Page 16

I’m not lying when I say the first week of school is my favorite time of the year.

I’m also not lying when I say the second week turns me into a zombie sloth who needs a month and a half of recovery.

By the time the bell rings on Friday afternoon, I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.

My feet are killing me, my head feels like it’s been slammed with a hammer, and the first signs of the back-to-school sniffles are setting in.

Knowing my bank account is two hundred dollars lighter from having to buy a new car battery doesn’t help foster a sunny disposition either.

This has been the longest week in the history of weeks. All I want to do is climb into my bed, hide under my covers, and stay there until Monday morning.

And yet, that’s exactly what I’m not doing.

I guess if there is one perk to tonight, it’s that at least I know a Petunia Lemon meeting is the one place I can be sure to be safe from Luke’s annoying, gorgeous face since I seem to see him everywhere else.

I thought after we went our separate ways after back-to-school night that I’d be able to pretend the incident in the parking lot never happened.

Instead, I can’t get him out of my head.

What if I said yes to working with him? What would spending time with him be like?

Could Petunia Lemon be as bad as he says it is?

It’s like he cast some kind of spell on me and now everything reminds me of him.

“A week of matcha lattes wasn’t enough.” Keisha groans from my passenger seat and snaps my attention back to her. “I should’ve asked for a hundred dollars and your firstborn.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not dramatic or anything.” I keep my eyes on the road, but I don’t need to look at her to know she’s rolling her eyes. “It’s not going to be that bad.”

“You’re right,” she says. “It’s going to be worse.”

Now I’m the one rolling my eyes.

“Oh no.” She shoves my shoulder, more worried about revenge than our safety on the road. “You don’t get to roll your eyes. You’re the reason we’re in this mess. I’ve been saying no to Nora for years, then here you come roping us both into this shit that we don’t need and can’t afford.”

“You know you didn’t have to come, right?” It’s not like I made her sign a blood oath or anything. “I’d rather you stay home if you’re going to go in there tonight talking crazy.”

“Me? Talk crazy?” Her attempts to sound innocent fall on unconvinced ears. “I would never.”

“You would never?” I don’t even try to hide my disbelief.

This woman has more audacity in her pinky than most people have in their entire bodies.

“So it wasn’t you who demanded a full PowerPoint before you let that one woman take you to the mountains?

And didn’t you break up with a man once because he showed up to your date in flip-flops and a tank top? ”

“We were at an art gallery opening, not flying to Cancun!” she shouts much too loudly for my little sedan. “Who wears a ratty tank top and has their toes out at an art gallery opening?”

“Maybe he didn’t know the dress code?” I try to play devil’s advocate but she’s not wrong. I just need to prove a point and I can’t give in that easily.

“Hello? 9-1-1?” She fakes a phone call. “Can someone patch me through? The People Pleaser Patrol is on the loose again.”

I come to a stop at a red light and turn all of my attention to her. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this pretend emergency phone call supposed to be you proving that you don’t talk crazy?”

“No, the phone call is me being witty and entertaining because I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

“Everything you’ve said just proves that I have strong standards and stronger boundaries.

And you would never imply that a woman enforcing her boundaries makes her bitchy or unlikable, right? ”

Dammit.

“I hate you.”

And this is why one should never, ever attempt to debate with Keisha Allen. It’s also why Nora was so quick to redirect her Petunia Lemon efforts onto me and stopped talking to Keisha about it entirely.

Maybe there is something to boundaries after all…

“You love me.” She leans forward and turns up the volume knob on the radio. “Which is why you bribed me to join you tonight. We both know you need me or Nora is going to convince you to spend a small fortune that a single kindergarten teacher in her twenties absolutely cannot afford.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” She cuts me off. “I understand that you see potential in all of this and that’s fine.

You know I love your enthusiasm. It’s really the only reason I haven’t given up on the entire world already.

But as your friend who loves your soft little heart and respects your empty pockets, someone has to hold you back. ”

“The products are just so cute though! They gave me a tote bag full of sample products at the convention and I can’t even open some of them because I don’t want to ruin their boxes.”

My mom always says I’m a marketer’s dream. It doesn’t matter what’s inside the packaging as long as I like the branding. I can’t help it, I was born a sucker! I will fall for anything bright, colorful, and whimsical, and unfortunately for me and my willpower, Petunia Lemon products check all three.

Plus, even though I might be tired and yearning for my bed, it also gave me plans on a Friday night. Something I haven’t had in years. It’s so hard to make friends as an adult, and thanks to Petunia Lemon I’ve gained an entire community.

“All I’m saying is we’re going to go and mingle.

We’ll say hi, eat some free snacks, and swipe a sample or two.

But the second”—she leans in so close that I can feel her breath against my face—“and I mean the second they try to get you to buy a new product or recruit a new member, we’re out of there.

Making new friends shouldn’t be contingent on how much money you can spend or how many people you know. ”

“Awwww…you love me so much.” I turn down a crowded street not too far away from our school and double-park on the street in front of the address Nora gave me.

When the car is finally in park, I unbuckle my seat belt and throw my arms around my best friend.

“If you’re obsessed with me, just say that. ”

“Obviously I’m obsessed with you. If I wasn’t, my ass would be on my couch, indulging in my Friday night herb, watching reruns of Living Single in peace and quiet.

” She tries to escape my ironclad grip around her shoulders.

“Instead I’m spending the night in gentrified-ass West Highland, eating dry cheese and pretending to think that spending fifty dollars on face wash isn’t fucking absurd. ”

Keisha is an enigma.

By day, she’s this mild-mannered, matcha-drinking, yoga-loving art teacher.

She’s got these gorgeous, long dreads that are rarely, if ever, styled the same.

She shops exclusively in thrift stores and has the best style of anyone I’ve ever seen outside of a magazine.

She never eats red meat and has toyed around with veganism since I met her five years ago, but is terrified of any and all animals.

She’s all about her body being a temple while also being a loyal customer to the Flower Pot, her favorite dispensary.

I’ve never heard her Spotify playlist play anything other than nineties gangster rap, and she says fuck more than any person I know.

Standing at an impressive five feet eleven inches tall, she has the stature of a runway model, but she can still outdrink the manliest of men without batting an eye.

Basically, she’s the absolute shit, and I have no idea how I conned her into being my very best friend. I do know that I’m forever grateful and have become approximately 149 percent cooler based on my proximity to her alone.

“Your sacrifices don’t go unnoticed.” I finally release her, but only because my strength burns out quickly and my arms are tired from squeezing her. “And for this, I shall express my gratitude by providing you with one more drink of your choice, to be given at any time, day or night.”

“Night, please,” she says like I wasn’t already fully aware of her answer. “I know I’m going to need bourbon after a night like this.”

“Deal!” This works well for me. I have a feeling I’m going to need spirits to lift my spirits too.

“Also, don’t think that just because I’ve given you time to process, I’ve somehow forgotten that I left you with Hot Dad Lucas, aka your summer fuck, alone in your classroom on back-to-school night,” she throws over her shoulder as she pushes my creaky car door open.

“You’ve been acting weird as fuck, so I know something went down.

This is your official warning that you have three days to give me a very detailed account of that night and your every interaction with him since or I will be forced to invoke friendship purgatory. ”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.

” Friendship purgatory is Keisha’s version of the silent treatment, but fancier and more psychologically taxing.

She makes plans with you and then pointedly ignores you during said plans.

I’ve never experienced it, but I did witness it with her ex.

It was brutal and I never want to be on the receiving end.

“But there’s really not much to tell. It’s not like he’s hanging out in the classroom, and Isla goes back and forth between him and her mom, so I don’t see him every day. ”

I have been conducting a morning email with him and Isla’s mom, Jacqueline, to make sure we’re all on the same page regarding the pickup schedule.

Jacqueline always sends back a paragraph response that normally includes at least two insults pointed at Luke while he’s never responded with more than two words and his professional signature of Lucas K. Miller.

If I still cared, I’d be dying to know what the K stands for.

“Hopefully that will change.” Keisha wishes the absolute worst for me. “Maybe he’ll sign up to be the class dad.”

I lock my car doors even though I highly doubt that anyone wants the 2009 Honda Civic my mom passed down to me on my sixteenth birthday.

I circle around the car, meeting her on the sidewalk in front of the Victorian bungalow sandwiched between the modern monstrosities developers are destroying this neighborhood with.

“Why would you put that evil on me?”

“Because.” She shrugs. “Work gets boring and I need something juicy to motivate me. Plus, you said he was great in bed. This would be beneficial for both of us.”

“Okay. New rule.” I grab her arm, stopping her on the brick-paved walkway.

Bees buzz about from the lavender bushes framing us, urging us to continue inside, but this takes precedence.

“When we’re around other people, especially work people, no talk of Luke slash Lucas and his prowess in the bedroom.

The last thing I need is to be the topic of discussion in the group chat between the third-grade teachers. They’re mean.”

Each grade has their own communication network, but Amber, Jasmine, Brianna, and Rachel—the third-grade teachers—have a group chat that is particularly brutal.

It’s like they watched Mean Girls and thought, “Amateurs. We could be so much meaner,” and set about proving it.

If they found out I had sex with a parent, they’d run me out of the state. And I love Colorado!

“That would imply I’d want to have a conversation with a coworker,” she says, like I’m an idiot. “I don’t like anyone besides you. Why on earth would I ever encourage them to speak to me?”

This is true. One of many perks to befriending a die-hard introvert.

“Sorry.” I shake my head. “What was I thinking?”

“Was asking myself the same thing.”

A few feet ahead of us, the turquoise front door that turns this house from cute to the most charming house in the entire world swings open and Nora appears in the doorway.

“Oh my goodness, is that Keisha Allen?” she shouts into the quiet evening. “Emmy, you’re a miracle worker! I’ve been trying to get her here for years.”

“Emmy?” Keisha repeats beneath her breath. “Gross.”

“Be nice,” I growl at Keisha through gritted teeth before aiming my frozen smile at Nora. “It’s only because she loves me and I promised her there’d be food.”

“And wine!” She yells what the slight slur in her voice has already hinted at.

“On second thought”—Keisha’s hand latches on to mine and holds me in place—“I’m going to need two bourbons after this.”

“You’re so dramatic.” I brush her off. “Tonight’s going to be amazing. Just watch.”

One could say optimism is my greatest strength.

No matter how misguided it is.