Page 40 of Seven Days in June

Bridget looked relieved that she wouldn’t need to translate “back blown out.”

“So, the English teacher isn’t her husband?” asked Eva haltingly. “Jesus, Audre.”

“I posted itwaybefore you made me stop!” she wailed, her buns quivering. “And I had no idea Clementine Logan’s mom was a cheater!”

“Mr. Galbraith, the English teacher, has been let go,” announced Bridget.

“Bridget, I apologize. But Audre never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Perhaps, but she has detention for the rest of the week.” Bridget smoothed her bulletproof do with French-manicured fingertips. “And the honors board is undecided about inviting her back next year.”

A miserable groan escaped Audre’s throat. Eva looked over at her beloved baby, the spawn of her loins, and wanted to choke her within an inch of her life.

“Audre, can you wait outside for a moment?” managed Eva.

Thrilled to be dismissed, Audre escaped to the hallway.

Bridget waited three seconds before locking the door. Then she grabbed a pack of Parliaments from her purse, opened a massive window, and lit up. After a lung-expanding drag, her posture relaxed.

Only in front of select parents did Bridget drop her classy veneer and get raw.

“Swear to Christ, Eva,” she muttered on an exhale, “I don’t need this psychosexual melodrama right before I retire.”

Eva met her at the window. “This was a youthful error. How can I fix it?”

She grabbed her forearm,willingBridget to remember how delightful she’d been at her holiday dinner.

Bridget peered down at Eva with her Windex-colored eyes. When she spoke, she sounded exactly like who she was: the daughter of a man who, every evening of her childhood, ran numbers in their basement with a crew of local heavies while wearing a T-shirt proclaiming,I CAME HERE TO FIGHT OR FUCK & I DON’T SEE YOUR SISTER.

“You tell me.”

Bridget’s skin was flawless thanks to free Restylane injections from Dr. Reece Nguyen—offered as collateral to keep his ninth grader in school after her Forever 21 shoplifting scandal. And Bridget’s enormous hair was freshly styled thanks to free visits to Owen Blandi Salon—offered in exchange for Bridget allowing Owen’s permanently vaped-out son to graduate.

Bridget O’Brien could be bought. But what did Eva have to sell?

“What do you need?” asked Eva.

“Know any English-lit teachers?” she asked, taking a drag.

“I don’t think so, but…”

“Eva, this scandal can’t be my legacy. I need to bury it with a new-teacher announcement. Fast. Find a suitable replacement for Mr. Galbraith, and Audre has a spot in eighth grade.”

Eva loathed being strong-armed. Bridget was a crook, but Eva had been hustling her whole life. But this was about her baby. Audre couldn’t get expelled. It took great restraint not to slip into Genevieve mode, telling this bitch to fuck completely off.

“Give me a couple days,” spat Eva, spinning on her heel. With her hand on the doorknob, she said, “You really are so corrupt, Bridget.”

“This is your daughter’s academic career,” Bridget said, stubbing out her cigarette on the windowsill. “I’ve done worse for less.”

“But enough about your helmet hair,” Eva clapped back. Then she slammed the door so hard the hinges shook.

Eva found Audre leaning against a wall, eyes squeezed shut. Her Vans were placed shoulder-width apart, and she was breathing steadily in and out. Meditating. Eva knew it.

“Audre Zora Toni Mercy-Moore.”

Audre’s eyes flew open, and then she crashed into Eva, enveloping her in a one-sided embrace. “Mommy, I’m so sorry.”

“I try to be the best mom I can be.” Eva was speaking more to herself than to Audre. “How is my daughter facing suspension? How?”

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