Lie, Lie Again(43)
Embry took the photo. “Yeah. Funny,” she said without humor. “Thanks for returning it.”
“Sure,” she said, still digging in her purse. She lifted her keys. “Found them! I better run. Have a great day!”
Embry shuttled Kylie to the car, her mind still tangled in the conversation. Had Riki been acting weird, or was she just flustered because she was running late? Probably the latter. And she was probably embarrassed that she’d accidentally taken something from the apartment. Riki was a nice person. Very nice. But seeing Brandon’s photo in her purse coupled with Kylie’s comment was making her stomach ache. Embry knew Riki thought he was handsome. Everyone did. It was just something she accepted. But she would not put up with someone coming after him, and especially not a trusted friend. That would hurt more than she could bear.
Sylvia sat at her kitchen table with a mug of hot coffee and pressed “Play” on the video she’d made. The pregnancy test sat on her kitchen counter.
A blur of pink washed through the window as a dizzying euphoria coursed through her. Maybe she should’ve set the video to music. It would’ve been such a nice touch. Delight settled in her belly as she watched the first pink line appear followed by the magical second line. She sighed happily, her body limp with joy.
It had been so easy. She’d dipped the stick in Embry’s pee, but of course hadn’t needed to record that, because presumably, she had peed on the stick in the privacy of her own bathroom. Hugh wouldn’t expect her to document that on film.
She’d placed the stick on a paper towel on the kitchen counter and used time-lapse video to capture the moment. It had felt so real, happy tears had formed in her eyes as she’d watched the two lines appear. Would Hugh tear up when he saw the video? Or would beads of sweat form along his hairline as his stomach rumbled and lurched? The father of two babies. Irish twins! Oh . . . she would have to use that in her message to him. Not today. No, she had to carefully construct her plans. First things first. And then she’d blast him with the delightful video. It would be a veritable kick to the crotch.
Riki sprinted up the steps to campus, her pulse racing. How could she have forgotten to move the headshot? She reviewed the conversation in her mind. Embry had believed her. Jeez, she hoped she’d believed her. She adjusted her tote and hurried into the main quad.
“Riki?”
She pivoted to see Principal Rosenkrantz approaching with long strides.
“Good morning!” She smiled, hoping he wasn’t going to comment on her tardiness. As he neared, she noticed his eyes were all squinty, making him look angry. Shoot! But it could be the sun, she thought.
He gave her a brief nod, the stern look remaining on his face even though he was now in the shadow of the building. “I’d like to have a word. My office, please.”
Why would he need to talk to her about being late in his office? It would make her even later . . . Oh, crap! She hadn’t sent the email. It was still sitting in her drafts folder. “Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. This was so not how she wanted to start her day. If she were at her old school, Principal Griffin would’ve had a laugh with her about the ridiculousness of the email complaints while they brainstormed solutions over a box of chocolates. Principal Griffin had a secret stash for such occasions.
As she walked into the office, she scanned the wall. It was lined on one side with tissue-paper butterflies made by a kindergarten class and limericks written by a first-grade class on the other. I wonder if a parent complained about the butterflies, she thought bitterly. And weren’t limericks rude? How dare they teach precious children about this ugly form of poetry at such an impressionable age! She followed the principal past Ms. Harper, his assistant, into his large office.
He motioned to the tiny plastic chair that sat opposite his desk, and she sat. It was kid-size, and she immediately felt at a disadvantage.
“Do you know why you’re here, Miss McFarlan?”
She crossed her legs, trying to get comfortable, but they were too long for the stupid little chair. “Is it because of the leprechaun-trap assignment? Mrs. Trainor mentioned she might email you.”
He nodded solemnly. “It is. How would you evaluate your handling of the situation?”
At least he wanted to hear what she had to say. Hopefully he recognized how silly Mrs. Trainor’s complaints were. She leaned forward. “I think I handled it well. Quite a few parents chimed in after Mrs. Trainor’s initial email, and I logged their opinions on whether they wanted their child to participate or not.” She hesitated as she recalled her list and hoped he wouldn’t ask to see it. She’d have to make a new version without the current label of “Crazy Parents.” Should she tell him she meant to send him an email, or would that make her sound flaky and forgetful?
Definitely flaky. She straightened. “I thought making the project optional was a good solution.”
Principal Rosenkrantz listened with his hands folded on the desk as she spoke. Very casually, he leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Mrs. Trainor told you she would bring this to my attention. Did it occur to you that you should’ve alerted me?”
Heat sprang up Riki’s neck, and she was certain her face was scarlet. Great. She was going to be written up because she’d forgotten to do something over the weekend. “Yes. I should’ve emailed you,” she responded, her tone flat.