Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(36)

“I don’t need your money,” Bree barked. “I need a nap.”

That’s it!

“Deal!” Holly jumped at the chance. “A nap. Let’s shake on it. You give me that photo, and I’ll give you a nap. I’ll come over to your house this afternoon and do whatever you want me to do so you can sleep. I’ll watch your children, clean your house.”

Bree scratched her elbow, presumably considering Holly’s offer. Holly suspected if Bree wasn’t careful, she might rip her skin off.

“Who are you?”

“Holly Banks.” Holly extended her hand to shake Bree’s, hoping the hives weren’t contagious. “I live on Petunia Lane.”

“That was a rhetorical question.” Bree ignored Holly’s offer to shake hands. “I know who you are.”

“So. Can I give you a nap? Because I’d really love to—in exchange for that photo. I’ll even do your dishes and fold your laundry so you can sleep, sleep, sleep. Want me to drive your carpools?”

“Carpools? No. Absolutely not,” Bree said. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you the photo if you run the Crayons-to-College Symposium this weekend.”

“What? Me?” Holly stammered. “Why, I—what?”

“Exactly,” Bree snipped, stomping down the hallway, fingernails raking her skin. “No one can do everything. But me? Me? I have to do everything.”

Primm’s sound system left something to be desired. A loud crackle pierced the airspace, followed by that familiar horrid whine you heard when the frequency distorted as it came out of a speaker. The voice of Principal Hayes, heard through tiny brown boxes mounted throughout the school, asked everyone to please stand to say the Pledge of Allegiance.

Holly stood to face the American flag hanging beside the office door, right hand covering her heart, pink and brown piggies covering her legs. She began when Principal Hayes began, but he spoke so incredibly slow it really dragged on.

Principal Hayes: “I.” (Pause.) “Pledge.” (Pause.) “Allegiance.” (Pause.)

Was he speaking slowly because he was teaching the pledge to the younger grades? Holly figured most families didn’t pledge allegiance to the flag over breakfast. They certainly didn’t in their home. By the time they were finally saying “to” (pause), “the” (pause), “flag,” Holly’s attention had drifted to the announcements on the large bulletin board beside her.

An enormous sun cut from bright-yellow paper smiled down on Holly, casting its paper rays on the red, white, and blue flyers pinned to the board. Upon closer inspection, Holly realized the entire board was dedicated to volunteer opportunities for parents. Each of the five cascading paper rays of the sun had a phrase written on it in Sharpie marker. Five rays of sunlight from left to right:

No one

can do everything

but everyone

can do something.

—Mary-Margaret St. James

Room parents needed. Parents needed for playground duty and cafeteria duty. Parents needed to lead Girl Scout troops, Cub Scouts, and an after-school soccer league. One flyer asked for eight parents to run a chess club after school on Wednesdays and Fridays. According to the flyer, if eight parents didn’t sign up to run the program and lead the instruction, students would be denied the opportunity to play tournament-level chess. Really? Holly assumed most homes in Primm had a chess set lying around. Couldn’t the kids play chess at home? Did they really need eight parents, twice per week, for two hours of chess instruction? She did some calculations. That was thirty-two cumulative hours of volunteer parent labor, per week, for six weeks. That was like a full-time job if done by one parent, and most parents already had plenty to do outside of the world of competitive chess. And get this: the cost to enroll your child in the chess program costs more than it would cost to buy a nice chess set. Am I wrong? Or am I cynical? Probably cynical.

A group of moms gathered, congregating on the eight-foot-wide welcome mat inside the front wooden doors of the school. One of the moms carried professionally made posters advertising the Cherry Festival on The Lawn. The other mothers held freshly baked cherry pies—presumably for the teachers’ lounge?

With no one else in the front foyer at that moment but the five of them, Holly had no choice but to say “hi” and “hello” to the Pie Moms. Turned out they were really nice. They answered back with typical mom-like greetings. “Exciting day, isn’t it?” “So sad summer with the little ones is over.” “Goes by so fast.” That sort of thing. They were everything you’d imagine pie-baking moms to be: relaxed yet polished, genuinely nice, and pretty, like angels. Pie angels. And while they were busy being their perfect little selves, Holly managed to blurt, “Where does Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz weigh a pie?” The Pie Moms exchanged glances, and then one of them said, “I give up. Where?”

Holly sang out the punch line: “‘Somewhere over the rainbow, weigh-a-pie . . .’”

Reaction from the Pie Moms? Nothing.

Not a word.

Nothing but silence.

It was awful.

And then one of them laughed—the one carrying the posters. So the others laughed too. And then Holly apologized, acknowledging the joke was stupid—and for the singing. Holly apologized for that, too, but the mom carrying the posters said, “No, no. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. It was funny. My name’s Emily.” She extended her hand to shake Holly’s. “I’m the Pie Mom for this year’s Cherry Festival on The Lawn. I run the pie auction. It’s like being the Cookie Mom for the Girl Scouts.”