She points to my right hand. “Explain.”
There are benefits to being on jury duty. Not having toteach anyone anything for several consecutive days is one of them. Knowing thatthe world is bigger than the one in which your principal reigns supreme isanother. Which is why, in the bathroom with the fake cigarette, I decide tohave a little fun with her and simultaneously throw a kid under the bus.
I take a deep breath and gather my courage.
“Oh, Martha. I’m so glad you are here. A little miscreantwas pretending to smoke this candy cigarette when I walked in to use thefacilities a moment ago. I, of course, immediately confiscated it, and sent herright to the principal’s office. You probably passed her in the halls justnow.”
“Really?” Martha asks, clearly intrigued but not yet quitebelieving me.
“Abso-lutely.” I begin wild gesticulations to addauthentication to my tale. “She’s, like, yea high and she has, like,brownish-blackish-blondish hair that’s not too long or short and is basicallystraight when it isn’t curly. I think you know her. Her mom’s on the board of ed,maybe?”
“Lucy Williams?” She is really getting into it now, goingthrough her mental Rolodex of faces. “Fourth grade?”
“Perhaps. Could have been third or fifth, though. Here.Evidence.” I put the remainder of the slightly damp confection in her hand.“But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run…I have a parent meeting in five,”I add, pushing open the bathroom door.
“But wait! Mrs.…Lauren. Are you back from jury duty?”
“Nope…case starts tomorrow. Could be a really longtrial. Don’t you worry, though; I’ll call the sub service. Unless you want tocontinue filling in?”
Martha’s brain is still catching up, and I’m not about tolet it finish processing.
“Nope? Then, see ya!”
And with that, I am off across the quad and through thedouble doors of the middle school building.
“That is hi-lari-ous!” Kat declares from her bar stoolperch. She swivels around a few times, beer glass in hand. “Jim, isn’t thathi-lari-ous?”
“Yup,” Jim concurs, handing each of us another Jell-Oshot. Kat takes one, but I decline.
“To the diministration!” Kat toasts, holding thesmall paper cup high over her head before sucking the contents out in one giantslurp.
“You sure?” Jim asks me, still holding the extra Jell-Oshot. The three of us were hired by the Hadley School District around the sametime, in our twenties, when Jell-O shots were a fun diversion from gradinghomework after school. At some point, I stopped joining the fun, but Kat andJim still go out at least once a month.
“I’ve got to get home to the kids soon, relieve thebabysitter. One-eighth of grain alcohol a day is plenty for me, thanks.”
“Always so responsible, Lauren is,” Kat pipes in.
“Wise for someone so short, Kat is,” I reply.
“How’s that babysitter working out?” Jim asks. “The oneyou found on Craigslist last summer?”
I shrug. “Oh, you know. Same. Horrible.”
“You haven’t fired her yet?” Kat laughs. “I thought youwere going to get rid of her at, like, Christmas. That was…” She counts on herfingers. “Four months ago!”
“Yeah, but who can fire someone at Christmastime?”
“Scrooge!” they both call out together.
“Jinx!” Kat adds, clearly tipsy.
“So why don’t you fire her now?” Jim adds.
“Because I need her. I hate her, but I need her.Otherwise, I can’t go to work.”
“So, don’t go to work!” Kat says, taking the last Jell-Oshot from Jim’s hand and inhaling it. Like it’s that simple, I think.“Hey, speaking of work, where is Jim Number Two?”
“You mean James, the other physical education teacher?”Jim asks.
“Yup,” Kat hiccups. “And Bo, the sort of lady one?”
Jim leans in close, whispering conspiratorially in Kat’sear. His short-sleeved T-shirt stretches tight across the Hulk muscles in hischest and arms. “I told them they couldn’t make it.”
Kat’s momentary confusion is replaced with a knowingsmile. “Ah! Very crafty!”
I wink, then wave in their general direction as I leaveFlannigan’s, though neither one is looking at me. It might be Kat calling out“See ya tomorrow, Lauren!” over Def Leppard, but I don’t reply.
Chapter 5
On my way home, my cell phone rings. Moncrieff comesup on the screen, so I answer and put it on speakerphone. “Jodi!”
“I can’t talk right now,” a husky whisper responds,wrapping my car in her distinctive voice.
“Then why did you call me?”
“I mean, I want to talk to you—I need to talk toyou—only I’ve gotta go.”
“Why is everyone doing this to me today?” I ask no one inparticular, since Jodi’s already hung up.
Two minutes later, Jodi calls back as I’m pulling into mydriveway. I idle in the car to listen to her tirade.
Jodi, like Kat, is one of my good friends. I met them bothat Hadley Middle School, though Jodi stopped working right before her firstdaughter was born. “Why would I want to be with someone’s else’s children whenI could just be with mine?” she’d said one day in the teachers’ lounge, rubbingher diamond-encrusted left hand across her protruding belly. No one could comeup with a sufficient retort, so we all just shrugged in her general directionand let her go.
Actually, no one ever can come up with a sufficient retortto anything that Jodi says, ever. Not her husband, her mother, her bestfriends, her kids, or any poor worker bee forced to deal with her wishes at anyhotel, restaurant, or store of any kind. It’s all in her delivery. That, plusthe fact that she’s disarmingly gorgeous. Suffice it to say that, in thisuniverse at least, Jodi’s always right, even when she’s completely wrong.
Some people find this behavior of hers shallow andaggressive. I find her self-absorption wholly refreshing.
In small doses.
I tune back in to her drama of the moment. “What was that?Is this about shoes?” I ask.
“Ugh! Yes! Aren’t you even listening? I wasin Palazzo Shoes and I was just trying to return a pair of Manolos,but the woman was giving me such a hard time,” she moans.
Jodi has a way of elongating words so that they sound,well, naughty.
“But that’s not why I’m calling. Let’s
