"I like long walks. Especially taken by people who annoy me."

~Fred Allen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 I get up at 6:30 the next day. Not because Aimee told me that I needed to wake up earlier than ten o'clock, but because I can't sleep and Jemma is an insane snorer.

Also because Dusty didn't fall asleep until midnight. Also because today I have to take the girls to school. Also because I'm secretly terrified. All in all, I got maybe about...two hours.

I clamber out of bed. This is the earliest I've woken up since I was birthed at 5 a.m. twenty-seven years ago.

I don't even bother putting on real clothes and opt to stay in my pajamas. It's all I can do not to fall headlong down the stairs as one word repeats in my mind: coffee, coffee, coffee.

I finally reach the coffee pot, scrambling for a mug like an addict in search of another hit.

After I pour myself a cup, I rest both elbows on the table and sink down to take a sip. The life-giving liquid warms my chest, yet I still feel the insurmountable desire to go back to bed.

I'm imagining crawling back into the covers, but a scream interrupts the reverie.

I flinch and accidentally splash hot coffee onto my chin.

I growl before heading upstairs.

I don't get far before Jemma almost rams into me on the way up, her blue hair sticking up every way imaginable.

"What do I wear?!" she shouts.

"I dunno, but clothes would be preferable," I mumble.

"My black shirt isn't here!" she explains, making a different expression other than frowning for the first time. It was one of panic. Refreshing. "And my other black one with the black sparkles is wrinkled!"

"Well, what about the other black one?" I suggest. "Or maybe the black one."

She scowls before running up the stairs.

I yawn and knock on Eloise's door, but, of course, she's already up, with everything packed in her lavender backpack.

Dusty, on the other hand, is still asleep.

I jostle her awake and she lashes out to hit me.

"Hey!" I cry, dodging just in time. "You need to get up!"

"No!"

I inch closer and shove her hip.

"Stop!" she screeches.

"It's time for school, you little rat!"

"I wanna sleep!"

"Uh, yeah, me too!" I scoff. Was this the same kid I was reading stories to last night?

"I'm not getting up," she grumbles into her pillow.

"We have five minutes to get you out of here!" I try to reason.

"No!"

I growl a complaint before grabbing Dusty's ankles and attempting to pull her off the bed.

She grabs onto the bedpost for dear life, howling like a cat that just got her tail stepped on.

"Noooo!" she bellows, as I put my full weight into trying to pry her off the bedpost.

The bed moves before she does.

"Okay, that's it," I mutter, going up to the bed and tickling Dusty's ribs.

She screams and tries to bat me away. Can a person laugh angrily? Because if so, that's what Dusty is doing.

I'm finally able to pick her up off the bed and put her on the floor.

By now, I'm panting like I just ran a mile. I point at her. "Five...minutes!"

I head back downstairs, where Jemma is still deciding between her two black shirts, and Eloise is in the corner reading.

"Hey!" I say, "We need to get going, people!"

Eloise looks up. "What about lunch?"

"Lunch." I whirl around, looking towards the kitchen hopefully as if three ham sandwiches will suddenly appear on the counter. "Umm...I'll give you money to buy from the cafeteria."

Jemma looks up from the black shirts in her lap. "School lunch is disgusting!"

"Okay, then starve." I shrug. "And by the way, the black sequined one would make you look like a primadonna on crack cocaine."

I run upstairs and bang on Dusty's door before running to my room to change. There's no way the girls are going to catch their bus on time.

I toss my hair into a bun and search for any decent clothes.

I forgot I haven't done any laundry in two weeks...

The only things I have are a pair of cut-off overalls and an elastic striped t-shirt.

I'll look like a 90's poster child, but it'll have to do. I don't plan on seeing anyone anyway.

Downstairs, Jemma has chosen a shirt, and Dusty is sitting on the floor, playing with a paper doll, acting just as chipper as she was yesterday. That kid has some serious mood swings...

I grab a handful of granola bars and two water bottles before ushering everyone out of the house.

"Hurry!" I say, checking my watch. It's seven-forty. We missed the bus by a long shot, but we can still make it to school on time.

As I speed down the road, having passed around the granola bars and water for breakfast, my exhaustion catches up with me. Suddenly I'm in a daze, blinking at the road in front of me.

"This is the worst," I mumble to myself. I even forgot my coffee at home.

I look down at my horrendous outfit. I guess it could be worse. I could be wearing a sports activity t-shirt and yoga pants like all of the other moms do.

"Aunt Beverly?" Eloise pipes up.

"What?"

"Just so you know, the PTO meetings start today."

I almost slam on brakes. "What?! How would you know that?! I didn't even join the PTO!"

"Mom did it for you," Eloise replies. "Didn't she tell you?"

"She did not." My frown deepens. This day just keeps getting better. Aimee probably knew I wouldn't join and did this just to spite me. It's so much like her.

Aimee's changed a lot since we were younger...but not completely.

One time she told me that we were going to an ugly sweater party for Christmas, so I went out and bought a sweater with two drunk reindeer on the front.

But when I showed up, everyone else was in black.

Apparently, it was not an ugly sweater party.

It was a funeral.

And, deep down, that's who Aimee really is. I'll never forgive her for this.

~~~~~~

I pull into the parent drop-off at the front of a massive school building. Percival Academy has no lack of wealth, which is probably why it sits a couple miles outside of town...so they won't be associated with Chestnut Ridge completely.

This private school is where all the rich kids go, and I have to admit, I've never seen it up close. I went to school at Chestnut Ridge Elementary, Chestnut Ridge Middle, and Chestnut Ridge High.

We judged all of the kids who went to Percival.

And now here I am...joining their PTO. My, how the tables have turned.

"Bye, Aunt Beverly!" Dusty sings, scooting out of the car as a woman in a neon construction vest opens the door for her.

"Bye!" Eloise says, closing her book and following Dusty outside.

Jemma, however, hesitates.

"You comin', sweetie?" the volunteer asks, peering into the car.

I look up in the rearview mirror as Jemma slowly makes her way across the seat.

"Show 'em who's boss," I say.

Jemma only scowls before heading outside. As I wait in line, I watch the three of them go off down the sidewalk and disappear inside the building.

Finally.

Some peace and quiet.

A text comes through my phone that says; Welcome to Percival Academy! This is a reminder that our PTO meetings start at eleven a.m. on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We're so glad that you chose Percival. See you then!

I toss the phone away and exhale, trying not to think about it. I sink into my seat and close my eyes after giving a yawn. My muscles relax and the world disappears for a few blessed moments.

~~~~~

I nearly kick out my steering wheel when someone knocks on my window, jarring me awake.

A woman is peering through, her cupped hands against the glass. When she sees me, her eyes widen. "Oh, good! You're okay!"

I squint and roll my window down a crack. "Can I help you?"

She smiles a perfectly straight, but somewhat yellowed smile. Her blue eyes are dilated by the tiniest fraction.

I locate the reason why.

She's holding a large coffee cup in a death grip, that makes a crease in-between the words "star" and "bucks". Is she visibly shaking?

"I just saw you in there, with your eyes closed, and thought, 'gee, is that lady okay?!' so, I knocked!" She gives a shrill laugh and I nod slowly.

"'Kay." I start rolling up the window.

Suddenly, she latches onto the glass, just as it's about to close.

"Hey, I just wanted to—ow!" she yelps, her fingers curling as they pinch between the window. She drops her coffee, and it goes splashing all over my car.

"Hey!" I cry. "Let go!"

"I can't!"

I try to make the window go down, but it won't. I jam the button, but it refuses to do anything.

"Pull them out!" I say, still trying to make the button work.

The woman grunts then squeaks in pain. "They're stuck!"

I twist in my seat and try to poke the woman's fingers back to the other side.

"Ow, ow, ow!" she pants.

I try wiggling the window, but it does nothing.

"We have to break the window!" she says.

"No way, lady," I grunt.

"Then we have to call the fire department!"

I unbuckle my seat belt. "Move out of the way."

I grab my phone and carefully get out of the car. I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing at the sight of a ritzy (although highly caffeinated) woman, bending over a car with her fingers rolled up in a window.

"What are you doing?" she asks meekly.

"Calling a mechanic." I dial the number and wait a few moments.

"Henry here, whatcha need?"

"Hey Henry," I sigh. "Look, I have—"

"Beverly!" he shouts, and I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "I heard you picked up a few extra little'ns here recently!"

"Yeah, that's where my problems start. I need you to send Jake over here to..." I almost can't say the words out loud, "to Percival Academy. I have a situation."

"Ah, you got it, Bevvy. Car won't start?"

I glance at the woman, who's trying to pick up her quarter-full Starbucks cup with her foot to see if she can still drink it. "Yeah, something like that."

"He'll be over in a few."

I hang up and lean against the car, avoiding the area that is now splashed with sticky caramel macchiato.

"So," I say heavily, "you are?"

The woman looks up from her pursuit of trying to pick up the coffee cup. "I'm Barb Trevor!"

I nod.

A few moments go by before she clears her throat. "And you?"

"Oh, right. I'm Beverly Curie."

Barb's eyes get wide again. "Oh, I know you! You work at the craft store. What is it? Red Ribbon's?"

"That's me."

"You helped me pick ideas for my baby shower!"

"Never mind, that definitely wasn't me."

"Oh." She tries to straighten out her back, but to no avail. "So, are you new?"

"Yep."

"How many kids do you have?"

"Three nieces, but only for six months."

"Oh," she repeats but doesn't ask for an explanation. I guess when someone gets their fingers rolled up in a car window, it really tones them down. "Are you planning on joining the PTO?"

"Unfortunately."

Her face brightens. "Cool! I'm going to the meeting at eleven. We could walk in together?"

I snort and nod towards her hands. "Yeah, good luck."

To my disbelief, she laughs. "Yeah, it'd be hard fitting this thing through the door!"

I give a small grin.

An old 1980's Ford truck comes rattling by all the Honda's, Jaguar's, and Lexus's.

"Salvation," I breathe.

The truck parks next to us, and a freckle-faced seventeen-year-old hops out. "Mornin' Miss Curie."

"Jake! Finally!" I cry.

"What seems to be the prob—" he stops short when he sees Barb. He sighs before hopping into the back of the truck to get out his tools. "This happens more than you'd think."

Barb and I glance at each other.

Jake does whatever mechanics do with their tools and gloves and oil stains, and the window finally loosens up.

Barb yanks her fingers out with an exhale of relief and clutches her hands to her chest.

"That's about all I can do," Jake says, "unless you bring the car into the shop."

I snort. "For the prices old Henry charges? No thanks, man."

He gets into his truck and backs out of the parking lot.

I turn and Barb is already drinking what's left of her coffee.

"Wow," I say, mostly disgusted, but a little impressed.

She takes the last gulp and says, "It's a bit of a problem."

I lift my hands. "No judgment here."

Barb checks her watch. "Oh crap, it's almost eleven."

"Guess we'd better go," I say ruefully.

Barb rubs her hands together and gestures toward the car. "Sorry about that, it was my fault."

"Yeah, it was."