Page 84 of The Game Is Afoot

Are you referring to Balanced With Bethany? I’m so sorry you got wrapped up in that! I knew there was something fishy there and I tried to warn whoever I could.

Della Lively

I just saw that on IG! She was faking cancer???

Ruth Gentry

It’s people like her who give network marketing a bad name But she doesn’t represent all of us! @Charlie Lee if you’re still interested in working for yourself, I can send you some materials for Agape Essentials. It’s a great opportunity!!

Dyvia Mehta

@Ruth Gentry that’s your third strike, and unfortunately, I’ll need to remove you from the group.

Angela Hart

I think we need a presence at pickup and drop-off to make sure our voices are heard! If everyone wants to send me their sizes, I can get some “Save Knoll After-School Programs!” T-shirts printed by tomorrow.

Good morning Mavis,

I received your email about a “two weeks’ notice,” and that really isn’t necessary. I would be happy to connect you with other experienced room moms who might offer you some support and guidance, so you can fulfill your commitment for the year. Are you part of the parents Facebook group?

And we really must begin our preparations for the Presidents’ Day skit in class. Your email didn’t mention if the George Washington costume was ready? At this point, I will gladly take it in whatever state it’s currently in. I’ll stop by your house today during lunch. Please don’t forget the wig!

Thank you,

Mrs. Alene Tennison

Twenty-Four

I sit down and Idrink my tea and I try not to look like I’m spiraling over the fact that Bethany didn’t do it, but I’m totally spiraling over the fact that Bethany didn’t do it. So I leave as soon as I can—though Mackenzie and Ms. Joyce hardly notice, the way they’re gossiping about everyone in the neighborhood (turns out they have the same favorite afternoon show: the views out their front windows). And when I head back across the street with Polly, I unlock the door and walk into a quiet home—Pearl still at school, Dad probably out with Bert—which is great because I prefer to spiral in silence.

It’s like I’ve been working on a crossword puzzle for weeks, one of those really tough ones in theNew York Timesthat geniuses do for fun but I usually give up on after a few frustrating minutes. This time I didn’t, though. This time I was convinced I could do it. Except, just when I was about to reach the end, just when I was filling in the last blanks, I realized that I got one across all wrong, and once I erase that, well…I have to rethink everything. And then there are holes ripped in the paper from all the erasing and eventually the whole thing is a lost cause,newsprint smeared, totally illegible, and all I’m left with is a feeling of foolishness for thinking I could do this in the first place.

I throw myself down on the couch, and Polly hops up with me, putting her head in my lap.

“What am I gonna do?” I say, absentmindedly stroking her smooth black fur.

I can call Detective De La Rosa again and tell him what I learned. But…he probably already knows it. And if thereisanything new, he’ll just make me feel silly and stupid for calling him and then go chase my leads, which he apparently did last night.

No, I’m not doing that to myself again. If there was anything new revealed, someone else—Mackenzie, Ms. Joyce—can bring it to the authorities. It’s apparently already all over Instagram.

Instead, I can…do nothing. And the world won’t end and I’ll actually probably feel pretty good. Again, if I let myself. I can just choose my own peace.

Yeah, that sounds nice.

I stretch my body out on the couch, and Polly looks up at me perturbed, but soon adjusts her position so she’s curled up next to me. I close my eyes. I take deep breaths. I do nothing. And it is wonderful.

For ten minutes. And then the nothing is interrupted by a loud squawk and voices projected across the house.

“I can’t believe you did it again!”

“It’s fine. You need to stop being so dramatic. And be quiet. I don’t want Marigold to hear us overBluey.”

I stand up. I’m throwing those fucking walkie-talkies away.

“I’m dramatic? Flo, I’m being realistic.” It’s Hank and Florence again, and as juicy as this argument is probably gonna be, I don’t want to hear it. I am removing myself from other people’s business—officially, starting today.

“I feel like I’m theonlyone living in reality here. I can’t believe you would be so reckless, with everything going on!”

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