It’s been a roller coaster of an evening, but on balance, I’d have to agree. “We certainly did. Almost scored a foursome, too.”

“Let’s keep that between you, me, and Brandon,” she says with a wink.

“Deal.” I shove my hands into my back pockets. “So, about Tuesday’s main event . . . What if I pick you up at the school? That way, I’ll be familiar with it before we meet with Kimberly Bailey.”

“That works,” she says. “I’ll text you the info. Good night, Dean.”

“Good night, Solange.”

I watch her go, then my brain starts messing with me. What if the call from Brandon was planned? An excuse to cut the evening short because she just isn’t interested in spending any more time with me than she absolutely needs to? No, Solange doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to play games like that. Besides, what does it matter? We’re two people brought together under unusual circumstances. Heading in different directions but with a common purpose for a finite period. I can’t forget she’s doing me a huge favor, and there’s no need to overthink every interaction. We just need to pretend we’re in love. For four outings. With a chance at partnership on the line—and an irritating colleague hoping to trip me up.

What the hell was I thinking?

Chapter Nine

Solange

“Next question: Name the three branches of government.”

Inspired by my conversation with Dean this past weekend, I hum the Final Jeopardy! tune as I wait for one of my students to answer.

Someone yells, “Beyoncé, Kelly, and Michelle.”

“True, true,” I say, nodding. “The ladies of Destiny’s Child definitely run the world.” I give them a self-satisfied grin. “See what I did there?”

A collective groan fills the room.

“Queen Bey was solo by the time she put out that song,” another student notes.

Semantics. Plainly, I’m wasting my best material on them. Eighteen-year-old ingrates.

With about fifteen minutes left in class, Dean enters through the back door (heh) and slips into a seat—presumably to observe but actually to send me into a tailspin. Men in suits don’t often catch my attention; Dean in a suit monopolizes it. It’s a three-piece, too. Smiling, he gives me a small wave.

“Right,” I say, tapping the top of my head as I try to stay on topic. “We were talking about branches. Political ones, not trees. Anyone remember the question?”

“Ms. Pereira, are you okay?” Layla, one of my best students, asks. “You seem off all of a sudden.”

The question makes me flinch, which only proves her point. When I refocus on the current crop of candidates in Victory Academy’s GED & Empowerment Class, twenty sets of eyes—a few struggling to remain open—are staring back at me.