Resist
Copyright © 2017 by Violet Paige
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Chapter 1
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. My hands started to prickle with uneasiness. What if I was late? What if I missed the next shuttle?
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.
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.
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.
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.
I wanted to make a statement today. 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.
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.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”