Resist

Chapter One

The only thing I could hear was the echo of my heels hitting the concrete. They made a sharp sound each time I took a step, a distinctive click-clack noise that could only be made by the point of a thin stiletto. Slipping them on this morning had made me feel confident. I called them my power heels. I was taller—stronger even with them on. But now I realized how loud my footsteps were. How they drew attention to my every move.

It was strange how things could be cocooned in a tunnel of noise while at the same time, amplifying everything around me—especially the echo of my stride.

I nervously flattened the thin belt around my waist and looked for signs for the exit. I stopped, scanning the arrows pointing right and left, and took a deep breath of the stale tunnel air. I should have tried this route before. My hands started to prickle with uneasiness. What if I was late? What if I missed the next shuttle?

Above me the speaker crackled as it sputtered to announce the arrival of the next train.

Everywhere I looked the women wore walking shoes. Not me. I was the newbie. The transplant. The rookie who made the mistake of wearing the highest heels I had in my closet because they matched my dress. On my first day I wanted to look like I belonged.

Instead, I didn’t. I looked like a novice D.C.’er.

Tomorrow I would shove my heels into my messenger bag like the other locals. I had walked down three flights of stairs from our rooftop apartment and another ten minutes to make it to the red line metro. We lived in a historic building without an elevator. It was charming, but the stairs were a pain in the ass.

Every part of me wanted to reach down and throw the heels in the nearest trash can, but then what? Was I considering showing up barefoot? I had to keep walking.

The metro I had ridden to the Tenleytown stop whizzed behind me, kicking up a hot wind that engulfed my arms and legs as I walked toward the escalator. I could already feel the fabric of my dress sticking to the creases in my skin. I hadn’t accounted for the August heat when I’d dressed before six.

Everything about me screamed tourist, instead of newly employed resident.

Greer had left for work before I’d fixed my first cup of coffee. I hadn’t been able to consult her on my choice. She would have probably warned me about the shoes. I couldn’t believe how early she had to arrive at her office. The few days since I had moved in she was gone before I was awake.

No one else seemed to notice how ill-suited I was for traveling the subway system. They were too busy staring at their smart phones and racing to their jobs. A man brushed past me, taking the spot ahead of me on the staircase.

I grabbed the railing quickly so he didn’t knock me off balance. He either hadn’t seen me, or hadn’t given a shit that he had bumped me.

I took note. The escalator was one more thing that didn’t agree with my heels. I teetered on the ridges of the metal steps, pushing my balance on the balls of my feet.

It didn’t help that I was holding a cup of coffee and trying to keep my bag on one shoulder.

Once I reached the street level I was supposed to take a left and hop on the shuttle to campus. From there it was only a five-minute ride. Of course, I had more walking to do once it deposited me on the sidewalk.

What the hell was I thinking wearing these shoes?

I exited the metro and turned for the spot where the bus would pick me up. D.C. was blistering hot in August. I stood at the stop, praying the shuttle would arrive quickly. I could feel the sweat trickle down the backs of my knees. God, what if it pooled into my shoes?

I hadn’t made it to work yet and I had already accumulated two strikes for fashion malfunctions.

I wanted to look polished and stylish. I wanted the dress and heels to give me an edge of sophistication. I wanted to make a statement. First impressions mattered. I deserved this position. I’d earned it. I wasn’t too young or green. My blond hair didn’t drop my IQ points. My southern background didn’t preclude me from intelligent discussions. Without fail I heard the same thing from people I met for the first time.

“Are you really twenty-eight? No. You could pass for twenty-one.”

I always got carded at bars. I was used to it. My friends laughed at me. It wasn’t embarrassing until the time I met my former boss for drinks and the waiter asked him what his daughter wanted to order. I had been mortified, mostly because he was forty.

My grandmother told me to be thankful I had an innocent face. That all the summers in the sun were kind to me. But when it came to being taken seriously at work, it was always a disadvantage. I felt as if I had to work harder than everyone else to prove myself. It was exhausting.

Today’s first impression mattered, and mine was going to be nothing but a wrinkled, mess of a sweaty dress I bought on sale and swollen feet I hobbled in on to my first staff meeting.

I didn’t want to question my decision to move to D.C. I didn’t want the nervousness to strike again. This was where I was supposed to be. I took a sip of coffee and waited for the shuttle. The liquid churned in my stomach. First day jitters were normal.

I never expected to be on this path. But here I was, changing the course of my career after a brutal two years in private practice. Instead of practicing law I was going to learn how to teach it. I didn’t know how to supervise students, or develop curriculum but I would. This program was exactly what I needed. So why did I feel so nauseatingly nervous?

I exhaled when I saw the bus round the corner. I stepped back as the doors opened outward. The driver looked straight ahead.

“Good morning.” I smiled.

“Mmmhmm.” He closed the door and hit the gas before I found a seat.

The shuttle lurched forward as my bag dropped off my shoulder and I lost control of my coffee. The cup hit the floor, separating from the lid as it splattered at my feet.

“Shit,” I whispered.

The beverage ran back and forth down the aisle as the bus stopped at the next light and then picked up speed again. I didn’t have anything to clean it up with and my shoes were now spotted with coffee drops.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

I refastened the lid and watched in horror as the spill spread from one end of the shuttle to the other. Oh God, this was a disaster.

There was a man at the back of the bus reading his phone. He never looked up or offered to help.

I looked around for something I could use.

“E

xcuse me.” I walked to the driver. “Do you have any paper towels or anything? I spilled some coffee. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t cross the red line,” he snapped.

“Oh, sorry.” I shrank back over the mark on the floor, watching the coffee dry on the tips of my heels. “Do you have something I could use? It was an accident.”

“We’re about to stop on campus. Hold on.” He seemed aggravated. I couldn’t tell if it was from the spill or because I had bothered him while he was driving.

I sat in the seat closest to him, waiting for him to hand me something, anything I could use.

The shuttle came to an abrupt halt. I looked out of the window and saw students walking across campus. My stomach did another flip. This wasn’t how I pictured my first day. When I laid in bed last night it played out like the opening scene of movie. I was the star conquering her dream job as the music swelled around me. Today was nothing like that vision.

Without turning around the driver handed a roll of paper towels to me over his right shoulder.

“I gotta keep a schedule,” he smacked.

“It will only take a second,” I explained.

The other passenger jogged down the stairs and walked off.

My fitted dress made it hard to kneel to the floor and I didn’t want to soak up any of the coffee on the hem. I tried to balance while I sopped up the mix of coffee and cream. I did the best I could, running the paper towels over the aisle with my foot.

I gathered up the trash and tossed it in the wastebasket by the door.

“Thank you. Sorry about the spill.” I carefully stepped onto the sidewalk.