Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(34)

“---.”

“Excuse me, Bree-with-an-E,” Mary-Margaret said. “I’m being interrupted.” Mary-Margaret glared at Holly like Holly was a child. “Yes? What is it? What’s so important?”

“---.”

“Yes, I know you want to go home. You always want to go home. But you can’t. You’re trapped. I suppose you could step out of your car and stand out here with us.”

“---.”

“No? Why not? Do you have environmental allergies that prevent you from leaving your car? Like, maybe you’re allergic to your kid’s school?”

“---.”

“No? Are you sure?”

“---.”

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“---.”

“Are you sure you’re sure you’re sure?”

“---!”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to yell at Mary-Margaret!” Mary-Margaret turned to Bree-with-an-E. “Bree-with-an-E, did you bring your camera? Of course you did. It’s the first day of school, and you’re a Scrapbooking Mom. Scrapbooking Moms document everything.”

Mary-Margaret said to Bree-with-an-E, “You should probably photograph her now before the police arrive.”

Wait. What? No.

“---!”

“Of course I need to call the police,” Mary-Margaret said, matter-of-factly. “There’s been an accident. An accident involving children.”

Holly looked at the children on the bus. They clearly couldn’t care less. The bus driver? He probably cared, but the bus in front of him was still unloading, so Holly assumed he couldn’t leave the driver’s seat until he pulled forward and unloaded all his kids, or the kids on his bus would be unsupervised. How long does it take to unload these buses? It was possible there was so much commotion on the bus on the first day of school he didn’t realize he’d been hit from behind. Who knew? It could happen.

“She’s not even wearing a seat belt,” Mary-Margaret said. “And she won’t get out of her car. She won’t budge.” Mary-Margaret leaned in to grumble in Bree-with-an-E’s ear. “I just found her, sitting here with an open cup of hot coffee. In the bus lane! Probably texting while her car was still running. Texting while carpooling. So dangerous! Let’s take a mug shot before the police arrive,” she told Bree-with-an-E. To Holly, Mary-Margaret said, “Get ready to say cheese!”

But then, suddenly, Mary-Margaret stopped. “Wait a minute.”

She leaned through Holly’s car window to get a closer look.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Mary-Margaret’s jaw dropped. She pointed.

Freaking crud, thought Holly. Just when I thought my morning couldn’t get any worse—

“Bree-with-an-E, look!” Mary-Margaret started in. “I’ve never seen anything like this in all my life. She looks normal from outside the window. In fact, if she were driving down the street, you wouldn’t think anything was strange about her at all. But now that I’m standing next to her, when I lean in the window to take a closer look—no wonder she won’t get out of the car. Look what she’s wearing! Pink and brown piggies? Those aren’t pants—those are pajama bottoms. What kind of a mother drives to school wearing pajama bottoms?”

Mary-Margaret snatched Bree-with-an-E’s camera, and Holly swore, if she were a cartoon character in the Sunday paper, she’d be drawn with a red face and squiggly lines around her head. If Holly were a comic strip, right about now, she’d be shouting all sorts of comic strip obscenicons and grawlixes at Mary-Margaret.

“@#$%&!”

“@#$%&!”

“@#$%&!”


But Mary-Margaret didn’t care.

Because she was Mary-Margaret.

“Say cheese!” Mary-Margaret sang.

CLICK!

Moment of truth? Cameras didn’t lie: Holly wasn’t like Plume. Other mothers were like Plume. Topiaries were fanciful living sculptures. Holly? She was a ficus tree. No! A spider plant: easy to grow but sprawling, shabby, and unattractive. Moving to the Village of Primm was a mistake. Holly was her mother’s daughter. Ais me, Ella, hit’s your mom. Comes to me, Ella; comes to Mommy.

If this morning had been filmed, if this morning were Holly’s submission to the Wilhelm Klaus Film Festival, she’d open with an expansive aerial shot of the village, capturing all the beauty and motherly perfection that was Primm. And then she’d zoom in on herself—the troll crouched low in piggy pajamas, desperately clutching a vanilla hazelnut coffee. Holly wished she’d never met the megalomaniacal Mary-Margaret St. James. When Holly was with Mary-Margaret, she lost all confidence. Lost her voice. She became this “---.” and this “---?” and this “---!” She became so small, so passive—poof!—you hardly saw her on the page. Holly was a flawed, hapless underdog lost in an unfamiliar land, powerless when facing the silver-tongued antagonist.

Poor Ella. Her childhood portal? Lined with piggy graffiti.

Holly wondered which was worse:

Being a bad mom?

Or becoming your mom?





11


After the commotion



Once inside the front foyer of Primm Academy, Principal Hayes directed Holly to a wooden bench outside the school office, instructing her to wait while the students finished entering and he had the chance to read morning announcements. Outside, the buses unloaded from Village La-La at the entrance to the circular drive, because Holly’s SUV sat pressed against Bus 13, blocking traffic from entering. Principal Hayes was very precise, telling Holly, in no uncertain terms, “Sit here. Do not leave.”