Read Online Pinpoint (Point #4) by Olivia Luck - Free Book Online Page B

confidence in your abilities. It’s part of the job.” His shoulder brushed against mine, and when I look his way, I realize it was an inadvertent gesture.
    “I hope you’re right because I’m very nervous.”
    “You are this way.” Bruce juts his chin down one hallway, and I follow dutifully alongside him. “There’s nothing to worry about. For the most part, these kids want to be here. They sign up for Mentoring Chicago and pick what programs interest them. But you already knew that from orientation.”
    When we reach the double classroom, Bruce moves aside, enabling me to enter first. The room bathes in light when I flick the switches upward. In addition to the traditional desks and chairs, two full kitchens occupy the space, ideal for separating the students into two teams. We place my bags on the island in the closest kitchen. “All the tools in the drawers and cabinets are available to you, but please make sure you clean up and put them back. This is the lecture I have to give to everyone; I know you understand the rules.” He shakes his head ruefully, and I give him a sympathetic smile.
    Forcing a brave smile, I say, “Your job is to remind me of the rules. I get it.”
    Bruce nods. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. Maybe–” He hesitates, and I glance in his direction to find his cheeks taking a rosy sheen underneath his blond beard.
    “Yes?”
    “Never mind. Good luck tonight, Iris. I have to do another site visit after Grover, so I won’t see you again tonight.”
    “All right. Thanks for your help with my bags and the pep talk.” Not that it erased any of my anxiety, but it was kind of him to try.
    Bruce hovers a moment longer, making me uncomfortable. Finally, he leaves while I’m busy digging through the things I’ve brought. The first thing I unload is a portable speaker for my phone. I have less than an hour until my students arrive, and I need to work fast. Music from the playlist I created last night fills the classroom. All of the ingredients are in plastic containers for easy transport. I place each container in a neat line on each kitchen island and then set the recipe next to them.
    As my hips sway to “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)” and I softly sing the words to myself, I lay five orange and five yellow aprons across the backs of chairs. These weren’t part of the budget from Mentoring Chicago, but I couldn’t help myself. Violet had stopped me before I used puffy paint to put each kid’s name on the apron bib.
    “What’s with the corny music?” I jerk around in surprise. A gaggle of students stares at me skeptically. The one who spoke is a curvy girl with a lip curl to show her disdain of the Four Tops.
    This isn’t how I wanted my first impression to go, but a bright smile still stretches across my face. They’re here! I scurry to the speakers and adjust the volume.
    “I must have lost track of time. Sorry, guys. Come in, come in.” Cool air-conditioning blows from vents in the wall and the ceiling, but I’m sweating. I lift my hair off my neck and twist it into a ponytail. “The first rule of baking is to keep your hair away from the goods.”
    Crickets.
    Heat rushes to my cheeks as the students stare at with me indifference as they file into the room.
    “Grab any seat and help yourself to an apron,” I say hastily.
    “Jay-zus. What the fuck is this?” the same curvy girl grumbles under her breath.
    My back snaps straight. “Second rule of baking in my classroom is no curse words,” I say lightly.
    The girl glares at me reproachfully. “You ain’t our teacher.”
    “N-no, but I am responsible for the next two hours. That means you listen to my rules. My name is Iris Harper, and I’ll be your instructor for this course. You can call me Iris.” Darn, my voice won’t stay firm, and the kids clearly see it. Two students tap away on their cell phones while one picks at her manicure. Only one young man listens attentively, hands resting on