Looking for direction and ideas

Hey kids, this is the start of my latest short story. I plan to keep it to ten pages or less. I have a picture of a woman riding an old fashioned style blue bicycle happily along a beach board walk, her head thrown back in laughter. She is the inspiration for this bit of fiction. Please read through what I have so far and leave suggestions for plot directions, especially regarding Tommy Wilks' father. I am totally open to this becoming a love story.
Thanks!!!!

   I don’t know where Mom came up with my name; Thayne Walton Lalaine. What kind of name is that for a girl? Mom has always been a free spirit, not a hippy, just marching to the beat of her own drum. I’ve never appreciated all the questions and strange faces that have come along with my unique nom de guerre. Perhaps, if I were a European super model, I could get away with the name and no one would think anything of it. In fact, I could just be Thayne. A one name wonder of the cat walk. Maybe an edgy pixie type with various tattoos and a portfolio full of fringe worthy, boundary breaking shots with backgrounds worthy of my unique persona.
    Alas, I am an elementary school teacher. My long, rather boring shock of mousy brown hair is woven into a simple braid about 350 days each year. I am a very averagely built woman, not particularly tall or short. I go to the gym at least four times a week but have never been aggressive enough in my efforts to be impressively toned or admirable. I hit the tanning bed for a week twice each year and consider that be an ample undertaking.  My make up does not consist of pushy blues, fuchsias or jewel toned lip colors that attract attention from hundreds of feet away as my imaginary alter ego might. I wear mascara and lip gloss, even for evening outings. I shop at Ann Taylor and would consider myself a business casual poster child. Maybe I’m not quite old enough to be dressing this way, my mom keeps telling me that I look older than her in my linen pantsuits and orthopedic shoes. What can I say? The fabric wears and breathes well and I have plantar fascitis in both feet. I will not be a slave to fashion. Mom thinks that my style is holding me back in pretty much every aspect of my life but especially in the spousal department.
    I am thirty-one and single. I’m not old and I am really accomplished. I own my own home and mow my own lawn. I have traveled the world and have only three or four more things to cross off my bucket list. I think that counts for something. Maybe people just expect more from me, with a name like Thayne. I should be more unique perhaps, or at least a little more granola. I’ve done my best to ignore the expectations of others, spoken or otherwise, especially those of my mother. She gave me the weird name in the first place, dooming me to never live up to its uniqueness.
    I have been able these thirty-one years to disregard the comments and looks at family and high school reunions. I have been content to live my life the same as I always have, feeling that if I were meant to find Mr. Right, he would eventually show up and he would just love and adore my Ann Taylor, slightly marmish style. I could have continued on this way indeterminately if it weren’t for Tommy Wilks. I have had problem students before but Tommy wasn’t what I would call a ‘problem.’ Tommy was unique and spirited. He reminded me of my mother. That alone made him a challenge for me.
    When he walked up to my desk to turn in his homework last Monday morning, he could have simply dropped the essay into the basket and then gone quietly back to his seat. Instead, Tommy dropped the food stained essay into the basket, ran his chubby little white hand through his brick red hair and gave me an appraising look. I could tell he had something on his mind and I have always tried to be attentive to my students.
    “Tommy, did you need something?” I lowered my glasses and placed them on the desk in my most professional manner.
    “Its just, um.. Well Miss Lalaine, you kind of look like.. Well, my dad says you should be a grandma. Are you a grandma Miss Lalaine?”
    I had no premonition, no feeling that this was where this conversation was heading and was thus ill prepared. I sat in my Eddie Bauer leather seat, just absolutely shocked. What was I supposed to say to this? I scoured my memory for a picture of Tommy Wilks’ dad. I could find nothing. When had I ever seen this man? When had he seen me? Who was he to say such a thing? Where did he get the nerve? And more importantly, did I really look like I could be a grandma? This injustice was ludicrous and my temper rose quickly past its usual realm of calm serenity.