"If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?"

~Abraham Lincoln

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

 We make our way into the school, and I'm immediately overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia.

Even from the main lobby, I can smell the scent of cleaner and cheesy bread coming from the cafeteria.

So they serve cheesy bread too? Growing up, I always thought Percival served lobster rolls, caviar, and drinks with little umbrellas in them for lunch.

But, as it turns out, kids have to suffer at Percival just as much as they do in Chestnut Ridge Middle. It's good to know that, sometimes, life really is fair.

"It's right back here," Barb instructs, taking a baggie out of her purse that's filled with coffee grounds, and pours it into a water bottle.

"It'll be cold brew in six hours," she says before I can ask.

"It really is a problem, and you should get help," I observe.

We go down a short hallway and enter into one of three rooms.

There are fifteen people mingling around a ring of chairs, all facing toward a table in the middle. It's like sneaking into one of my mom's Alcoholics Anonymous meetings all over again.

Most of the people are on the younger side—twenty-five to thirty-five—but I immediately notice a distinct difference between the two groups.

On the left, women wearing glitzy outfits and sparkling jewelry are conversing with one another, gently tossing bleached blonde hair over their shoulders once in a while. The diaper bags propped against the wall near them have their last names sewn on them and are stuffed with applesauce squeezies. If they can afford those things, they're definitely rich.

On the other side of the room, as if there's an invisible line down the center of the floor, are a different breed of people.

You have the pregnant mom who looks like she hasn't slept in weeks, "Messy hair Don't Care' shirt hanging over her large belly.

And then there's another mom with mousy brown hair, who's whipping out a container of disinfectant wipes to scrub down her seat before sitting down.

There's a man tucked away in a corner, the collar of his button-up shirt so tight around his neck, that his fat rolls are hanging over the material as he types away on his computer.

And then there's another dad talking to the disinfectant-wipe mom, nodding solemnly as he clutches a Kate Spade purse to his chest.

"That's Hayden," Barb whispers. "His wife left him a month ago. He's definitely not over it yet. And that's Janet he's talking to. She's kind of the mom around here."

It's no surprise to me when Barb goes over to that group.

I stand frozen, not sure what to do, and almost resist when Barb waves me over.

"Come meet my friends!" she says, loudly enough to draw every eye my way.

I grit my teeth and lift my chin.

I step over and give a wave. "Hi everyone, I'm Beverly Curie. I was forced to join the PTO by circumstances beyond my control. I intend to skip out on these meetings as much as I can and keep my involvement at a bare minimum. Just like high school all over again, am I right?"

"A-men, sister!" The businessman in the corner says, without looking up from his laptop.

A tall, slender woman with a blonde bob stands up. Her hair is so silky, that every time she moves, it shimmers like those weird tendrils of green algae that float in the ocean.

"Alright," she chirps, unsnapping her Gucci clutch and pulling out a stack of folded papers. "Let's get this semester started!"

"Hear, hear!" the rich part of the group cries.

The poor part of the group all exchange eyerolls at the same time I do. Maybe they're not so bad after all.

The Gucci mom clasps her hands together, pink acrylics clacking together. "It's the beginning of another fantastic year, ladies!" Her white smile falters. "Oh, and Hayden and David."

"Real nice, Kristen," Janet, the disinfectant guru, scoffs.

David, the businessman on the laptop, waves her off. "Don't mind me," he says distractedly, "I don't wanna be here anyway."

Kristen shrugs one shoulder before addressing the group again. I can't help but notice how she positions herself ever so slightly towards the rich group. "Anyway. I have so many ideas for fundraisers. Cabbage Patch Extraordinaire, anybodyyyy?!"

"For the Last Day of Summer Party?!" one of her groupies squeals.

"Or for the Pre-Harvest Festival Blowout?" another chimes in.

I lean over to Barb. "What...is this?"

"The worst thing about this school is that they always run the show," Barb mutters, a deep frown making wrinkles around her mouth. "We have about thirty-five unnecessary school celebrations every semester."

"Thirty-five?"

Barb nods fearfully. "They have a party for almost every national day on the calendar. You know, National Talk Like a Pirate Day, National Walk Around Things Day, National Ampersand Day—everything."

I hide a sarcastic laugh and murmur, "But surely when National Waffle Day, National Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day, and National Throw a Cherry Pie Into the Face of a Random Person Day comes around, it isn't so bad."

"None of those are gluten or dairy-free." Barb sighs. "And I don't think that last one's real."

I snort. "Yeah, well, don't tell that to my ex."

Barb giggles into her hand.

"A-hem!" Kristen interrupts, cutting her eyes at us. "We were discussing our plans for the Banana-Bonanza-Extravaganza?"

"For National Banana Day?" I guess, laughing and rolling my eyes.

"No, genius," Kristen snaps, "It's on September 12th, to celebrate the release date of the western TV show 'Bonanza'. And bananas would be a healthy and theme-appropriate snack choice."

I shrink in my seat.

Kristen presses her palms against the table and leans towards me.

"Uh oh," Barb whispers.

"I don't think we've officially met," Kristen says. Definitely not in a friendly way.

But I'm not about to let this Baby-Spice wannabe hippy get the best of me.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize, "I already introduced myself to this group over here. I must've forgotten about you and your..." I cast a contemplative gaze over the sea of fake blondes, "friends."

"Well, then, welcome," Kristen says through gritted teeth. "I'm guessing you've never been to a PTO meeting before, so I'll tell you how things work around here. We get together three days a week to discuss how we can better our child's experience here at Percival. We have strict rules."

I sit up. "Well, just so you know, last time someone told me they had strict rules, I was on a ski trip in Colorado. Let's just say that at some point between the green slope and the black diamond, I convinced three people to run around in bathing suits as they tried to see who could make it to the bottom without freezing. And they didn't even have skis." I lean against the table and toss my hair over my shoulder. "So go ahead and tell me your rules, babe. I'm all ears."

Kristen looks both confused and disgusted, but when I glance at Barb and her side of the room, they look impressed. Maybe even a little awed.

"O...kay." Kristen laughs nervously. "Well, girls, we have a little troublemaker on our hands." Another giggle. "Anyway, here they are: we all work as a team, and all decisions must be fifty-fifty and approved by Principal Norman. If anyone goes against those two simple rules, they can be asked to leave the PTO."

I take a quick sweep around the room. There are seven women who look like they'd definitely vote for whatever Kristen said, and six people on the other side, like Barb. Including me, we make an equal 7/7 ratio. I bet Kristen dominated all decisions before our side of the table stood a chance with those odds.

An easy smile spreads across Kristen's face like butter. "Now, as for this week's schedule, I hear Miss Rudy's kindergarten class needs some help." Her eyes narrow right at me. "Beverly, I think it'd be a great way for you to meet some people around here."

"We're still in Chestnut Ridge, aren't we?" I say. "It'd be shocking if I saw more people I didn't know."

Kristen shares a look with her side of the room and they all laugh. "Oh honey, we don't associate with people on the inner rim!"

"The...inner rim? Should I call Captain Kirk to explain what that means, or can I just ask you?"

"We don't really talk to those people. We're a different breed from a different part of town, you know?"

I nod slowly. "Right."

"So are you up to the task?"

I glance at Barb and Hayden and Janet. I feel some sense of nobility rise up in me, which makes a smirk come across my lips. I glare at Kristen dead in the eye and say, "Kindergarteners. How bad can they be?"