my head hits the pillow, I’m out.

  Thursday morning, I awaken and lie in bed for a few minutes, steeling myself for the day ahead. Just two days and it’ll be the weekend; then things will calm down. Yes. Just get through today and tomorrow. I notice my phone has a message. I listen to it.

  “Hi, Claire,” says my gorgeous English boyfriend, whose voice soothes me every time. “Guess I missed you. I hope you’re all right. Call me when you get in.” I notice the tension in his voice, but it’s too early his time to call now. A text will have to do for the time being.

  Hi, Dan. Sorry I missed you. Passed out early last night. I’m okay. Camille and Bridget talked me off the ledge. Hope you have a good day. Talk to you tonight. ~ C xo

  On my walk to work, the closer I get to the school, the tighter my stomach twists. I brace myself as best as I can, but when the school is in sight, I see them. They’re waiting. The paparazzi spot and surround me, clicking and clicking and clicking.

  “Claire!”

  “Claire!”

  “Claire! How’s Dan?”

  “Claire!”

  I push through them to the front doors.

  “Over here! Look this way, Claire!”

  I yank open the front door and launch myself inside, and though the shouting quickly fades as the door shuts, the fury of flashes continues. I breathe.

  In.

  Out.

  I’m shaking. All over. This can’t be happening! I scramble to my classroom, where I sit at my desk, head in my hands, trying to calm down. I breathe.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  The students come in quieter, thankfully, but the stares have intensified. I’m hardly focused all day, which disturbs me to no end. This is my job!

  I spend the day reminding myself that tomorrow’s Friday—only one more day ‘til the weekend, which will hopefully bring this to an end.

  By three in the afternoon, I realize I need to pull myself together. I have a meeting with John, the principal, about the fundraiser. He’s the last person I need to see me falling apart.

  With my fundraising folder in hand, I wait in his small office amidst the chaos of his papers and stacks of books. Too much nervous energy leaves my knee bouncing. I focus on my breathing, attempting to relax. God, please don’t let paparazzi be there when I leave today.

  John enters with sweat beading across his hairline. He closes the door. “Hello, Claire,” he says as his stubby hand wipes his brow.

  “Hi, John.”

  He settles his short, apple body behind his desk. He watches me for a moment and then turns his attention to a set of identical pens on his desk; he begins to align them. “We need to talk, Claire.”

  My heart sinks.

  “I’ve been inundated with phone calls from parents all week.” He sighs and taps the pens into a line.

  “I’m not in the habit of keeping tabs on my staff outside the workplace; however, in this case, I had to do some, um, research to see what photos the parents were referring to.” He stops again, rakes his hands through his brown hair, and continues to painstakingly adjust the position of the pens. “Quite frankly, Claire, I’m shocked and very disappointed by those photos.”

  I stare at my fingers twisting in my lap and
nod, too afraid to speak. I chance a look. John examines his row of pens and then glances at what is surely my beet-red face.

  “What were you thinking?”

  Fear and humiliation surge through my veins. I’ve always been a model everything—daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, employee—but now, here I am with a dry mouth and a stomach that is at once tied in knots and churning with deep, nauseous regret. I try to explain even though my mind is coming up short. “He’s my boyfriend . . . and . . . I was on vaca—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Claire. You’re a teacher even off the clock. You know this.” He leans his head on his hands a moment before looking at the pens again. “And this situation is out of hand. There are photographers waiting outside. Onlookers, too. I’ve had to call in security to clear and patrol the entry. Not to mention that a group of parents are calling me left and right, threatening to pull their daughters out if you aren’t removed. They’re rallying other parents, too. You know how they work; they pay steep tuition for their girls not only to learn academics here, but for moral guidance. They expect that from us, Claire.”

  I hardly hear him over my pounding heartbeat echoing in my ears.

  He fiddles with the pens. “I think we both know I can’t have one of my teachers portrayed in compromising positions because, as much as the students may be impressed by it, what message is it sending? Not one we support here. I know you’re an adult and you can do whatever you like, but when your personal life threatens to damage my school’s reputation, I cannot condone or even turn a blind eye to it, Claire. I don’t think we even need to discuss the violation of the morality clause in your contract.”

  Morality clause?

  He continues quietly, his eyes down. “I was really hoping not to turn down this road.”

  God, no!

  “You’ve been such a dedicated teacher, and you’re a wonderful person, but the bottom line is that I need the parents to remain happy—we need the funding—and it’s my duty to safeguard the reputation of this school.” He pauses and finally looks me in the eye. “You’re going to have to leave.”