Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) (7 page)

But when Allie started school, she saw all the other cool snacks the kids brought in, including orangey cheesy chips in various flavors and cookies filled with cream. What’s more, she discovered we also stocked those items in our own house (because if I didn’t buy them, Roger would just go to the store himself for them. And he wouldn’t use a coupon either). I started lifting the ban on junk food
slightly
and soon, it all fell apart. Actually, by the time the boys came around, I was perfectly content shoving a Pop Tart at them or letting them eat sugar fueled cereal. I just didn’t have the energy to argue with four kids and a husband anymore.

I still
try
to sneak fruits and veggies into their lunches and sometimes ground into meatloaf and other questionable dishes. I make an attempt to serve veggies with dinner and offer fruit as snacks; it often backfires because I am usually too busy to check to see what they’re pilfering from the cabinets. Sometimes it’s easier just to look the other way, as I am doing right now while my youngest is scaling the counter tops like Spiderman to find the hidden Twinkies. But hey, don’t judge me.

“Misty!” I wail as I snatch the dishtowel from the counter. “Come back here and let me dry you! At least let me wipe your paws!” Yes, I realize I am attempting to rationalize with a canine, but sometimes Misty listens better than the kids do.

I find her perched on the back of the couch, playing neighborhood crime watch. She leans forward and barks, repeatedly smashing her head against the front window with fury, droplets of water flying off of her body and hitting the curtains. She’s so agitated that she actually loses her footing and slips down the couch, muddy footprints dotting the beige and rose fabric. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking…beige couch with four kids, a dog, and a cat?
Amy Maxwell, you must be nuts!
I
am
nuts. But after fourteen years of brown and navy blue furniture, I decided to throw caution to the wind a few months ago and get pretty freaking furniture. It
was
pretty for about twenty seven seconds.
Sigh
.

“Get down, Misty!” I inch closer in attempts to grab her and wrap her in the towel. This is going to be a very daring feat as Misty does not like to be picked up. She bites us if we try to hold her. I had to put oven mitts on just to put the cone around her neck the time she had fleas.

She snarls at me as I try to pick her up, squirming out of my reach, furiously barking now. Misty is extremely over protective of the house and pretty much barks at anything. A leaf falls on the next block and Misty is all over that. Having lived with this dog for over eight years now, I have come to know her barks quite well. There are barks we can ignore (kids on their way to the bus stop), barks that alert us (someone is at the door), overdramatic barks (the mailman is here! The mailman is here!), and barks that mean something sinister (Danger Will Robinson!). This is one of her danger barks.

I part the curtains and peer out the window, squinting to see what she is carrying on about. And Misty is absolutely correct.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
What I see stops my heart cold.

Allie is standing in front of the house, hoodie pulled over her head, completely disregarding the fact that there is a monsoon outside. She has her arms wrapped around someone or
something
. I can’t tell
who
exactly because she has her back to the window and is blocking my view. But what I can tell is that this person has large hands (translation: boy hands) and they are wrapped around my daughter’s back. I can also see that Allie’s head is raised toward this person as the other person lowers their own head. Translation: she is
kissing
them.

Forgetting about the dog, I storm over to the front door and pull it open. I step out onto the porch, pellets of rain assaulting me. “Alice Regina Maxwell!” I scream into the rain.

She swivels toward the sound of my voice and I register the horror on her face.

I now have a good look at her kissing partner. His grubby hands are shoved deep into his pockets and his own hoodie is pulled over his head, but tufts of jet black hair peek out from underneath. His eyes are dark and stormy, and he appears like he’s on the hunt for his next snack of fresh meat to feast upon. I can tell from the looks of him that he may be one of the delinquent boys that spend a lot of time in Roger’s office at school. He reminds me of Judd Nelson’s character in
The Breakfast Club.

“
Mother
!” Allie hisses under her breath while storming toward me. Oh, great, I’m reduced to being called
Mother
again. Allie knows I hate that. I feel like I’ve been shoved into the pages of some stuffy, turn of the century British novel when she calls me Mother. And not the turn of the millennial century, either.

“What are you doing home,
Mother
?”

What am I doing here? Um, I live here?

I must be staring at her quizzically, because she rolls her eyes. “Where’s your car? Why isn’t your car in the driveway?”

Ooo. The car. She assumed I wasn’t home because the car wasn’t in the driveway. Hey! What was she going to do if I wasn’t home?

“Get in the house,” I growl at her.

“But can’t I at least say goodbye to Fang?”

What? Is she for real? Does she seriously think I am going to let her near anyone named Fang?

“No. Fang can find his own way home.” I shove her into the house and offer hoodie boy a fake wave. “Bye bye, Fangie boy.” I step toward the house as I mutter, “I thought vampires didn’t come out at this time of day?”

“
Mother
! That is so wrong! It’s…well, it’s
prejudiced
!”

I ignore her accusations as I watch the kid lumber over to the curb where I now notice a motorcycle is parked. I glare at my daughter, who is attempting to get a glimpse of Fang over my shoulder. “A
motorcycle?
You better not have been on that motorcycle, Allie!” I push her into the house.

“Like you care!” Allie scoffs as she spins on her heel and stomps up the stairs. The reverberations from her steps cause a picture to bounce off the wall. The glass shatters and the frame cracks. In all fairness, it’s
her
fifth grade picture. I cringe as I hear her bedroom door slam.

As I am sweeping the pieces of glass into my palm, the house phone rings. “Can somebody get that?” I ask as I proceed to pick up a large shard of the glass and cut my thumb. “Ouch!” I stick my thumb in my mouth as I add with a mumble, “Check the caller ID first!”

Too late. Lexie has already snatched up the phone and is babbling into it.

Oh good, maybe it’s one of her dingleberry friends. They can talk each other’s ears off while I get myself together here.
I continue to pick up the glass with one hand, needing to do it quickly before Evan gets the idea to play with the shiny pieces.

“Moooooommmm! It’s Aunt
Beth
!” Lexie informs me as she dances into the living room, waving the cordless phone around like she has won a Willy Wonka Golden Ticket.

“What? No! That’s impossible!” I yelp, leaping to my feet. I’ve already been tortured by Beth today. This is not fair! “Tell her I’m not home,” I attempt to mouth to my daughter, but it’s no use because she has already thrust the phone into my hand.

Ughhhhhhhhhhh!
I reluctantly place the phone against my ear, expecting to be admonished by my sister because she heard what I mumbled to Lexie. Beth has supersonic hearing. I think she might have been a dog in a former life.

“Hello, Beth,” I say while gritting my teeth.

“Oh hi, Amy,” my sister remarks in a muted tone. She sounds unsure of herself. If I didn’t know better and had to gander a guess, I would even say she sounded
drunk
. But not happy drunk. The drunk you end up when you’ve
been
happy drunk and now you know you’re going to throw up in the bushes in front of your house kind of drunk. Not that I would know what
that
was like or anything. But at any rate, I’ve never heard
Beth
sound like that. Oh, except for the time she called me to tell me our Nana had died.
Holy crap, did someone die?

“Is everything ok?” I ask with concern. “You’ve already torture…er, called me today.”

“Yes, yes,” Beth remarks breathlessly. “I just want to remind you about the forth.”

I wrinkle up my brow as I head over to the cabinet in the kitchen to retrieve a Band-Aid. We have to hide them from Lexie in the kitchen, otherwise she uses them all. I now see Colt trying to also sneak a snack, but I’m too distracted by my conversation with Beth to scold him.

The forth what? Did she say
forth
or
force
?
Is this a Star Wars reference? Because I have no patience for Star Wars.
I have no idea what she is talking about, but I can’t let on. “What about it?” I am attempting to trap the phone between my shoulder and chin while I wrap a Band-Aid around my thumb. The phone slips right and plunk! Right into the dishwater.

“God damn it! Shit! Crap!” I screech as I quickly scoop it out of the water.
Since when does anyone in this house fill up a dishpan and leave it in the sink like they’re going to do dishes?
Then I realize that I was the one who left the dishpan in the sink. Three days ago.

“Sorry! Sorry!” I try to dry the phone on my pant leg while muttering my apologies, even though the receiver is close to my knee. Old bat ears will probably hear it anyway.

“What in heaven’s name is going on there?” Beth remarks with a nervous chuckle.

“Nothing, I just dropped the phone,” I explain.

“Oh, well then, I guess that’s alright.”
Well thank you, your majesty.
“What do you need now, Beth?” I ask with one eye on the clock. Gosh darn, it’s too late to defrost the pot roast for dinner…I guess we will have to order Thai food.

“I just wanted to remind you about the forth,” she repeats.
Oh yes, we’re back to that
. “Don’t forget to pick Jillian up. I texted you the address and you didn’t answer me.”

Oh! The
fourth
! Not the
forth
!
“Didn’t you just tell me about that a half hour ago?” Really, did she think I would forget it that quickly? Ok, so maybe I did forget, but how does she know that? Is she clairvoyant?

“Well, you were in your car if I recall. Now you’re home and you can write it on your calendar,” Beth remarks.

I stare at the dry erase calendar that is hanging precariously on the wall. Half of the appointments have been smudged off and the other half are written in such small handwriting that I may need a hieroglyphics expert to decipher them.

“I’m logging it into my head right now,” I tell her and proceed to make beeping noises for fun. Beth is not amused.

“Write it down, Amy. You can’t forget!” Her voice is nearly frantic.
Geez Louise, is she for real?

“Sure thing, Beth,” I reply with a hint of snarkiness.
How rude! She thinks I can’t remember to pick up her precious princess unless I write it down?

“I’ve got to go cook dinner now,” I lie while depressing the
end
button. I can still hear her shouting something indecipherable at me. I’m quite certain that she’s telling me to
write it down
.

~Five~

“Hey! Amy, wait up!” I hear River calling from behind me. We have just left Jerk, er, Cummings’ class after one of his routine pop quizzes. Well, I guess it’s not a pop quiz if it’s routine, but…oh, never mind. I have a lot on my mind today and Cummings’ quiz was not number one.

I reluctantly stop and allow River to catch up. It seems like everywhere I go, River isn’t too far behind these days. Maybe it’s my own imagination, but I thought I even saw him skulking around the grocery story last Tuesday when I was there. I am starting to wonder if he has friends his own age. He’s a good 200 yards behind me, jogging to catch up.

“Whoa, do you do speed walking or something?”

“Like at the mall with the rest of the old people?” I manage to snap as I run my hands through my tangled hair.

“Uh, no,” River steps back as if I have slapped him clear across his face. “That’s not what I meant. You’re not-”

I hold my hand up and shake my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just…frustrated. I don’t think I did very well on that quiz. Actually, I’m pretty sure I failed.” I rub my temples. “I apologize. I should
not
have taken it out on you.”

“It’s okay,” River tells me with a shrug of his shoulders.

“No, it’s not. It’s not your fault that I’m a moron and I don’t know why I even signed up to do this in the first place…”

“You’re not a moron,” River interrupts. “That quiz was hard.”

“Not for you,” I scoff as I pull my book bag strap up onto my shoulder. “I’m sure you aced it as usual.”

River turns a little pink and offers me a half shrug. “I did alright.”

“Exactly. I don’t belong here with smart kids like you,” I tell him as I turn to head back to my car.

“Wait!” I feel River’s hand on my shoulder. “The reason I was chasing after you was I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me to my dorm.”

My face flaming, I whirl around and face him. “
What
? Are you kidding me?” I have never been so blatantly propositioned in all my life.
Is this how college kids hook up? Just ‘hey, you wanna come back to my dorm room?’ And what the hell is he thinking? I’m married and he’s…

“Yeah, I sent you a text yesterday but you never answered me. A bunch of us from class were going to get started on the group project. Or at least we were going to get together and split into groups and pick topics. It’s due next month and there’s a lot that has to be done.”

He texted me? I never got a text. The group project? That’s what he wanted me for? He doesn’t find me irresistible and want me to be his Mrs. Robinson?
I don’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

“The only stipulation is that you have to bring a snack.” He offers me a smile as he pulls a bag of Fritos from his back pack and hands them to me. “I’ve got you covered on that this time, but next time you’re on your own.” And then he winks at me.

I am stunned.
Why does he want to help me? Can’t he see that I am beyond help? I want to drop out now and at least be able to get some of my money back, but this kid is making it really difficult to throw in the towel.

“Thanks River, but I really ought to be getting home. My kids will be getting home from school and-”

Just then the bells of the tower chime one in the afternoon. River raises an eyebrow at me. “Unless your kids have a half day, I don’t think they’ll be getting home anytime soon.”

Sighing, I adjust the backpack on my shoulder again. “
Fine.
I’ll go with you.”

He claps his hands together and smirks. “Sweet.” For a split second, I consider the fact that he may indeed have nefarious purposes. Like he is being initiated into a gang and you have to drag along a stupid, unsuspecting middle aged woman to your dorm room and tie her to the bedpost and throw Fritos at her while she’s in her granny underwear.

But then I see River bouncing on the balls of his feet and chattering away, offering me some ridiculously boring tidbit about the bell tower that just rang and how it was built by freemasons or some crap like that. I realize,
nope
; despite the way he dresses and how he looks, River is as innocent as they come. And no, I’m not being naïve. I just have an intuition about these sorts of things. There’s more chance of someone hurting him than him hurting someone.

I trail after River the Emo through the garden maze and toward the dorm hall, still working on my mental to do list. ‘
Start group project a month early
’ was not on that list, but when you work in a group, you really don’t have a choice, I guess. That is why I always hated group projects in school. I would wait till the last minute to slap something together if I could. Of course, we would always have a goodie two shoes like Beth in the group who would want to get started on it the second it was assigned.

But maybe this will help you, Amy
, I find myself thinking rationally.
By communicating with your fellow students, maybe you’ll be able to figure out how to balance everything.

We arrive at River’s dorm and stop in front of the monitor affixed to the outside of the building.

River pats his jeans. “Oh damn, I forgot my ID. It must be up in my room.” He scratches his head and then asks, “Can you scan your student ID?”

I sigh as I dig through my never ending bag of crap, handing River a bag of Goldfish, hair ties, and a flip flop to hold. He just stares in wonder at the flip flop. I finally locate the student ID at the bottom of my bag, covered with a piece of chewed gum that one of the kids stuck in there.

“Like this?” I ask as I wave the barcode in the air. The door beeps three times and pops open. River holds the door and I step into the vestibule area.

“Thanks. It’s this way,” River says, pointing toward the elevator.

I don’t have time to ask him if I need to sign in like we did in the old days, because the elevator doors open and we climb aboard. I have to confess, I feel a little uncomfortable in the elevator as River is suddenly quiet and stares straight ahead.

Could he possibly have a crush on me or something? I know I’m not the hottest, but some guys have a thing for older women…wait a minute…you’re not that old, Amy!

Oh please! You’re practically ancient compared to these kids! You don’t belong here!

I cease arguing with myself as we step out onto the eighth floor and the common room. There’s a relatively new Berber carpet in the cramped ten by eight space that is cluttered with a tattered couch, mismatched chairs, and a coffee table. All of the chairs are occupied by young teenagers with laptops or iPads. There are even a few sprawled out on the floor. I recognize some of them from class, but others are complete strangers to me. I wonder if I just don’t notice them in class or perhaps they don’t come. Since attendance doesn’t count, I have a feeling quite a few of my classmates only show up sporadically. But I know that would never be a possibility for me. I can’t even pass when I
am
there.

Bags of chips and cups of coffee clutter the few tables, and in what little space is left, papers consume it. There is a low rumble of conversation, several students with their heads close together speaking in hushed tones.

“Hey everyone,” River announces while holding up his hand. All talking ceases as the students direct their attention to my companion.

“Hey man, we started to think you weren’t coming,” says a heavyset guy on the floor. I recognize him from class. He usually sits in the back of the room with his earbuds tucked in his ears and his skull cap pulled over his ears. Professor Jerkoff never seems to bother him about that. His outfit looks like it was designed by the same person who dressed River that morning. All the others are dressed in casual sweatshirts and sweatpants, a few in jeans with ripped knees, and tattered old tee shirts.

I gaze down at my out of place “mom jeans” and the stretched out sweater from the bargain bin at Marshall’s feeling completely out of place.

“Sorry guys, I got held up.” He points to me and adds, “This is Amy. She’s in our Intro class.”

The group gawks at me. Although nobody says anything, I can almost hear their brains thinking, ‘
What the hell is this old lady doing in a law enforcement class?’
I guess they were all stoned on the first day I came swooping in to the strains of
Mrs. Robinson
.

“Um, I told her it would be okay if she came along to our group. She needs to do the project too, obviously,” River tells everyone.

The rest of the group nods approvingly. I even hear a few murmurs of agreement among the crowd. A blonde…
girl
(for lack of a better word), stands up and points to the chair she vacated.

“You can have my seat.”

What? Does she think I’m so old I can’t sit on the floor? Has she been reading too many bus signs, ‘Give up your seat to pregnant women and the elderly’?

I shake my head. “No, no, that’s ok. I’ll sit right here.” I lower myself to the floor and fold my legs underneath my body. At the exact moment the room is silent, my knee joint decides to make a loud popping noise. Everyone gapes at me some more. I gaze at the floor, willing it to open and swallow me up.

“What’s your name?” another girl asks loudly, slowly drawing out her words as if she expects me to be hard of hearing.

“Amy,” I answer her, practically shouting in return.

She appears surprised. “Oh! Wow that’s such a young name! I wish it was mine. My parents named me Virginia.” She rolls her eyes. “But you can call me Ginny.”
Yes, Virginia, even old people are named Amy. Although, this girl won’t get that reference…she’s like, twelve.

Another girl shoves a box of donuts at me. She is not someone I recognize, so she’s probably among those who don’t actually go to class, or she’s in Professor Cummings’ other class. River informed me that there is a Tuesday afternoon class that one can attend to be abused by the great professor, also. “Wants some donuts? I didn’t have time to eat before this meeting.” She widens her eyes at me. “I can’t believe River wanted to meet so
early
.”

Early? It’s almost 1:30 in the afternoon!

“I mean, I can’t even make it to Cummings’ class half the time because it’s way too early in the day. If I’m up all night, I’ve got to sleep a little, you know?” She nudges me and winks. I have a feeling her activities when
she
is up all night vary greatly from mine. I just offer her a weak smile and hope she shuts up.

River folds himself accordion style onto the floor next to me. I notice no popping sounds emanating from his joints.
Ah, to be young and have lubricated cartilage
.

River pulls his iPad out of his backpack and immediately starts to address the group. They hang on his every word, like he is the Grand Poohbah of
Intro
. Others chime in occasionally, but it is obvious that River is the leader of this crowd.

I know I should be listening to what is being said, but I can’t help but glance at the kids that surround me. They all look so young and fresh faced, staring at River and nodding their heads along with him as if he is the most brilliant lecturer in the world. They obviously all know each other because they are addressing one another by name. One by one, they start offering their own input, discussing hypothetical scenarios for the project, but I am still not listening. The people around me are just too damn distracting.

One girl, sitting across the coffee table, is literally pulling her gum out of her mouth, tugging it, and twirling it around her finger. I am silently grossed out and cringing inwardly, wondering where her fingers have been today. The boy sitting next to her has a pocket knife and he is digging underneath his nails with it. That makes me so nervous I can’t even watch. I turn away to see another girl squished onto the couch with a friend. Her hand is literally running up and down her friend’s leg, the other girl biting her lip and stifling giggles. I have a feeling that they are an item. The second girl takes her own hand and is pushing it into her friend’s waistband. I stare incredulously, but nobody else seems to notice or even care.

“Dude, did you go to the rave last weekend?” the kid behind me is asking his chair companion. “I hooked up with the hottest chick.”

The other kid laughs. “Nah, man, I couldn’t get there. I was so stoned and Jasmine decided that she wanted to blow me all weekend, so who am I to say no?”

“Oh damn, I’d let her blow me all weekend if she wanted to. She got a friend?”

“Oh yeah. A couple that like to hook up,” the second kid is saying. “You should come over. We can get wasted and screw ‘em both.”

That’s about all I can take
. I leap to my feet and knock over a cup of coffee. Not that I’m a prude, but I don’t need to hear or witness the sexual exploits of kids who are only three years older than my daughter. That’s just more than I can bear. Everyone stares at me.

“Um, I’ve got to go. I gotta go get my kids,” I manage to mumble under my breath as I snatch up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder.