Page 6 of The Game Is Afoot

“Oh, she’s being silly, Marigold. Don’t worry,” Florence says, stroking Marigold’s fuzzy blond head. She smiles at me again—this one would probably accompany a #realtalk caption about the witching hour or wine o’clock. “And I’m so happy to hear this, Mavis, because Hank said he saw Corey at Target buying Capri-Suns and I just knew that couldn’t be right.”

Damn Corey, being all balanced and on top of everything. But alsowhyis this lady’s husband spying on Corey in Target like he’s some undercover cop doing a sugary drink bust, andwhydid she bring it up to me as a test?

“Make sure he remembers the enrichment bags, too!” Florence chirps. I want to correct her and call them goody bags, if only to see the same horrified face she made last time I called them that, when she was passing out hers and I realized this is apparently an expectation at every single children’s soccer game now. Because that’s what they are,goody bags, even if the junk inside that will inevitably end up cluttering my house is fair trade or made of wood or whatever. But it’s probably for thebest that the auditorium door creaks open and kids begin to file out.

Pearl runs down the steps and I pull her into a hug. She smells like sweat and tempera paint and peanut butter.

“How was it, baby girl?”

“Fine.” She shrugs, and then shoots a glance at Anabella that looks anything but fine. I’m surprised they didn’t walk out together—they’re usually joined at the hip—but Anabella’s long ponytail is already swishing to the front to meet her mom one hundred feet from the school gate. I’m definitely going to need to push more once we’re home.

“So, what do you want for dinner?” I ask as we stroll toward my car. “Papa’s working on his podcast with Bert, so it’s just us. We can order a pizza? Or I can make that lemon pasta again that you liked so much last week.”

She wrinkles her nose. I guess shedidn’tlike the lemon pasta.

“You told me we could drive through McDonald’s on the way to the Clover Scouts meeting and that I could get a hot fudge sundae if I promised not to spill it on my uniform, and I promise! Did you bring my uniform?”

I did not bring her uniform. I didn’t even remember that shehada Clover Scouts meeting, and now I’m mentally rearranging my whole night…

But maybe this is just what I need, actually. There are no dishes with a Happy Meal, and after I drop her off, I can go home and log into LinkedIn, start applying to jobs.

Or no. No! I’m going to self-care. Right now. No more excuses. Because as frustrating as my failed performance review was, maybe it was a wake-up call to stop pushing the goalpost and do what’s best for me when I need it, not in some distant, ideal future.

I’m going to take control of my life and stop giving the powerover to people like Rose! I’m going to do one of those yoga videos on YouTube, the ones with the lady and her dog, and not get winded and turn it off halfway through! I’m going to—

“And also, don’t forget you signed up to volunteer.”

I’m going to scarf down a cheeseburger in the car and volunteer at the Clover Scouts meeting.

Three

“Shit!”

I drop the lavender vest and pull my finger to my mouth, hoping I can stave off the pain. Ironing these badges to the girls’ vests seemed like the perfect volunteer shift—no small talk with other parents, no leading an activity and having to pretend it’s just peachy when these other people’s kids talk over me. But I’ve already burned my hands three times, and I’m barely halfway through this stack of cloverleaf-shaped badges the girls have earned this month.

“You should watch out. You’re already on Claudia’s bad side.”

The woman who’s appeared across the table from me looks like aRosemary’s Baby–era Mia Farrow, with a strawberry blonde pixie cut and big doe eyes. So much for the no small talk, but…

“Is that the lady in the Clover Scouts Mom T-shirt? The blonde? Because shehasbeen giving me the stink eye, right?”

I’ve felt her glare on the back of my neck since I plugged in the iron. And after a few quick glances to rule out if I was just being oversensitive (which is probably the reason for all the burns), my mind hopped to the natural question that ariseswhen I can’t make sense of nonsensical behavior: Is it because I’m Black? There’s also a new question joining that one lately, though: Is she a Trisha Truther who’s got beef with me because I unseated her queen from the PTA president throne? Either way, I’m just glad I’ve got confirmation someone else is seeing this. Even if it means more small talk.

“She has. And it’s because she always does the badges in odd-number months. Ruth does the even ones. It’s been an unspoken thing since the troop formed.Everyoneknows.”

I feel my skin prickle with annoyance. And a little bit of embarrassment…which I then feeleven moreembarrassed to be experiencing. I’m not gonna let this lady,the mother of the Antichrist, chastise me.

“Well, I was just trying to help,” I say with a huff, reorganizing the stack of badges, which don’t need reorganizing. I swear in her email the troop leader, Christine, said to sign up for whatever slots we wanted. “Why didn’t she say something instead of mad-dogging me? I’m not some, like, badge enthusiast. I would give this to her willingly.”

“Because this way she gets to be a victim, and some people feel most comfortable remaining there.” Her wide-eyed expression is transformed by a smirk and a raised eyebrow. And I realize: she thinks this is as ridiculous as I do. So, I’ll stop thinking of her as Satan’s mom, I guess.

As if on cue, Claudia sighs so loudly, I can hear her clear across the room, over the sounds of the girls happily decorating butterfly habitats. “Well, I guess I’ll head out then! If I’m not needed! I cleared the whole evening, so I really have no idea what I’ll get up to instead!”

Across from me, the woman with a perfectly normal daughter, I’m sure, not a demon at all, nods her head toward Claudia, likeSee, I told you.

I cover up my laugh. “Again, I’dwillinglytake a whole evening to myself. Should I chase after her and beg for forgiveness?” I gesture at the iron, my new nemesis. “It might save me a few more burns.”

“Ah, they gave you this old thing instead of the new mini iron they bought just for badges with our cookie money last year.”

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