The Boyfriend Swap Read online

My cheeks ached from smiling and my hands were red and sore from clapping so hard. Nothing gave me as much satisfaction as standing in the wings as my little protégés brought their parents, grandparents, and siblings to their feet with their well-practiced song and dance routines. Tonight was the school’s winter concert, and the first graders’ rendition of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” was flawless. When I first came up with the dance moves, I feared they might require a bit more coordination than many of the students possessed, but as if by magic, even my youngest pupils managed to memorize the lyrics and belt them out—albeit not 100 percent in tune—while simultaneously shaking their little hips to the music. I felt a burst of emotion as the performance came to an end and braced myself for impact as the little ones bowed to the audience before running off the stage and into my arms.

  “You were all so great,” I exclaimed, hugging one after the other as their faces beamed up at me with pride. I loved so many aspects of my job, but my absolute favorite was organizing and directing the spring and winter concerts and the fifth-grade graduation ceremony. Coming up with new routines was challenging, but seeing them play out in front of me after all the hard work left me with a sense of satisfaction I didn’t know existed outside of performing until I first took on the task two years ago.

  While the first-grade students followed their teachers back to the audience where they would sit as a class until the final performance of the evening, I lined up the second graders.

  Standing in front of them, I asked, “You guys ready?”

  Three rows of heads bobbed up and down in answer, along with a few fist pumps. Considering they’d forgotten all the words during the final rehearsal earlier that day, I didn’t share their confidence, but I hoped for the best.

  I faced the audience as my heart beat rapidly in vicarious stage fright. Speaking into the microphone, I said, “I’m excited to present to you the second grade’s performance of ‘Snowflake Lake.’ This piece is extremely special because the students wrote the lyrics themselves with the help of their teachers, Ms. Eisenberg and Ms. Malfetta. Let’s give them a round of applause.” While the crowd clapped, I whispered, “Break a leg” and walked to the piano on the side of the stage. I clasped the fingers of my hands together and stretched them out in front of me. With one more nod of encouragement at the kids, whose heads were turned toward me for my cue, I played the introductory notes and waited for them to start singing. I tapped the piano keys with shaky fingers, and it wasn’t until they belted out the chorus one last time without any bumbles that I let myself breathe.

  “Take me down to Snowflake Lake because winter’s here and it’s too cold to bike. Take me down to Snowflake Lake. Fall from the sky with no two alike.”

  The second the music stopped, the crowd broke into rambunctious applause. As a tear of joy peppered with relief dropped down my cheek, I jumped up from the piano bench and joined the standing ovation until the kids happily waved at their fans as they skipped off the stage.

  During the brief intermission, I basked in the success of the concert so far. I didn’t have much time before I’d need to mentally prepare myself for the third, fourth, and fifth grade performances still to come, but was enjoying a rare moment without the kids jumping on top of me when I heard my name being called. I turned around and smiled wide. “Lynn.” I rushed into Lynn Berryman’s waiting arms and squeezed tightly. I had replaced Lynn as the school’s music teacher when she retired after forty years of service. The school had taken a chance hiring me right out of graduate school, but the one year of training as her aide while getting my Masters in music education had proven invaluable. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Lynn grabbed hold of both of my arms and shined her brown eyes on me. “Wouldn’t miss it. You look beautiful. Your eyes pop in that dress.”

  I glanced down at my dark blue and turquoise silk dress and did a little twirl. “Thank you. You look wonderful too.” And she did. At almost seventy, Lynn maintained the muscle tone of someone twenty years younger, not a strand of gray hair poked out of her brunette bob, and she hadn’t lost an inch of height, towering over my five-foot-three frame by at least four inches. “Enjoying the show so far?”

  She nodded. “It’s wonderful. And the original song? Impressive. Your idea I’m guessing?”

  “It was an experiment.” I held my breath.

  Lynn gave me a soft smile. “It paid off.”

  “Thank you.” I exhaled as heat crept across my cheeks. Lynn was very protective of the traditions she’d introduced to the school’s music program, and I hoped she wouldn’t be offended by my introduction of new customs, like original music.

  Lynn hugged me again, as if reading my mind. “I always knew I was leaving my babies in good hands,” she whispered.

  I grinned. “I learned from the best. Seeing you singing along from the front row at every concert is one of my favorite parts of the entire night.”

  “Thanks to you, I’ve got the best seat in the house after yours, which I need more than ever these days. Aging is not fun, but I guess it’s better than the alternative, right?” She winked at me.

  I nodded. “There will be a reserved seat in the front row with your name on it for as long as I’m the music teacher.”

  Surprised by the sadness that crossed Lynn’s eyes at my words, I frowned. “Did I say something wrong?” After Lynn retired, I hesitated to talk about the job too much during our periodic meetings for lunch for fear she’d resent me for taking her place. But she’d expressed her love of retirement—spending time with her grandchildren, organizing shows at an assisted-living community, and simply catching up on her soap operas—on so many occasions since then, I stopped worrying.

  Lynn covered her mouth with her hand for a moment but quickly dropped it. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said with a forced smile.

  I tilted my head to the side and studied her. Something was up.

  Glancing at her watch, she said, “You need to get going. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m fine.”

  “I’m worried now. Please tell me,” I pleaded. What if she was sick? She was my mentor, but I loved her like a grandmother.

  “I’m not ill,” she said, once again reading my mind.

  “Thank God. I can handle anything else.”

  She smiled softly. “Okay, here goes. A rumor is going around about the future of the music program at the school.”

  I pressed my lips together. “What sort of rumor?”

  Lynn sighed. “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s been pressure to up the foreign language curriculum at the elementary level and the budget is strained. My sources told me they’re considering cutting down on electives like music to generate more funds.” Patting me on the shoulder, she added, “It’s only a rumor, so please don’t let it upset you.” She shook her head and mumbled, “Me and my stupid mouth.”

  Despite Lynn’s plea to keep my worries at bay, I couldn’t unhear her words. I feared the uncertainty would be permanently nestled in my gut until I got to the bottom of it. Staring down at my sparkly silver heels, I asked, “Who are your sources?” even though there was no way she’d tell me. I could probably figure it out on my own, but it didn’t matter. My heart was shattered, not only for me—I could get a job at another school—but for the kids. How were children supposed to nurture their creative sides if schools focused entirely on academics?

  “Miss Lane. It’s time. It’s time.”

  Motioning toward the third graders, who were dancing in place in line outside of the auditorium and ready to strut their stuff onstage, Lynn said, “Go to your kids, Robyn. The show is greater than great. And you, my dear, are spectacular. Whatever this rumor is, it’s just that—a rumor—and it has nothing to do with tonight’s performance. Who knows when, if ever, these changes would take effect? You might be retired by then.” She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. “The best thing you can
do is lead those kids in the best concert this school has ever seen, and show them what they’d be missing without it.”

  I nodded as giddiness and nervous tingles for the upcoming number replaced my paranoia about the future of the music program. Lynn was right. It had nothing to do with tonight. Turning to the kids, I said, “Ready, everyone? Let’s show them how it’s done.” To Lynn, I said, “Want to watch this performance from the stage with me?”

  Lynn clapped her hands together like a child entering the gates at Disney World. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “And last but not least, please put your hands together for our music teacher, Robyn Lane.”

  My breath caught in my throat and my legs wobbled as I walked to where Principal Hogan stood centerstage waiting for me. He had already thanked Lance, the band instructor, for heading up the instrumental portion of the performance. I waved at the audience, who were now on their feet and clapping, before taking the hand he offered and shaking it. Even though I knew what was coming from the prior year and the year before that, it didn’t stop the butterflies that danced in my tummy as three of the first graders ran up on stage, each holding a giant sunflower.

  “Thank you, Ms. Lane,” they said one at time before handing me a flower and giving me a hug.

  Sneaking up behind them, Aimee Clay, a fifth grader with red hair like Little Orphan Annie and a singing voice to match, said, “We love you, Ms. Lane” before placing a large box wrapped in paper emblazoned with musical notes in my arms.

  “What’s this?” I whispered, raising and lowering the heavy box in genuine surprise.

  Aimee’s eyes twinkled as she feigned nonchalance. Shrugging, she said, “You’ll have to open it.”

  My fingers ripped off the paper. “Did you guys know about this?” I asked the audience. Not surprisingly, the crowd responded with a collective “No.”

  I reached into the box, gasping when I saw what was inside: a wooden plaque engraved with the words, “Robyn Lane. World’s Best Music Teacher” and signed by every student in the school. I held it up for all to see and blinked back my tears. Was this gift my swan song—a “thanks for everything, but we won’t be needing your services anymore” present? My lips trembled and I locked eyes with Lynn, who had returned to her seat in the front row. She gave me a sad smile and mouthed “No” to my unspoken question.

  Forcing myself to let go of the rumor—it was just a rumor—I embraced the moment. I smiled at Aimee and the little ones. “Thank you so much. You guys are the best.” Into the microphone, I said, “Thank you all so much for coming and for helping to make this year’s winter concert a massive success.” I looked pointedly at Principal Hogan and then back at the crowd. “I look forward to directing many more amazing concerts in the years to come.”

  When Principal Hogan cleared his throat and said, “Thanks for coming everyone, and drive safely,” before placing his hand on the small of my back and escorting me off the stage, I prayed it had nothing to do with the fate of the music program and everything to do with wanting the kids to get to sleep at a reasonable hour on a school night.

  Afraid I would say something I shouldn’t, I declined a teacher friend’s invitation to go out for a drink and headed directly home. The brisk fresh air I breathed during the thirty-minute walk from the school in midtown to my apartment on the Upper West Side did wonders for my psyche, and by the time I waved at my doorman and stepped into my elevator, I was feeling better about things. Tonight was the first I’d heard about these so-called budget cuts. As a current teacher in the school and one who would be directly affected by any change, I would be the first to know, along with Lance. Lynn’s sources were probably mistaken. I smiled as my phone pinged a text message. It was probably Perry on a break from work asking how the show went. Locking the front door behind me, I plopped myself on the gray fabric sofa and reached into my bag for my phone. The text wasn’t from Perry but from an unknown number, and I opened it with curiosity.

  Hi Robyn, it’s Sidney. Anne Marie gave me your number. Are you free on Saturday night? I told Will we were having drinks with my new friend and her boyfriend. Waiting until we’re all together to drop the TBS bomb. Let me know if it’s good for you.

  Letting the phone fall to my lap, I closed my eyes and leaned against the couch in confusion. TBS? I was only twenty-six, but felt too old for all the new lingo. Aside from the basics—LOL, FWB, TTYL—I didn’t understand half of the coded vocabulary used by the kids at school. Wasn’t TBS a television station? Oh. I opened my eyes. Oh.

  TBS: The Boyfriend Swap.

  Chapter 3

  Sidney

  “Who are we meeting again?” Will asked as we climbed the stairs up from the subway onto the street.

  Will walked briskly, and despite engaging in at least an hour of cardiovascular exercise five times a week, I had trouble keeping up with him. I squeezed the hand I was holding to slow him down. “Whoa, buddy. I’m wearing heels.”

  “Sorry. I always forget you’re older than me and might not be able to keep up,” Will teased with a straight-teeth smile that, even though he’d implied I was a cougar, made me wish we had time for a quickie. He was only a year younger than me. He slowed his pace and blew on his hands. “It’s cold.”

  Leaning into him, I said, “I’ll warm you up later” before stopping in front of the restaurant. “We’re here anyway.” I opened the door and scanned the dimly lit room, looking for Robyn. “There they are,” I said, pointing to where she sat at a table laughing with a guy, presumably Perry. Even though they were sitting, I could tell he was at least a foot taller than her and, to my relief, very attractive. Actually, he was gorgeous. Not that Will was a slouch in the looks department—he was totes sexy—but this guy looked like a movie star, with longish hair the color of caramel and giant blue eyes under full eyebrows. He had to be lacking in talent big-time to look as good as he did yet struggle to get work as much as Robyn had implied at her wine party the previous weekend.

  “You never answered my question. Who’s ‘they’?” Will asked from behind me.

  Waving at Robyn, who had just looked our way and flashed me a timid smile, I said, “My new friend Robyn and her boyfriend.” When the hostess approached, I pointed at Robyn’s table, said, “We’re with those guys over there,” and kept walking.

  “Hi. So sorry we’re late.” I gave Robyn, who had stood up to greet me, a kiss on the cheek.

  Robyn straightened out her bright yellow pencil skirt and tucked a wavy strand of hair behind her ear. “No worries. I had a drink.” Pointing at Perry, she said, “He had two.” She introduced us.

  “Good to meet you,” I said, shrugging off my winter white wool coat and draping it against an empty chair. “This is Will.” I turned around to the empty space I thought Will was filling behind me. “Where the hell…” He had stopped to chat with a couple at another table. “I swear, he’s like the mayor of the Upper East Side. Knows people wherever we go.” I watched him in amusement until he finally looked our way.

  Approaching us with a smile, he said, “Sorry. Friend from law school.” His grin broadened as soon as he set his dark hazel eyes on Robyn. “Snow White? Is that you?”

  “Snow…what?” I repeated, looking at Robyn.

  Robyn’s cheeks flushed an almost fluorescent shade of pink. “Oh my gosh. You’re Will?”

  As Robyn’s wineglass teetered on the edge of the table, Perry stabilized it before giving Will a curious once-over. He met my eyes and mouthed, “Snow White?”

  I shrugged and nudged Will in the knee. “Sit down. And please explain how you two know each other.” I hoped their prior acquaintance would help and not hinder our plan.

  “We went to high school together,” Robyn said, a distinct tremble in her voice, at the same time Will said, “We lived on the same street growing up.”

  “Snow White,” Will said, shaking his head. “Wow. How�
�ve you been?”

  Perry cleared his throat. “Someone please explain the origin of Snow White.” He gazed over my head and lifted his empty glass. Within ten seconds, a waitress was at our table.

  Conversation halted while we ordered a round of drinks and a truffle-oil popcorn appetizer for the table, but as soon as the waitress walked away, all eyes were on Robyn.

  She smiled shyly, her face still flushed. “No one’s called me that in ages. Somehow, I got the nickname in high school. Everyone assumed I was pure as snow.” She fiddled with her cocktail napkin.

  “Were you?” Perry asked in disbelief, making me question whether the missionary position was even in their repertoire.

  I predicted Robyn’s answer would be “yes.”

  Robyn took a sip of wine and mumbled, “No comment” into her glass. Then she looked up at us and giggled. “Totally.” She reached for her glass again and knocked it over the table. “I’m sorry!” she yelped, jumping up from the table.

  Will stood up and mopped up the spilled red liquid with his cocktail napkin. “No worries. Shit happens.”

  “Here,” I said, handing her my napkin as Perry hailed down the waitress. She was conveniently headed our way with our drinks and the popcorn. Poor Robyn looked mortified, and I second-guessed her ability to pull off the swap. The meet and greet was the easy part, and she was already falling apart.

  The waitress washed down the table, and after Robyn ordered a fresh glass of wine, we resumed the conversation.

  I swept my long fringe-style bangs to the side. “So Robyn was awarded the Snow White nickname because she was innocent?” I found it odd, since there were plenty of girls in my high school who could have joined the virginity club. I was no longer eligible midway through my junior year after giving my v-card to the son of one of my father’s biggest clients at the annual Bellows’ Christmas party.

  Will pursed his lips together. “Not exactly.”

  Robyn’s electric blue eyes opened wide. “It wasn’t?”