Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(33)

No! No! NO!

Holly rolled the passenger-side window down as fast as she could. “Ella!” she hollered. “Ella, it’s okay. Mommy hit your bus, but no one’s hurt. It’s just a fender bender.”

Mary-Margaret was at Holly’s window, eyes huge. “You just hit a school bus on the first day of school. Who does that?”

“---!”

“Well, I’m sure you’re sorry,” Mary-Margaret said. “Who wouldn’t be? Tell you what. You go talk to the bus driver and Principal Hayes about this fender bend—no! This accident—no! This senseless-collision-that-never-should-have-happened, and then maybe the PTA won’t suspend your driver’s license on school campus. Or distribute your face on a school flyer with the words Danger to Society in big bold letters that even the kindergarteners can read.” Mary-Margaret gasped, covering her mouth and pointing toward the school office. “Oh! Oh, my goodness, will you look at that?”

“---?”

“That. Bree-with-an-E Snelp. Who clearly needs help—because she’s running? In heels? Bree never runs. Ever.” Mary-Margaret stared at Holly. “You must have scared her. That’s not good. Bree-with-an-E wears Spanx. If she gets out of breath, she could faint and hurt herself. Then you’d really be sorry.”

“---?”

“It’s a nickname. Bree-with-an-E is the school historian; she’s a Scrapbooking Mom and a freelance writer for the Primm Gazette,” Mary-Margaret said. “Why won’t you get out of your car? You hit that bus three minutes ago. Get out. Do something. Why are you still sitting there clutching your steering wheel? You look absolutely panicked. Just a minute.” Mary-Margaret waved to Bree-with-an-E. “Over here! We’re over here!”

Bree-with-an-E arrived, completely out of breath, bulky camera hanging from a strap around her neck.

Mary-Margaret grabbed Bree-with-an-E by the shoulders. “Thank goodness you got here when you did, Bree-with-an-E.” Kiss, kiss. “Yes, of course I know what happened. I was here. I was an innocent bystander, minding my own business,” Mary-Margaret reported. “Bree-with-an-E, you know who this is, don’t you? The escape artist who sniper-crawled out of my meeting.”

Whoops! How does Mary-Margaret know about that? She knows I crawled out?

Mary-Margaret pointed at Holly’s vanilla hazelnut. “Honestly. An open cup of coffee?” She snickered. “With all the social injustice you’re bringing to our quiet little school,” she told Holly, “I sure hope you’re drinking free trade.”

Mary-Margaret shook her head at Bree-with-an-E as Holly glanced slowly in Ella’s direction. She couldn’t see her; the line had moved. Ella must be inside.

“Get this, Bree-with-an-E: she won’t get out of her car. It’s like she’s trapped inside, frozen to her seat.” Mary-Margaret placed both hands on her hips. “I give up with this one. Honestly, I do.”

Holly tried telling Mary-Margaret there weren’t any signs indicating cars couldn’t use the bus lane. But Mary-Margaret yipped at Holly and said something about crossing guards.

“It’s in the handbook,” Mary-Margaret said. “No one drives a car into the bus lane. Everything’s in the handbook.”

“---.”

“Well, if you didn’t sneak out of the meeting like a spy from the Southern Lakes PTA, you would have been given a handbook! And guess what? Since you left early, I signed you up. Congratulations. You’re now a kindergarten Room Mom. Next time, don’t crawl out of a PTA meeting on your stomach.” Mary-Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Escapees never truly escape—now do they?” Without skipping a beat, she added, “And yes, I know there was a stack of handbooks on the table beside me Friday night, but I forgot to give you one because you had me so flustered by your refusal to sign a school spirit clipboard. Who’s ever heard of a mom so determined to avoid volunteering? Are you sure you’re not from Southern Lakes?”

Holly wanted to throw up. Seriously, she felt nauseous. This whole thing was being blown out of proportion. Holly needed to inspect the damage to her car and the bus. Instead, she said something Mary-Margaret promptly ignored.

And then Mary-Margaret told Bree-with-an-E, “At the meeting Friday night, after twisting her arm, she offered to send napkins to a class party. Napkins! I know, right? So lame!”

“---?”

“What? I’m not overreacting,” Mary-Margaret said. “I never overreact. But guess what? The commuter traffic can’t get around the buses because the buses can’t get off the street to enter the bus lane. Listen.” She cupped an ear. “Everyone’s starting to honk. The entire town will be affected. People traveling on Village La-La will be late for work. Essential people like brain surgeons, NASA scientists, ambassadors to foreign countries, PTA presidents, people like that. Think of the impact on the local economy.” Mary-Margaret paused. Her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. Hip! Hip! This is great for you, Bree-with-an-E. You can write an article about this, and it’ll end up on the front page of the Primm Gazette. It will. I know it will.” She added, “My grandfather, Merchant Meek Hopscotch the Third, publishes the Primm Gazette. I’ll call him. Like, pronto. Oh, congratulations, Bree-with-an-E!” Mary-Margaret gave her a big hug. “The front page!”