Page 43 of Mean Moms

“Yes, definitely,” said Sofia. And she could. She knew of a few places like that; one of her friends in Miami only did private islands. Maybe Sofia could really be good at this job! The idea thrilled her.

“And I loved your pudding! So delicious,” said Armena, who then walked off.

Sofia checked her phone. 11:56. Four minutes until midnight.

The plan was for Art, who was now wrapping up the auction—$33,000 for the second grade to sit front row at a Rangers game, donated by a sports agent dad—to do the countdown on the microphone.

When the clock hit twelve, a replica of the Times Square New Year’s Eve ball would lower dramatically from Sofia’s ceiling.

11:57.

“It’s almost midnight, folks, and that’s the last item gone. By tomorrow, we’ll know how much in total we raised for Atherton, and I have a feeling the number is going to big! Huge! All thanks to you, our impressive Atherton community.”

Sofia moved toward the center of the room, looking for Morgan, Belle, and Frost, but she didn’t see them in the mix.

The lights had gone down and the DJ had started up again, playing a very loud version of “Waiting for Tonight,” JLo belting as the millennial parents danced like they were in middle school.

11:58.

She then felt a powerful pull, someone dragging her toward who knows where. It was Frost, her pretty face reading total alarm.

“Sofia,” she whispered hoarsely. “You didn’t have any of your pudding, did you?” Sofia shook her head. Frost was scaring her. What was wrong with the postre de natas ? She’d slaved over batch after batch last night after the kids had gone to sleep.

“Oh, thank God. Something’s going to go down, and I don’t want you to be involved.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Frost?” said Sofia. Her heart was beating hard in her chest.

“Was it you? Did you vandalize my art show? Did you know Rodrick was at ZZ’s?” said Frost now. “Was it you?”

“Are you kidding? I hate Rodrick, you know that,” pleaded Sofia. “I do like to follow people around. I even followed you. But it was harmless fun. I was just bored. I’m poor, Frost! I have nothing to do.”

Frost seemed to understand this logic.

“I wouldn’t ruin Belle’s company—she worked so hard on it.

” Here Sofia lowered her voice. “Though that dress was so ugly, I’m sorry.

” Frost laughed and Sofia went on. “And I would never hurt Hildy—Hildy is a child! I would never hurt you. You’re my best friend.

” Sofia felt on the verge of breaking down.

She saw Tim walk ing toward them at the same time Frost did.

Frost put her finger to her lips and slipped away to her husband.

Art could be heard in the background, counting down from thirty.

“It was Morgan! Morgan is the one!” Sofia called after Frost now, but she couldn’t tell if she could hear her over the pounding music.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Sofia ran toward her kitchen, saying a quick thank-you to Jesus that the children were out of the apartment, in Miami with JP.

The DJ had turned off the music for the final countdown, and people were pairing off, preparing for their big midnight kisses.

Sofia was now standing alone near her stove, looking out at the chaos over her island.

“Three! Two! One!”

Everyone shouted at once, yelling “Cheers to Atherton!” as the ball, a glowing, otherworldly orb, began to lower to the floor, taking them all by happy surprise.

The DJ put on Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” as couples smooched and swayed.

There was Morgan with Art, Morgan’s arms tightly holding on to his waist, her face turned so her clam costume could fit into the nook of his chest. She saw Dr. Broker off to the side, watching them, and Belle and Jeff, nearby, Belle eyeing Dr. Broker as she danced with her husband.

And there were Frost and Tim, huddled together by the front entrance.

Tim tried to pull her onto the dance floor, but Sofia saw Frost resist, saying something to him and then pointing to her stomach.

She walked off toward the bathroom, leaving Tim alone.

“Ahhhh!” someone then growled, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Sofia couldn’t see who it was, so she lifted herself up onto the granite countertop to get a better look, peering over to see Bud Cunningham staggering to the ground, a big lump of a man, not really moving at all.

Trina, in a Game of Thrones –esque getup, was hovering over him, fanning his face with her hands.

“Bud? Bud? Are you okay?” she kept asking.

Not a moment later, Gemma Corder went down, splayed on the floor next to Bud, and then the same for Julie Klein, and Cat Howell’s husband, Charles, and then Gabby Mahler in her polka-dot costume.

About fifteen more people crumpled within the span of just a few minutes, stumbling about, unable to stand.

“It was the pudding! They all just had the pudding,” she heard someone shout.

“What did Sofia Perez put in it? She’s poisoned us all! ”

A person grabbed Sofia from behind, and she swiveled to see Dr. Broker, his handsome face turned gray, his eyes bulging in terror. “ Dios mio ,” said Sofia. Was that foam coming out of his mouth? He staggered away and Sofia lost him in the mix.

Sofia felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Her hands started shaking uncontrollably, and she suddenly felt very cold. She started to curl up behind the kitchen island. Maybe she could shut herself into a kitchen cabinet and disappear.

Then the DJ put on “Believe” by Cher. It was the song Michael played at the beginning of their training sessions, to pump Sofia up before their workouts.

“More, Sofia, more! Go, go, go,” he’d chant as she lunged and lifted and fantasized about all she’d do to him after it was finished.

Just hearing it now created that same surge of endorphins, a kind of instant perk, reminding Sofia that she was a fighter.

If she could do twenty lunges, if she could survive on her own in New York, if she could lift herself out of poverty into the highest echelons of society, she could figure this out.

She felt a hand slip into hers. Michael was here with her now.

He gave her a loving, supportive smile. He was so beautiful. He was hers.

Sofia stood up straight. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was her apartment, but it wasn’t her fault. Sofia would beat Morgan. She had to.