School Squad, page 2
I took a step back because I was sure Heather hated me. I had been awful to Bea last year, and if I were Bea’s mother I would definitely hate me. But as soon as Heather was done saying how long Bea’s hair had grown and counting her new freckles, she turned to me with a big I don’t hate you smile.
“Hi, Maisy,” she said. “You look great! Wish I had your complexion. I’ve been slathering myself in SPF one hundred all summer and still got sunburned at the farmers market last weekend. I was there forty-five minutes tops and looked like a lobster by the time I got home.”
Bea’s mom had been like a second mom to me since preschool. She taught me how to french braid using Bea’s American Girl dolls. She made me chamomile tea with extra clover honey whenever I felt anxious and always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. She cooked me well-done cheeseburgers even though she and Bea like theirs rare, because she knows I get nervous when there is any pink in my meat. I was really lucky she was talking to me as though I hadn’t ruined her daughter’s life last year.
“Maisy ran around the cabin spraying everyone with sunblock and bug spray before we went anywhere,” said Bea.
I cringed. “Yeah, I think I drove everyone crazy.”
“But no one got any bad burns or bug bites the whole summer,” Bea said.
“True,” I agreed.
Dad pulled up next to us in his Jeep with Grandma in the passenger seat. The Jeep top was down and I could tell by his tan that it had probably been down all summer without me and Addy complaining about Jeep hair.
“Grandma!” I yelled. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting your classroom ready?”
“Is that any way to greet your grandma?” she teased.
Dad helped her climb out of the Jeep. She’s a shorty, like me, so it was a long way down for her. Grandma, who always dresses her best, was wearing fitted white jeans with a turquoise and white tunic and a bright coral necklace. Her gold strappy sandals showed off her perfect pedicure, Essie’s Jelly Apple, the color she wears from Memorial Day until the first day of school, when she switches to her fall color, Essie’s Merino Cool.
Dad gave me a big bear hug. I thought about how mad I was when he had dropped me off at the camp bus and how I hadn’t even hugged him goodbye. I squeezed him extra tight.
“Missed you, Mini,” he said. “I didn’t have anyone to keep me from being a fashion disaster. My residents made fun of me last week for being too matchy-matchy, whatever that means.”
I gave Dad an extra squeeze. “Good thing I’m back.”
Dad threw my duffel in the back of the Jeep like it weighed two pounds instead of twenty.
He turned to Bea’s mom and said, “Hey, Red. Got any cheap house listings for my poor resident who’s drowning in student loans?”
Heather scrunched up her face like she was thinking hard. “Maybe I can set him up with a starter condo with solid resale value so he can turn it around when he gets on his feet.”
“Good plan,” Dad said. “I’ll give him your contact info.”
Heather smiled at Dad. “Thanks, Eddy! I owe you big time for connecting me with the head of your department. The commission on that sale is paying for spring break for Bea and me.”
Dad waved his hand like it was no big deal. “I wouldn’t recommend you if you didn’t do a good job.”
Heather ran over to Grandma and leaned down to wrap her in a big hug. “Congrats on your retirement, Raisa! I was so excited for you when I saw your Facebook post.”
“Thank you! I got the sweetest comments from all the kids I’ve taught over the years. Although after thirty-nine years of teaching, most of the ‘kids’ are all grown up now with families of their own.”
The tips of my fingers started tingling, like they always do when something doesn’t feel right. There’s nothing worse than realizing you’re the last person to know something important.
“I thought you were retiring next year so we could throw you a big party for teaching forty years,” I said.
We had looked at the Party City website last time Grandma visited and decided on black and silver for the party colors and big silver balloons in the shape of a four and a zero. We were even going to special-order a cake that was shaped like a classroom with a little fondant Grandma sitting at her desk.
Grandma pushed her oversized sunglasses on top of her shiny black hair so that I could see her hazel eyes, almond-shaped just like mine, Dad’s, and Addy’s. She said, “There are more important things than a stupid number. Like spending time with my favorite granddaughters.”
I smiled at Grandma, but the pins-and-needles feeling spread to my whole body. The only thing worse than finding something out last is being lied to. Grandma loves visiting us, but she’s always loved teaching more.
CHAPTER THREE
BEA
AS SOON AS MOM OPENED THE FRONT DOOR, MR. PEBBLES POUNCED down from the coffee table and rubbed his furry sides against my ankles with a loud purr that sounded like a lawn mower.
“Did you miss me? Did my favorite boy miss me?” I crooned as I scooped him up and flopped down on the couch with him in my arms.
He leaned his head back and parted his lips in a pointy-toothed grin while I rubbed his favorite spot behind his ears.
“Aw, I missed you too,” I said.
Mom plopped on the couch, snuggled up next to me, and said, “We’re so glad you’re back.” Her curls tickled my face. They smelled like Moroccan oil and coconut shampoo, a scent that always makes me feel like home.
“Did you hear about Dad and Monica?” I asked.
Mom sat up straighter and pulled her mass of curls out of her face and into an overflowing bun so she could get a better look at me with her big brown eyes. “Your father called me.”
“Did you see their proposal video? It’s on Instagram,” I said.
Mom’s mouth twitched. “There’s a proposal video?”
I nodded. “Maisy and I saw it when we finally got our phones back.”
“And it’s on Instagram?” Mom said, before bursting into giggles. “When your dad and I were together he didn’t even like me tagging pictures of him on Facebook.”
I reached under Mr. Pebbles and grabbed my phone from my jean shorts pocket. “I waited to watch it with you.”
Mom put on her reading glasses and leaned closer to my phone. “Why’s your dad’s proposal video on @morethanmomjeans?”
“Monica’s an influencer with half a million followers. Didn’t Dad tell you? She posted a denim overall dress from Madewell back in April and it’s been backordered for months. She made so much, it paid for Peyton’s and Vivi’s summer camps.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Dad’s Monica is the woman behind More Than Mom Jeans? I bought these pants after she posted them. When Jimmy said she was a mom blogger, I thought she was sharing recipes and cutesy posts about her kids.”
“How did you miss her engagement post if you’re such a big fan?” I asked.
Mom shook her hair loose from her bun so her big curls covered her pink cheeks. “I’ve been spending so much time with Gavin these days, I haven’t been on social media as much.”
I was happy Mom had found someone but wished it wasn’t my former math teacher who wore bowties and gave detention for chewing gum. Associating with Mr. Pembrook was not going to do my reputation any favors. The only thing saving me was that he taught at the elementary school.
I looked down at my phone and scrolled through Monica’s posts till I found the proposal video. “Here it is.” I turned up the volume.
Monica stood on the front lawn wearing high-waisted jeans, with a boxy linen button-down and buttery leather loafers. Her blond hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders and her makeup was flawless.
“When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to wear my new back-to-school clothes!” The tiny Monica on the screen smacked her hands together in excitement. “With these budget-friendly finds, the whole family can experience that fresh-start feeling this fall. Peyton and Vivi,” her face broke into a wide smile, “and my amazing boyfriend, Jimmy, are going to model for us today.”
Mom laughed. “She got your dad to model? This must be true love.”
Monica held out her arm. “First, we have Peyton, in Abercrombie and Fitch…”
Peyton’s only one year older than me, but the puberty gods have been far kinder to her. She has her mom’s sun-kissed hair, clear skin, and long legs. Peyton walked across the lawn wearing a fitted white T-shirt with the words WILL YOU painted in bold red across her chest.
Vivi, who is two years younger than Peyton, and as flawless as her mom and sister are, but with a round, friendly face and smile, ran out wearing a white T-shirt with the word MARRY painted on it.
Monica’s jaw dropped and she clasped her hands over her cheeks. Before she could say anything, Dad ran over wearing a white shirt that said ME.
“Oh, Jimmy,” Monica said, in a breathless voice, as Dad got down on one knee and popped open a ring box.
“You guys!” Tears streamed down Monica’s impeccably made-up face as she swept up the girls in a big hug. “I can’t believe you did this!”
“You didn’t answer the question,” Dad said, with his trademark crooked smile.
Monica dropped to her knees so she was at Dad’s level. She looked him in the eyes and said, “Yes!” Then her eyes shifted to her four hundred and eighty-nine thousand Instagram followers, and she shouted, “I said yes! The answer is yes!” She then reached out her hand and Dad pushed a platinum and diamond ring on her finger.
Peyton looked at her mom and said, “Now we can be a real family.”
I put my phone facedown on the coffee table and snuggled up to Mr. Pebbles.
“They make the perfect family, don’t they?” I scoffed.
Mom snuggled up closer to me and smoothed my hair down. “There’s no such thing as a perfect family. I was at a house closing last week and the family was an absolute nightmare. The three kids were bickering and playing something called the Fart and Sniff Game, which is just as disgusting as it sounds. The parents argued about whether or not to remodel the kitchen and whose mother could come stay first, the entire time we were signing the papers. But as soon as everything was signed, the mom made me take pictures of the family sitting on the front steps ’til I got the perfect shot, which she promptly posted on Instagram with #blessed.”
Sometimes I want to sit with my negative thoughts without Mom trying to fix things. I handed Mr. Pebbles to Mom and stood up.
“I have to go to the bathroom. Maisy and I drank a whole case of Capri Sun on the bus,” I said.
The bathroom was the only room where Mom wouldn’t trail behind me. I shut the door, ready to experience the peacefulness of being alone after bunking with four other girls all summer.
But as soon as I set foot in the bathroom, something felt different. I pushed back the elephant print linen shower curtain and noted the caddy was filled with our normal toiletries, but sitting on the rim of the tub was a tube of beard conditioner and two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. There was no way Mom or I could get a brush through our hair if we used two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, and we didn’t need beard conditioner, thank goodness.
I tried really hard not to think about Mr. Pembrook naked in my shower. Then, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I saw a book called Vegan Gut Health on the shelf over the toilet. Maisy was definitely going to paper the toilet seat next time she came over.
I needed to clear my head, and an ice-cold glass of chocolate milk is the cure for pretty much anything. I headed straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge, relishing the blast of cool air on my hot skin.
But on the glass shelf where my 2 percent milk always sits was a carton of oat milk. Behind it sat a large glass bottle of something called SouperFoods, which according to the label was a cold spinach, kale, and green apple soup that you drink like a smoothie.
The bathroom wasn’t the only place Mr. Pembrook had taken over, unless my bacon-cheeseburger-loving mom had converted to veganism while I was away.
Mom walked in the kitchen with Mr. Pebbles right behind her. She put her palm to her forehead and said, “I’m so sorry I forgot to buy cow’s milk!”
“Since when do you call real milk cow’s milk?” I asked.
“Gavin introduced me to oat milk and I haven’t had a sinus infection since. But I have everything we need for our Gilmore Girls marathon.” Mom ticked her list off on her fingers: “Our Luke’s Diner mugs, the makings for Luke’s famous burgers and fries, and Pop Tarts, Mallomars, and Red Vines for dessert.”
“Oh no. I forgot.” I closed the fridge door. “I made plans. Can we do it tomorrow night?”
Mom tilted her head and stared at me, looking more perplexed than mad. “How could you forget our annual post-camp tradition? We do it every year.”
“Maisy and I are hanging out with the M & Ms at Mia’s house. Please, can I go?”
“Mia Atwater?” Two vertical lines appeared between Mom’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t like those girls because they’re materialistic, fake, and superficial. Your words, not mine.”
“I was just being judgmental last year because I had no friends. Besides, the M & Ms are the most popular girls in school. Why wouldn’t I jump at the chance to hang out with them?”
“Since when do you care about being popular?” Mom asked.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore. Being popular is the exact opposite of that,” I said.
“But you have Maisy back,” Mom said. “You’re not alone anymore.”
“Yeah and if the M & Ms don’t accept me, I’ll lose Maisy all over again.”
“Maisy seems different. I don’t think you have to worry about her leaving you behind again,” Mom said.
“This is middle school, Mom. It’s survival of the fittest, which in this case means hanging out with the M & Ms. So I need to make that happen, no matter what.”
MAISY
“Isa’s little, like us, but super tough. She doesn’t let anyone push her around.” I shouted so Grandma could hear me over the wind whipping around us in the Jeep.
Grandma sat in the back with me. She wore a bandanna tied around her hair to keep it from flying about and sticking to her lip gloss like mine was currently doing. “Isa sounds like a spark plug.”
I nodded because being a spark plug is a huge compliment coming from Grandma. “We have to go on the Abercrombie site so I can show you some of Poppy’s modeling pictures. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever met, but she never brags,” I said.
“That’s good.” Grandma nodded. “No one likes a bragger.”
“It should be easy to stay in touch with your camp friends during the school year since you guys all have cell phones,” Dad said, as he turned into our driveway. “Not like when I was a kid and long distance was so expensive.”
Grandma took off her seat belt and slowly climbed down from the car with Dad’s help. “In my day, it was letter writing or nothing. I made a lot of friends at camp, but only stayed friends with the ones who actually wrote back.”
“Sounds kind of harsh, Mom,” Dad said.
Grandma smoothed down the front of her tunic and tugged her pant legs down. “I only stay friends with people who are willing to put in as much effort as I am. So if some girl tried to act like we were best friends after a whole school year of not writing… well, I wasn’t having that.”
“That’s savage, Grandma,” I said.
“That’s my mom,” Dad said. “Keeping it real since 1950.”
“Fake friends are worse than fake handbags.” Grandma smiled, like she was proud of herself. “I saw that on a meme.”
Dad laughed. “I don’t know what you did before Facebook.”
I unhitched my seat belt and jumped down from the car as soon as I saw our front yard. “You fixed Mom’s garden!”
When I was little, we had the best garden in town. Mom was so good at gardening that other women from town took pictures of our yard to give to their landscapers. When I left for camp, the most depressing sign of Mom’s situation was her garden, which had become overgrown with weeds and filled with dead flowers.
“I’m not much of a gardener, but my friend Bernadette volunteers at the Botanical Garden. We spent a lot of time FaceTiming while I cleaned things up,” Grandma said.
Dad smiled from ear to ear. “It’s been great having Grandma here. She really helped get the house in order.”
Dad’s voice was funny—like the car salesman who tried to upsell us the fancier minivan model with the moon roof. The front yard looked much better with the hot pink and purple flowering bushes by the front door, the rows of white, pink, and lavender flowers lining the house, and Mom’s vegetable garden boxes full of tomatoes, zucchinis, eggplants, and all different kinds of lettuce. But that tingly feeling was back in my fingers.
Grandma smiled at me. “After all these years working, I thought I was going to be bored. But I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed fixing up the house.”
“I’m so excited to get back to my room! After bunking with four girls all summer, I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed without anyone else snoring or talking.” I walked to the front door and waited for Dad to unlock it. “My camp friends are great, but they don’t believe in personal space.”
Dad and Grandma looked at each other.
Now on top of tingly hands and feet, my heart was pounding. The worst thing you can do to an anxious person is dangle a secret in front of them.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I demanded.
Dad cleared his throat. “Grandma’s staying with us to help out while Mom’s in treatment.”
Grandma added, “And to help make the transition easier when your mom comes home.”
“When is Mom—” I started to ask, but Dad cut me off.
“After you left for camp, I realized how much you were doing around the house to cover for Mom.” Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “I figured out you were the one ordering groceries, making Addy’s gym food, cleaning up, and doing laundry. With Grandma here, you can focus on yourself.”
