Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) (8 page)

“You can’t go! We didn’t even break into groups yet,” River states, eyebrows knitted together with concern. I’m slightly annoyed.
Who died and put him in charge of me anyway?

“Yeah, I got a text from my daughter. I have to go pick her up. She’s sick. I’m sorry. Let me know what you want me to do for the project. Uh, I’ll do extra to make up for it. Anything you need done individually, I’m all for.” I offer a half-hearted wave and turn around, tangling my foot in the strap of someone’s messenger bag. I manage to catch myself before I fall, and I stumble to the elevator.

The elevator opens on the first floor and I dash toward the door. I shove it open, only to be met by the blaring sounds of alarms going off and the flashing lights of the security cameras snapping away.

Shit! What did I do?

Then I see the campus police zooming up the lawn in their little golf carts, surrounding me like I’m a criminal. As I feel like melting into a puddle on the sidewalk, I turn and see that I have not gone out the front door. In my haste to get away, I have exited via the alarmed emergency fire exit. Suddenly, the campus seems inundated with teenagers everywhere, staring at me and whispering.

I cover my face with my hands and at that very moment, I want to die.

~Six~

Forty embarrassing minutes later (after a body cavity search from a female security guard who may want to get her testosterone level checked), I have finally convinced the campus police that I am not a threat to homeland security. I did not plant a bomb or set the dorm on fire, nor do I carry drugs on or
in
my person. I am simply just an absentminded college student/ mother who forgot to use the correct door of a dorm building where she didn’t belong anyway. I think that the campus police see very little exciting activity at 1:30 in the afternoon, so they were looking to make it last by torturing me.

Between today’s ordeal and the fact that I absolutely suck at college, I seriously doubt that I will ever be able to show my face again at Shrewsbury University.

I am calculating how much of my money I can get refunded as I pull up to the house and screech to a halt before I hit the garage door. I am so freaking late. In addition to my mortifying run in with the campus rent a cops, I stopped to get Evan at school and was bullied into a corner by his teacher, Mrs. Cat Litter Breath. Actually, I think her name is Mrs. Cattabredth, but Cat Litter Breath is much more fitting. Evan has been in school for a total of six weeks and I have been accosted by her noxious halitosis every single time I’ve picked him up. Lucky me.

This time she wanted to tell me, at length, about how after snack time, Evan came out of the bathroom stark naked with his pants on his head. But that wasn’t all. He proceeded to dance a jig while saying, ‘
look at it bounce
’ to the delight of his classmates and the horror of Cat Breath.

Listening to her recall the incident, I covered my face with my hands, not only out of embarrassment, but to prevent myself from laughing. Oh, and to put some sort of blockade between me and Cat Breath. She apparently had tuna for lunch. I tried to admonish Evan all the way home, but quite honestly, I didn’t have the heart. The kid was obviously feeling at home in school.

So now I was even later than I had been to begin with. Not ‘
oh, I’m going to get there just on time’
late like my sister Beth. The, ‘
I am seriously so late DFYS may come and take my kids away for abandoning them this long’
late.

According to my calculations, Lexie and Colt have been home for at least 25 minutes, and judging by the looks on their faces when I pull up, it may have been even longer.

“I’m sorry!” I apologize as I clamor out of the car and open the backseat to allow Evan to climb out. “I’m really, really super-duper sorry,” I reiterate as I gather up my belongings.

“This all could have been avoided if you would just give me a key,” Lexie points out as I ascend the porch stairs, digging through my purse for the keys that I
just
dropped in there. I don’t know why I always do that. I climb out of the car and put the keys in my purse and then I am stuck searching for them.

“You’re not ready for a key,” I tell Lexie, my absentminded child, as I unlock the door. There’s no way I am letting her have a house key. Not only will she lose it within moments of receiving it, she’ll probably attach it to a key chain with our address and phone number on it. She’s just not that bright. Don’t shoot me; she’s book smart, but I would hate to see her lost in the middle of a ghetto. Besides, Allie is usually home a half hour before her, but today she had some club after school.

At first I was going to say no to the club; I needed her to be home for her siblings. But she rarely wants to participate in group things, usually scoffing and rolling her eyes when I would suggest she join this club or that club. But for some reason this year she has taken a sudden interest in participating. She ditched her Queen of Mean friend Victoria earlier in the summer (or more likely, Victoria ditched her) and she has actually been hanging out a lot with her old friend Kaitlyn, much to my delight.

Kaitlyn and Allie had had a falling out last year and Kaitlyn’s mother, my good friend Laura (oh, who am I kidding, my
only
friend) had campaigned to keep the girls apart. It was hurtful, but I discovered it was because Laura had been given false information about Allie, and I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to keep her daughter away from what she
thought
Allie was.

Thankfully, we cleared the air on several misunderstandings (including where she was under the impression that my daughter was a strung out druggie), and we have been able to remain friends. Maybe not as close as we have been in the past, but, hello, I had a life altering, near death experience that she couldn’t possibly relate to.

Actually, I had been very popular with the PTA mothers right after Allie and I were rescued from our harrowing experience. They all accosted me on the playground at elementary school drop off, clucking and feigning genuine concern for my state of mind and all, while they sipped their skinny chai lattes and intently listened to my tale of woe. I was popular for about two weeks and then Karen Milroy got run over by her deranged husband and she became all the rage. She’s fine. He only backed into her (wide load butt) and pinned her against the garage door, but you would have thought she had flown over the hood at 70 miles an hour to hear her tell it (while she dabbed tears from her eyes and clutched her neck brace). But, once again, I digress…

“I really wish you would give me a key,” Lexie continues. “We’ve been waiting here
forever
and I really gotta go to the bathroom! Like
bathroom
bathroom.”  

“Why didn’t you go in school?” I ask with exasperation, hurriedly unlocking the door. It’s one of those rhetorical questions because I already know the answer. Lexie refuses to poop in school. She wants the comfort of her own toilet, and her books, and the luxury to sit in there as long as she wants. She’s like Roger junior in training.

I get the door unlocked and the kids burst through; Lexie tossing her book bag aside to dash up the stairs, Evan immediately going on a search for the remote, and Colt racing into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. I swear that kid has a tapeworm. All he does is
eat.
When I suggested to the pediatrician that we check for worms, she just laughed at me. “It’s only going to get worse.” I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when he has a growth spurt or
puberty.
As it is we go through two boxes of granola bars, three gallons of milk, and four boxes of cereal a week just from him snacking.

“Colt! Do
not
have a bowl of cereal! We will be eating soon!” I yell as I dump my own backpack on the floor. I am lying, of course. I have absolutely no idea what or when we will actually be eating. We’ve already run the gamut for take-out meals the last couple of weeks, ranging from pizza to Chinese food, and my list of quick and simple meals that all four children will actually eat is quickly dwindling to Man-wiches and Hamburger Helper. And we don’t have any more chopped meat. Oh, and I think Allie is a vegetarian this week, so that’s out anyway.

“Oh man, I hope we’re not having something gross,” Colt mutters as he kicks his backpack toward the kitchen table.

While his back is turned and he is pulling his homework folder out of the backpack, I stick my tongue out at him. Even though he eats like a Hoover vacuum, he is one of the fussiest ones in the house. He has very specific tastes that range from bland to ‘
oh my God, is this made of cardboard?’
No spices have ever touched his delicate palate.

In addition, Allie experiments with a different dietary fad each week and Lexie only likes carbs. My only saving grace is that Evan will pretty much eat everything you put in front of him.

As I flip through my mental rolodex of possible dinner scenarios, I hear the TV in the living room blaring to life. I groan as the chipper voices of Disney Junior float in from the living room. I know I should really try to engage my youngest child in something mentally stimulating, but honestly, I don’t have the stamina. Despite the AAP’s insistence that my child will be mentally stunted if he watches more than twelve and a half minutes of TV a day, I’m pretty sure an hour or so while I get it together for dinner won’t kill him.

“Mom, you needed to sign this
yesterday
,” Colt whines as he waves a hot pink piece of paper in my face. “It was due today! I’m gonna get a bad grade ‘cuz
you
didn’t sign it!” He shoves it into my hand and proceeds to sulk, slumping down in one of the kitchen chairs.

I examine the offensively bright piece of paper in my hand. It is for parent teacher conferences. I grab a pen and tell him, “I’ll sign it, but relax. This isn’t due yet, Colt.”

“Yes it is! Mrs. Martin said it was due
today
! And all the other kids brought theirs in and I got moved off the island-”

“What? What are you talking about?” An island sounds like just what I need about now. Preferably one with cabana boys and no kids. My mind starts to wander as I grab a pot from the counter.

“
The island
. Mrs. Martin uses an island system for homework. If you forget your homework you end up in the ocean,” Lexie offers as she enters the room, zipping up her jeans. Lexie had Mrs. Martin in second grade. She is now unloading the contents of her own backpack onto the table.

“Thank you, Lexie.” I point to the books. “We will be eating dinner soon, so I’d appreciate if you’d do your homework in your room.”

“But I don’t want to!” she whimpers. “I want to talk to you while I do my homework.” Exactly
why
I want her to do her homework in her room. My head is already pounding. All the children, other than Evan, have desks in their rooms. Why they chose to do their homework at the kitchen table is beyond me. Well, except for Allie. She holes herself up in her room; she wouldn’t dare interact with us mere mortals in the kitchen.

I rub my temples to stave off my headache. “Please, Lexie. I’m begging you. Don’t make me take away your iPad.”

She scoops her papers up in a huff. “
Fine.
Oh, and Colt is right. That paper
was
due today.” She stomps out of the room as I reexamine the paper.

“That can’t be right,” I say out loud. “This says the fourth.” I glance at the calendar. It can’t be the fourth because I’m supposed to pick up Jill…
Oh my God, I forgot to pick up my niece from her playdate!

My heart pounding in my throat, I dig through my purse to find my phone. Sure enough, the little calendar icon at the top announces that it is indeed the day I was supposed to pick Jillian up from her friend’s house. The evil clock icon is reminding me that I also only have twelve minutes to do so. There is no way I can get three kids back into the car and get there in twelve minutes. If Allie was home, I’d at least be able to leave the younger ones with her, but I don’t even trust Lexie to watch her brothers while I take a shower, let alone while I drive across town. I glance down at the phone again and notice that there are also no less than five texts from Beth reminding me to pick her daughter up.

“Crap, I am so fucked,” I mutter while slumping against the island.

“Bad word, Mama,” Evan so kindly reminds me as he conveniently wanders into the room just then.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble as I scroll down my phone to find Roger’s number. He should be on his way home now. I hastily send him a text, begging him to pick Jillian up. I conveniently include the address. It is on the other side of town, but closer to where Roger is than I am. My phone chimes three seconds later with a text from Roger.

But they’re expecting
you
! I’ll look like a pedophile going to pick her up
.

With annoyance, I angrily text back,
Roger, I swear to God you’ll look like worse than a pedophile if you don’t go get that child. Beth will personally twist your balls into a knot.

I do not get any texts for another minute or so but then,
Fine. OMW. Can you call them and let them know I’m coming?

I text back,
Sure, np
. (Allie has been teaching us text speak).

Roger’s next question is,
What’s for dinner?

I groan as I realize that I have not solved that problem yet. Opening up the fridge, I stare at the contents and hope that something edible magically appears. There is half a stalk of celery in the crisper and a few different types of cheeses, along with chicken that I took out to defrost yesterday, but somehow is still frozen. I definitely need to get to the grocery store. I’m just not sure
when
that’s going to happen.

I am wondering if I can create some cheesy chicken dish when I hear Lexie dashing down the stairs and puffing into the kitchen.

“Mom! Oh Mommmmm!”

Sighing, I turn around reluctantly. “What is it Lexie?”

“Allie is in her room!” she sings out in her ‘
I’m tattling on you’
voice.

“What?” I must not be hearing her correctly.

Allie was here this whole time? And she didn’t let her siblings in? What happened to newspaper club or student council or whatever the hell she told me she was doing this afternoon?
Hey, don’t think of me as a bad mother because I can’t remember. I have it written down…somewhere.