Claire jolted awake to the ear-splitting shriek of her alarm.
It wasn't the gentle chime she'd carefully selected, nor the soothing melody designed to ease her into consciousness. No, this was the backup alarm, the one that resembled a fire drill and signaled she'd already slapped snooze a disastrous three times, making her officially, irrevocably late.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she shot upright and grabbed her phone.
8:47 AM.
No, she thought, her eyes glued to the numbers as if willing them to rearrange into something less catastrophic. No, no, no!
School started at 9:00.
Claire lurched out of bed, her feet ensnared in the sheets, sending her stumbling headfirst toward her dresser. She snatched the first clothes within reach - jeans, a sweater, a combination that likely clashed horribly, but she lacked the time to care - and dashed toward the bathroom.
Brush, wash, go! Go, go, go!
She cranked open the faucet, grabbed her toothbrush, and began scrubbing with the frantic energy born of sheer panic.
And then, as the toothpaste foam filled her mouth and her reflection stared back, hair a mess and yesterday's mascara smeared under her eyes, a stray thought surfaced.
Wait.
Claire paused mid-brush, frowning at her reflection.
How did I even get home last night?
Her memory felt…fuzzy. Edges blurred. She recalled the bar, Amelia, Jacob, and Annie. She remembered laughter, and drinks - perhaps one too many.
And then…
Nothing.
Just a void. And then waking up here, in her apartment, in her bed, fully clothed.
Claire's frown deepened as she tried to penetrate the haze.
Did I walk? Did someone give me a ride? Did I -
Then it hit her.
All at once, like a bucket of ice water thrown over her head.
"You're such a cutie."
Claire's eyes widened in horror.
The toothbrush tumbled from her mouth.
And then she screamed.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
---
Mrs. Chen, Claire's next-door neighbor - a kind woman in her sixties who dedicated her mornings to her balcony garden - was watering her petunias when the scream reverberated through the thin apartment walls.
She jumped, a genuine, startled leap, her hand jerking so violently that water sloshed from the watering can, drenching her slippers.
Mrs. Chen clutched her chest, eyes wide, and stared at the wall separating her from Claire's apartment.
"Did she saw a ghost?" she mumbled, still trying to catch her breath. "This early in the morning?"
She shook her head, set down the watering can, and made a mental note to check on Claire later.
---
Claire stood frozen in her bathroom, hands gripping the sink, staring at her horrified reflection.
I poked his face, she thought, the memory returning in vivid, mortifying detail. I poked Kennedy Walker's face. And called him a cutie. to his face. while drunk.
Her cheeks flamed.
She remembered his car. The gentle way he'd guided her into the passenger seat. The question about her address, and her pointing vaguely at a wall.
She remembered leaning her head on his shoulder.
Oh no, Claire thought, closing her eyes. Oh no, oh no, oh no!
Her phone buzzed from the bedroom.
8:51.
Right, she thought, dragging herself out of the spiral of embarrassment. Mortification later. Work now.
She rinsed her mouth, splashed water on her face, and bolted.
---
The train was packed.
Claire stood pressed against the door, her bag clutched tightly, desperately trying not to dwell on the fact that she'd skipped breakfast and her stomach was staging a full-blown revolt.
A granola bar resided in her bag, untouched. Each time she considered eating it, her stomach churned with anxiety, and she dismissed the idea.
You're such a cutie.
The words replayed in her mind, a broken record. In her own voice. Cheerful. Drunk. Utterly, shamelessly unfiltered.
Claire groaned and pressed her forehead against the cool train window.
Why, she thought miserably. Why did I say that? Why did I poke his face? Why do I have zero control when I drink?
The train screeched to a halt at her stop.
Claire stepped off, checked her phone - 8:58 - and broke into a sprint.
---
She was going to make it.
Maplewood Kindergarten appeared ahead - the cheerful yellow building, playground visible, familiar sign, the gate she walked through every morning.
She was going to make it. She would slip in through the front entrance, smile at the receptionist, reach her classroom, and pretend this morning never occurred.
Then she saw the car.
Sleek, black, undeniably expensive. Parked directly in front of the entrance.
Claire's pace faltered.
No.
Please, no.
The driver's side door swung open.
And Kennedy Walker emerged.
Tall, impeccably dressed, his long black hair neatly tied, suit perfectly tailored, a warm, calm expression as he opened the back door and helped Diana and Jenny from their car seats.
Claire froze.
Her brain, already running on empty and fueled by panic, shifted into overdrive.
He's here. He's here. The man whose face I poked is HERE.
Kennedy glanced up.
His eyes scanned the area - casual, unhurried - and Claire's heart stopped.
Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me -
Claire dove behind a nearby bush.
Literally. Into a shrub.
Crouching there, heart pounding, face burning with a mixture of panic and humiliation, she waited.
She could hear the twins' voices, bright and cheerful, calling out goodbyes. She could hear Kennedy's voice, low and warm, telling them to have a good day.
And then, finally, she heard the car door close.
The engine started. The car pulled away.
Claire waited an extra thirty seconds - just to be safe - and then slowly, cautiously, extracted herself from the bush.
Her hair was full of leaves. A small tear marred her sweater's shoulder. Dirt smudged her hands.
But she was alive. And she had avoided facing Kennedy Walker.
Small victories, Claire thought with a sigh.
She brushed herself off, took a deep breath, and headed toward the school's back entrance.
The rest of the morning was a blur.
Claire managed to slip into her classroom unnoticed. She greeted the children with her usual bright smile, guided them through the morning routine, and threw herself into her work with a focused determination born from desperately needing a distraction.
Story time. Circle time. A brief chat with the principal about the upcoming field trip. A quick conversation with one of the other teachers in the break room.
Everything appeared fine. Normal. Exactly as it should be.
Except Claire still hadn't eaten.
The granola bar remained untouched in her bag. At lunch, she managed maybe three bites of her sandwich before her stomach churned with nerves, and she gave up.
By the time art class rolled around in the afternoon, Claire was running on fumes, caffeine, and sheer willpower.
But she smiled anyway. The children didn't need to know their teacher was having an existential crisis. They just needed crayons, encouragement, and someone to tell them their drawings were beautiful.
And Claire could do that.
She handed out paper and crayons, set up the easels, and unleashed the children's creativity.
Diana was drawing what looked like a very enthusiastic unicorn. Jenny was working on a detailed rendition of a flower garden. Everything was peaceful.
Then Diana looked up.
"Miss Claire?"
Claire smiled, crouching down beside her. "Yes, sweetie?"
Diana tilted her head, crayon paused. "Are you gonna marry Uncle Kenny and become our aunt?"
Claire's brain short-circuited.
"I - what?"
Jenny looked up from her drawing, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah! Are you?"
Claire stared at them, her mouth opening, closing, then opening again.
"No," she finally managed. "No, I'm - where did you hear that?"
Diana shrugged, as if it were the most normal question. "We heard Mommy and Uncle Kenny talking this morning."
"Uncle Kenny said he dropped you off at your house," Jenny added helpfully. "And Mommy said that was very sweet. And then she asked if he liked you."
Claire felt her face flush.
"That's - that's a misunderstanding," she said quickly, too quickly. "Your uncle was just being kind. He - he helped me get home safely. That's all."
Diana and Jenny exchanged a look only twins could share, full of unspoken communication and mischief.
"Okay," Diana said, in a tone that clearly meant, I don't believe you, but I'll let it go for now.
Claire stood up, her heart racing, and cleared her throat.
"Let's focus on our drawings, okay?" she said, her voice a little too bright.
The twins went back to their art. But Claire felt their curious, knowing eyes on her for the rest of the afternoon.
By the time the final bell rang and the last parent picked up the last child, Claire was exhausted.
Not just physically - though she was definitely running on fumes, having had no sleep and barely any food - but emotionally, mentally. The kind of tired that came from pretending everything was fine when it very much was not.
She sat at her desk, head in her hands, replaying the day in her mind.
The scream. The twins' question.
Are you gonna marry Uncle Kenny and become our aunt?
Claire groaned and buried her face in her arms.
I can never face him again, she thought miserably. I can't. I'll just... avoid him forever. That's a reasonable plan. People avoid other people all the time. It's fine.
Her phone buzzed.
Claire looked up, frowning, and checked the screen.
A text from Amelia.
How are you feeling? You were VERY drunk last night lol. Did you get home okay?
Claire stared at the message.
Then, slowly, she typed back:
I'm fine. Slightly dying. But fine.
Amelia's response was almost immediate.
Lol same. Let's never drink again.
Agreed, Claire typed.
She set her phone down, leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling.
The day was over. She had survived.
But somewhere - underneath the exhaustion, embarrassment, and mortification of it all - was a feeling she couldn't quite name.
Something small, warm, stubborn.
The memory of Kennedy's smile. The way he had looked at her in the car - not with judgment or annoyance, but with something gentle, kind.
The way he had made sure she got home safe.
Claire closed her eyes and sighed.
Fingers crossed, she thought. Fingers crossed I never have to see him again.
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true.
Because somewhere, buried deep where she didn't want to look too closely, was a tiny, traitorous hope.
A hope that maybe - just maybe - she would see him again.
And that this time, she wouldn't hide in a bush.
Probably.