Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(86)

Emily arrived.

“Hi, Emily!” Holly waved. “Hi, Suong-Lu.” Lucky for Holly, they sat beside her. Because why not. They were on the Pie Committee together. Made perfect sense that Emily and Suong-Lu would sit beside Holly. “Where’s Peyton and Jhone?”

Mary-Margaret took her place beside the gazebo, holding a sleek black megaphone that was so large and high tech it looked like Mary-Margaret held the head of Darth Vader.

“Helloooo!” she tootled into the back of Darth’s head as his mouth amplified her voice. The megaphone was so sensitive it picked up Mary-Margaret’s breathing. Just like Darth Vader.

“Pie Committee. Listen up.” Mary-Margaret snapped her fingers at the moms who were still talking. “We don’t have much time—our ovens are hot. First, some announcements from the PTA.”

Here we go. Holly settled in.

“As many of you know, Bree-with-an-E is plagued with chicken pox and can’t run this weekend’s Crayons-to-College Symposium. Unfortunately for the whole town, Holly Banks of Petunia Lane, who is fresh—fresh!—like lavender-scented fabric softener, has dropped the ball and won’t be running the Crayons-to-College Symposium on Bree’s behalf.”

Nnnope. Holly raised her hand. “Excuse me, Mary-Margaret? I didn’t drop the ball.” Holly cleared her throat. “Because I never picked it up.”

Mary-Margaret continued. “Bree-with-an-E, stricken with chicken pox, stricken with itchy pink constellations all over her body—the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia—asked Lavender to run the Crayons-to-College Symposium, but Lavender refused. So I’m sorry, moms, your children probably won’t be admitted to the college of their choice, because there will be no Crayons-to-College Symposium this weekend.” She clicked a button on Darth, raising the volume. “I repeat: There will be no Crayons-to-College Symposium this weekend. Visits from the Ivy League colleges have been canceled. Which is probably a good thing, since the whole town is infested with bugs. Thanks to Lavender.”

“I didn’t infest the town with bugs,” Holly announced. “That’s such a lie. You’re starting rumors. And I never agreed to run the Crayons-to-College Symposium.” She didn’t. She never agreed to that. Mary-Margaret better shut the hel-icopter up about those bugs, or I’ll take her @ss down right here.

Emily whispered in Holly’s ear, “If you promise not to tell anyone, I never agreed to be the Pie Committee chair. Mary-Margaret’s son plays on my son’s travel baseball team. Team jerseys arrived—all wrong. But it was too late. Coach opened the box before the game? Teenage boys played the season opener—not with the words PRIMM ROCKETS on their backs like it was supposed to read but PROM ROCKETS. The bleacher dads couldn’t resist. Jokes were horrible. Not at all age appropriate. And Mary-Margaret blamed me! Suggested I should do community service as the Pie Mom. So ridiculous. Community service? For a mom? Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“No one can do everything, but everyone can do something.” Mary-Margaret’s mouth was so close to Darth’s head, the megaphone took up half her face. Holly imagined David Prowse, the actor who played Darth Vader in Star Wars, stomping around the Pie Committee meeting in long black robes. “Unless, of course,” Mary-Margaret was saying, heavy breathing into Darth’s head, “you’re Lavender.”

Holly shot a look of dismay at Penelope, sitting a few seats away. Help me, Penelope. You got me into this. She’s your cousin.

“She’s insane,” Holly grumbled under her breath to Emily. And okay, yes, Holly might have been tucking her chin down to speak into her left breast. “She’s trying to ruin my life,” Holly told her boob. “But I refuse to be manipulated. I will be heard.”

Holly stood to confront Mary-Margaret, because why not? Holly was fed up and emboldened by her hidden camera. She was a filmmaker. She needed to capture great footage, or no one would subscribe to the YouTube channel Holly planned to create. Problem was, when she was done recording all of this, she still had to figure out how to retrieve the film footage from the MP3 file Caleb set up, import it to iMovie, somehow make a movie out of it, upload it to YouTube, and then splash it all over social media. Caleb had told Holly all about it. Made it sound so simple. That was how you broke into the world of indie film. Through social media. Which Holly knew nothing about. So there was that.

Mary-Margaret pressed Darth to her mouth. “Will everyone in the town square, everyone on The Lawn, please sit down?”

No. Holly refused to sit down. I’m going to be heard. I did not volunteer to run Crayons-to-College, nor did I infest the Village of Primm with bugs.

“Will everyone who’s wearing a light-purple Bill’s Pizza T-shirt and a pair of white jeans please sit down?”

Great. Now all the moms were staring at Holly’s Bill’s Pizza T-shirt. What if they noticed the pepperoni on her left breast had a tiny camera lens poking out of it where Holly’s left nipple sat?

“If you’re holding a cup of coffee,” Mary-Margaret continued, “if you have brown hair and need a root touch-up, will you please sit down?”

“I didn’t drop the ball!” Holly cupped her hands around her mouth. Her hands weren’t Darth, but hopefully, they’d do the job. “It’s not my ball. I don’t have any balls!”