Page 4 of The Game Is Afoot

That made my are-you-fucking-kidding-me operating system come right back online, which means I had mere seconds before my bitch face loaded, too.

“I think I have the binder with the curriculum here if you’re interested.” She spun around in her leather chair, digging in the messy cabinet behind her desk. “Oh, wait, actually, it’stwobinders. How fun!”

Her face was excited, like this was an ideal ending to the performance review I’d been anticipating for weeks, like this great opportunity was a consolation prize I should be grateful for. The veins on my knuckles pop out as my grip tightens on the steering wheel now.

Bile yellow. Rust. Goose poop green.

I wonder if Pearl’s learned aboutthosezones yet.

I jerk the key in the ignition and turn off the car, replacing the blasting Beyoncé with the equally loud rushing of blood in my ears—so loud, I don’t even hear the slam of my car door. As I stomp across the grass toward the front gate of Knoll Elementary, my thoughts spiral and swell.

This was supposed to be the goalpost, the finish line. After many disappointments and epiphanies that fizzled out into false starts—like when Nelson swooped in and got the promotion Iwanted last September—I was going to make this last push, get everything settled and squared away with work, and then finally have the breathing room to switch my focus to myself. To “practice self-care.” To have space to dream beyond survival and what Pearl and I need right now and instead think more about what I want. What makes me happy.

Well, so much for that.

So what do I do now? Do I quit? I feel like I’ve been asking myself that same question forever now. And I know the answer. Iknowwhat I need to do. But then why can’t I be brave and trust that there’s something better out there for me?

I thought “all that money” might be what I needed to finally tell Rose and Project Window peace out, too. That it was thelastgoalpost I needed to reach. But turns out that “cushion” is a lot smaller than I thought and losing its fluffinessrapidly. Jack and I split the twenty thousand dollars of reward money from the Smiths 70-30. (He insisted, and I obliged because Iamthe one who found Principal Smith locked up in that wine room and confronted my new-mom-friend-slash-covert-kidnapper, Corinne.) But, like, half of that was gone with taxes. And then there’s all the activities I signed Pearl up for because what else is that money for if not to give her everything all the other kids have? Just because I’m trying to do less in my life doesn’t mean Pearl should have less than them. After the tuition and uniform for the bougie club soccer program run by an ex-pro player, and the annual registration fee andanotheruniform for Clover Scouts, and then this after-school theater program at Knoll, and all the deposits for summer day camps which are due inDecemberfor some reason…well,I’mnot having Gwyneth deliver me chia pudding and braised lentils every day, that’s for sure.

And oh my god, what the hell is DEI-Banyway? How did I miss that they’re just slipping aBin there now? When did thathappen, and what does it stand for? Black person approved? Or no, more likely: bullshit.

“Yoo-hoo!”

The greeting startles me, but doesn’t make me feel like I got struck by lightning, which is progress. Trisha Holbrook’s sharp dark brown bob glints in the afternoon sun, and I can feel the heat of her fiery blue stare even from across the street.

Exactly one hundred feet across the street.

She’s the reason Pearl is even in this theater program. I mean, my girl definitely has a flair for the dramatic, but she’s not one of those kids who came out of the womb belting “Seasons of Love.” Anabella—her best friend and Trisha’s kid—signed up for the class, taught by Knoll’s music teacher, Mr. Forest. And Pearl is down for anything that gets her extra time with Anabella (especially because I’m always dodging playdate requests or anything else that means I also have to have extra time with Trisha). I have my suspicions that Anabella doesn’t have some deep passion for theater, either, because I’ve heard that child singing along to theFrozensoundtrack in my back seat and she’s definitely no Idina Menzel. But knowing Trisha, this is probably all part of the master plan to get Anabella into Stanford that she’s been working toward since they cut the umbilical cord—and beforethateven.

“The auditorium is that way.” Trisha scowls as she points behind me.

“Oh, I know!” I call back, not stopping. It’s best if we keep our interactions quick and cordial.

“Well, you don’t look like youknow,” Trisha snaps. “Because you just walked past the front gate, andeveryoneknows the fastest way to the auditorium is through the front gate, not the side gate.”

I pause, realizing that she’s right. I was too busy replaying mymeeting with Rose and spiraling over everything I should have said to pay attention to less important things, like where I’m walking. But I’m not about to admit that to her.

“I was…taking the long way.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, which seems like an overreaction to the fact that I’m walking a few extra steps, but it’s probably because I’m the reason she’s waiting for Anabella across the street instead of walking into campus and up to the auditorium steps herself. Well, no—she’sthe reason the school has banned her from the premises and taken out a restraining order to enforce the ban. Becauseshe’sthe one who stole thousands of dollars’ worth of books just because they might have had—oh, the horror!—diversity in them. But I doubt she sees it that way.

“Have a good one, Trisha!” I make my voice sound extra cheerful and wave at her like I’m on a float as I stroll around the corner and walk in whatever gate I want. I don’t turn around, but I can visualize the ripple of angry wrinkles that are probably erupting on her forehead, and it makes me giggle.

“I take it the meeting went well then?”

Jack’s familiar citrus and pine scent and the soft touch of his hand on my elbow are almost enough to hold off the frown pulling on my lips. He’s wearing the green floral button-down I got him for Hanukkah, the one that matches his eyes, and beaming his crinkly-faced smile that always makes me smile, too. But as I shake my head, answering his question, I can feel my face crumple.

“Oh Mavis, I’m so sorry.” He threads his fingers through mine at our side, squeezing my palm. And there’s comfort in the simplicity of that. He doesn’t tell me that I deserved what I was asking for, doesn’t ask what my next steps are. It’s unspoken that I don’t need that right now, that I’m already a storm of all thosequestions inside. And man, I really feel like shit, but that’s a glimmer of a lining to these clouds. With everything going wrong, and another finish line moved just out of reach again, I have this one thing I know is right.

Jack’s eyes flick around us, checking to make sure the coast is clear, and then he wraps me in a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to my neck.

“I’m going to quit.” If I say it out loud, it holds me accountable. Then hopefully I won’t put it off for another few months…or almost eight years.

“If that’s what feels right to you, then I support you.” He pulls back, moving his hands to my waist.

“Not yet. I need to write up a new résumé first, and get my references figured out, because who knows what kinda mess Rose will say. And I don’t think I even know my LinkedIn password anymore, but I gotta get back on there, maybe tonight, and see who is hiring. Because I can’t quit until I have something else lined up, you know, and…and—did you tell Pearl I should take deep breaths?”

He was nodding along with my, admittedly, frantically expanding to-do list, but that makes him pause, a guilty grin that really has no business being so charming appearing on his face.

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