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I choke out a laugh. Well. Guess I wasn’t quite as okay as I thought I was, or I didn’t look it, at least.
“He would’ve come himself,” Luna adds, tucking herself against my other side. “But he thought it might just make things worse.”
Again, I laugh. Talk about an understatement; it would’ve been the walk of shame to end all walks of shame, if I was escorted to class by my newest baby daddy.
Our kids lead the way as Luna and Amelia drag me towards the school. I watch as Rory elbows Isaac out of the way so she can pat August on the shoulder. “My mom’s pregnant too,” I hear her say. “She’s due in September too.”
Whatever August responds, I don’t hear it; he’s drowned out by the evil snickering in my ear.
Reaching around me, Luna pokes Amelia. “You ever think about how you and your brother were probably both getting busy on New Year’s Eve?”
“Funnily enough,” Amelia drawls, face scrunched with disgust. “That was not my first thought.”
“Really? That’s, like, the first thing I thought.”
“Because you, my friend, are deranged.”
“I wonder if the guys both ca—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Luna.”
“Brings a whole new meaning to ‘starting the year with a bang,’ hey?”
Unlike Luna, I do not cackle at the horror painting Amelia’s face a pale shade of green. I tuned out somewhere around accusations of derangement. I’m too focused on the double doors the kids are pushing through, and the silence that falls when we follow. It might be in my head, how many mouths quit moving mid-conversation, how many eyes flit my way and go wide, how many meaningful glances are exchanged between the adults lining the halls. My brain may very well be catastrophizing all the attention. But something in my gut tells me it’s not. Something that really sinks its teeth in the closer we get to the group of oversized mean girls giving me the stink eye.
Until this moment, I forgot about the Kristal issue. How she told my kid about his impending sibling before I could get a chance, how she probably got a big ol’ kick out of doing it, how she’s likely been waiting all damn night to quip whatever nasty comment is on the tip of her wicked tongue.
The latter is fine by me; I’m ready to quip right back, my nerves taking a back seat to my anger because I hate this woman. I’m as ready for a verbal brawl as she clearly is.
Neither of us get the chance to strike.
“I just got my nails done, Krissy,” Luna sings. Her wedding ring—and the enormous diamond rock welded onto it—glints as she wiggles her pink-tipped fingers in Kristal’s face. I don’t think I imagine one digit in particular sticking out a little more than the rest. “Look how pretty. Don’t make me break one.”
Amelia waits until we’ve blown past an indignant Kristal before gently chastising, “She’s gonna go to the school board if you keep threatening to punch her.”
Luna waves off her friend’s concern. “Who said anything about punching? I had a good old-fashioned bitch-slapping fight in mind.” Glancing over her shoulder, she huffs. “Jealous little witch. You know she hit on Jackson once?”
“She asked Nick if he did English tutoring.” Amelia snorts before clarifying for my sake, “He works at UCSV. Teachingcollegestudents. Not children.”
“Y’know,” Luna sighs dramatically. “I kinda feel bad for her. Having an ugly husband must be really hard.”
“Luna!” Amelia reaches across me to smack her friend but she’s stifling laughter, and so am I. I wanna laugh almost as much as I wanna cry because is this what it’s like? Having people in your corner? Sticking up for you?Helping?
The tears trying to spill only increase their efforts when the girls usher me inside my classroom, and I don’t find it empty like usual. Gideon stands beside my desk. Beside a bunch of balloons, congratulations printed on them in swirling, cursive letters. Holding a cake and wearing a grin.
“Is that a birthday cake?”
Luna eyes August suspiciously. “Why would it be a birthday cake?”
When he presses his lips together, expression the picture of guilt, Luna swings to face me. “Is it yourbirthday?”
“No.” Blue eyes narrow, making me shift. “Itwas. Last week.”
“When last week?” Luna demands, but I’m pretty sure she already suspects the answer.
When I rattle off the date, she gasps. “Sunday. What the hell?”
“She doesn’t celebrate it!”
