Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) (9 page)

“Oh yeah! And that’s not all!” Lexie continues to sing along. She is happily swaying back and forth now. She has switched from her, ‘
I’m tattling’
voice to her ‘
man do I have some gossip for you’
voice.

“Lexie,” I snatch the still frozen chicken out of the fridge. “Just get on with it please.”

“She has a
boy
in her room!” Lexie manages to gasp.

I also gasp. And drop the frozen chicken on my foot. I don’t even feel the searing pain from what I later discover is a broken pinkie toe, as I thunder toward the steps. I am imagining all sorts of scenarios,
Allie naked on her bed, being humped by the lecherous boy I caught her outside with a few weeks ago; Allie naked, humping the lecherous boy, Allie...
. Stop, Amy!

“Allie!” I am screeching at the top of my lungs. “
Allllllllllliiiiiiiiieeeeeeee
!”

I get to the top of the steps just as Allie pokes her head out of her doorway. I take note that she is fully dressed and let out a small sigh of relief. But just a
small
sigh. I
know
what can happen even fully clothed.

“Yes, Mommy?” she asks sweetly and innocently, pulling her door against her back so I can’t see inside.

“Don’t yes Mommy me,” I growl, pushing the door with my arm, nearly knocking her over in the process.

“Mom!”

Sitting on her bed (yes, on her
bed
) is a sandy haired boy of average height and medium build. I guess I should be thankful that he also has all of his clothes on. He is bent over a book, but his head jerks up as the door hits the wall.

I brush past Allie and am now standing in the middle of her room, hands planted firmly on my hips. The boy is blushing deeply and Allie is stamping her foot like a horse with a nail in its shoe. I don’t know which one of them to direct my anger toward first, so I step back and glare at both of them.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I inquire with a bark.

“History,” the boy answers at the same time that Allie says, “Chemistry.”

“Hmpfh,” I remark without amusement and step toward the bed. The boy is indeed reading from a history book, but Allie has a dog eared copy of
Twilight
face down on the bed. “If you’re going to lie, you should be on the same page,” I remark sardonically, and to my surprise, the boy bursts out laughing.

I glower at him. “What’s so funny?”

He turns a deep shade of crimson as he stammers, “I thought you were making a pun…”

I shake my head. “Uh, no. I don’t make puns.” I turn back to my daughter. “What is he doing here in your room when no one was home and you were supposed to be at baton twirling club or whatever?”

“Yearbook club. And it was cancelled,” Allie mumbles, poking at the carpet with the tip of her shoe.

I’m trying my best
not
to be a nag, really, I am. I’m attempting to remember what it was like being a teenager, but I have to draw the line somewhere. Kissing delinquent motorcycle boys in the rain was bad enough, but a boy in the bedroom when nobody is home is where that line is getting drawn. Today. Right here, right now.

“So what makes you think you can have a boy over in your bedroom when I’m not home? What made you think that I would
possibly
be ok with that, huh?”

“We’re just studying,” Allie mutters, not meeting my eye.

“Oh, I call Bullshit,” I retort. “Is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?” I nearly clamp my hand over my mouth when I hear my mother fly out.
You kids nowadays? Dear Lord, deliver me from this evil of becoming my mother.

“Um…I think I should go,” the boy says as he stands up and grabs his book off of the bed. His clothes are neat and pressed, and his pants are not sagging down around his kneecaps like many of the boys I have seen hanging around the high school. He actually looks like a real, normal kid. I wonder what Allie’s angle is on this. Because there’s no way she’s going for this normal, non-descript kid. There’s no drama in that, and if I know one thing about Allie, she thrives on drama. Which is probably why she had this kid up in her room in the first place.

“Oh no, my friend.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Who are you? And where do you live? Do I know your mother?” This is beginning to feel vaguely familiar. I feel like I’ve had this conversation before…

The kid turns even redder than I thought humanly possible. It looks like his pale skin is on fire.

“What’s your name?” I bark, getting a tiny bit of a thrill out of scaring this kid. Maybe if I can get him to pee his pants, I’ll never find him in my daughter’s bedroom again. Ah, that’s something to strive for.

“Taylor,” he manages to stutter.

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” a voice from behind me asks.

I look back to see Lexie hanging in the doorway, slurping a juice box.

“Lexie-”

“Just sayin, Mom. Taylor Swift, that girl Taylor at the Stop and Shop, Taylor G. in my class…all
girls
,” she remarks. She offers her sister a cunning smile and then takes a noisy slurp, causing the juice box to crumple in her hand.

“Get lost, Lexie. Go get ready for Girl Scouts. Don’t you have a meeting tonight?” The last thing I need is to break up a cat fight in between the girls right now.

“That’s on Fridays, Mom. You forgot to take me this Friday and-”

“You heard Mom, Lexie!
Get out
.” I can see the veins on the side of Allie’s temple pulsing.

“Let me do the parenting, Lexie,” I tell her as I push her out the door and slam it closed.

“Just trying to help you out, dear Mommy!” Ugh. She’s either buttering me up for something or taking way too much delight in the prospect of Allie getting in trouble. Or both.

I thought raising my first teenager was difficult. Correction, it
is
difficult. Every. Single. Day. But the added bonus with Lexie is that she’s had a front row seat to all the Allie drama that’s been going around the last three or four years. As much as I thought my second daughter was scatter brained, I’m beginning to realize that she’s actually pretty manipulative. She loves to point out Allie’s flaws and be a suck up in the hopes that I applaud her for her lack of flaws. Or what she conceives to be lack of flaws. She thinks that I’ll let her get away with what she wants to do just because it isn’t as “bad” as what Allie is doing. But I’m on to her.

I turn my attention back to Romeo and Juliet. “So Taylor, you were saying?”

“Um, I wasn’t…” He is visibly shaking. I can tell Allie is pissed off, but also embarrassed. She looks like a deer caught in headlights; as well she should be with a boy in her room. But for some reason, I’m thinking that there’s more to this story. I smell a rat.

“Listen, Mom, we really were just studying…” Allie starts to say.

Taylor nervously shifts his weight and a page of loose leaf flutters out of his book. I follow the path the paper and suddenly, it all becomes clear. At the top of the page, written in Allie’s very neat but tiny scrawl, is her name.

Allie wasn’t totally lying.
There’s homework being done, but Taylor is the only one doing it. Allie is having him do her homework for her!

I screw up my lips and glower at my daughter while I scoop the paper off the ground. Handing it to Taylor, I remark casually, “You forgot your homework…” I glance at the paper. “
Allie
.”

Now Allie and Taylor are matching shades of crimson.

Before you laugh at me, let me point out that I am not delusional. I realize that pretty girls get boys to do their homework for them. I have actually pulled that stunt once or twice myself. (Don’t snicker…there were some desperate nerdy boys in school that thought even plain old me was attractive). But the difference is, I never stooped as far as to lead them into my bedroom under the guise that I liked them!

I am furious with my daughter right now. Not only is she manipulating her grades, she’s going to break this boy’s heart, something I won’t stand for.

“You,” I point to poor Taylor, “need to get home.
You
,” I shove the paper at Allie, “need to do your own homework.”

Gulping visibly, Taylor clutches the book to his body. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters while tucking his chin to his chest and throwing the bedroom door open. He stumbles into the hall, bumping into Lexie, who is suspiciously holding a glass in her left hand. She quickly sticks it behind her back and steps backwards toward her own bedroom.

“Lexie, please see our friend
Mr
. Taylor out,” I order with a glare as I slam the bedroom door shut.

Allie has already recovered from her momentary embarrassment and is scrunching up her face into a scowl. She has also crossed her arms over her chest and assumed a defiant stance.

“Well, Miss Maxwell…I am curious to hear why on
Earth
you thought any of that,” I wave around her room, “was going to be acceptable.”

“Sorry,” she remarks grumpily. “I didn’t know it was a crime to do your homework now.”

I roll my eyes at her and take a step forward. “Don’t bullshit a bull-shitter, Allie. I know exactly what was going on in here.”

“Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean…” she scoffs, but I interrupt.

“Ha! You’re funny. That’s not even your worst offense right now. You know why I’m pissed off and it’s not just because he’s a boy.
And
he was in your bedroom.”

She blinks innocently at me. “Whatever do you mean?” I swear she flutters her lashes.

“Knock it off. That kind of acting might work with the poor unsuspecting kids in your school, but there’s no way I’m going to fall for that nonsense.”

“I don’t-”

“It’s not nice to use people!” I admonish. And then, I see her face crumple and her lip quiver.

Oh crap
.
Hysterical teenager alert!

I quickly try to switch up my tactic. “If you need help with school work, I’d rather you tell us instead of pretending everything’s fine and getting someone else to do your dirty work for you. We could have helped you,” I finish in a softer tone.

Roger had just mentioned one of Allie’s teachers had complimented her good grades thus far this year. Now I feel my spirits fall as I am realizing how she may have obtained those grades.

“Please! It’s not like you’re ever home anymore to help me!” Allie scoffs.

Those words slap me in the face, leaving a bitter sting.

“Well that’s no excuse to
use
somebody!” I shoot back, trying to keep my anger in check.

“It’s not like that!” Allie insists, flopping dramatically on her bed. “He was helping me! He really was!”

“Doing something
for
you isn’t helping you! You need to learn it. Do you want us to look into a tutor-”

“
Taylor
was tutoring me,” Allie cuts me off. “But apparently that isn’t good enough for you either! Nothing I do is good enough for you!” She scoops up her stuffed animal “Lamby” and flings it at the door, narrowly missing my head.

“Allie! Cut it out! You cannot just have a temper tantrum when you get caught doing something you’re not supposed to.” With my hand on the doorknob I continue, “Now we will discuss this when your father gets home.”

I open the door and turn to leave the room when I hear Allie mutter under her breath, “Oh joy, a family meeting. It’s so nice of you to actually spend time with your family.”

I ignore her hostile words and close her door softly. As if the earlier events of the day were not enough to make me doubt going back to school, catching my daughter with a boy in her bedroom is certainly going to confirm it. I need to keep an eye on her 24/7 apparently, especially in light of that little incident with the motorcycle boy a few weeks ago.

Damn it. I forgot to tell Roger about that! He’s going to go through the roof.

I glance at the clock, wanting Roger to rush home ASAP. In fact, I have completely forgotten about Jillian…
again
.

~Seven~

“Hello, Mrs. Maxwell?” The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone sounds slightly nervous. And British. Definitely British. Maybe the British always sound nervous to untrained American ears.

“Yes?” I inquire while wrinkling my brow. I don’t know anybody British.

“Yes, yes, this is Mrs. Pumpernickel at the Cornish Conservatory.”

Cornish Conservatory? That sounds like a rather odd place. “Er, yes, Mrs. Pumpernickel…what can I do for you?” I am already under the impression that the woman has the wrong phone number, but the poor dear sounds so flustered that I don’t want to correct her quite yet.

“Erm, yes…I’m calling about your daughter Allie…”

Allie? Now I am surprised. How would this woman know about Allie? Where did she say she was calling from again?
Cornish Conservatory
? Is that a place where they grow those tiny little hens that my mother likes to buy at Easter?

“Allie?” I ask with concern. As far as I know, Allie is upstairs in her room, pretending to do homework. But then again, I’ve been wrong about my child’s whereabouts on several occasions recently...

I crane my neck to glance up the stairs and see that her door is closed. Hmmm, should I check to make sure she’s actually there?

“Yes, yes, Mrs. Maxwell! We’ve heard delightful things about your daughter and would like to invite her to study at our conservatory!” The woman sounds like she is clapping her hands together in earnest.

“Oh, you want Allie to go to your school?” A conservatory is a school, right? “And in Cornish?” Is Cornish a place?

“Ah, correct,” the lovely old biddy tells me, nervousness completely gone from her voice. “Now I do understand some parents may be a little leery about sending their daughter across the ocean to study abroad, but I assure you, our school has the most remarkable reputation for turning out generation after generation of well-behaved young ladies-”

“Excuse me, did you say,
young ladies
?”

“Correct!” Mrs. Pumpernickel gushes. “This is an all-girls school. We pride ourselves on a distraction free learning environment consisting of uniforms and no males, including male faculty.”

“Say no more,” I interrupt. “Where do I sign?”

Despite what I have told Allie, I am not planning to tell Roger about the boy in our daughter’s bedroom right away because I know he will hit the roof. Then I will have had to go looking for his nitroglycerine pills. And I’ve forgotten where I have put them.

However, as I pull the makeshift ingredients out of the fridge to prepare dinner, I quickly dial Laura. I am only passed through three kids today before I get her on the phone, which is actually impressive. In that time however, I discover the chicken is way too frozen to cook and I am going to have to get take-out instead. I quickly text Roger and tell him to pick up two pizzas since I don’t know how long Jillian is going to be at our house. She might as well let her taste real food if she’s staying for dinner.

When one of the twins finally gives Laura the phone, I quickly launch into my tale of woe because with my best friend, you never know how long you’re going to have to talk on the phone before one of her kids breaks a bone or crazy glues another one to the floor.

She sighs and tells me Kaitlyn had been using people to do her homework, too. “Not that Kaitlyn had a boy in her bedroom,” Laura reiterates. “I’m home all the time, so that wouldn’t be happening.” This sounds like a passive aggressive dig.

When I had told her about going back to school back in September, we had been sipping margaritas on my deck. She spit her drink halfway across the yard and laughed so hard that tears came out of her eyes. When she finished drying her face, she looked at me with a shocked expression and said, “Oh, you were really serious about that? I thought you were making a joke!”

Tucking the cordless phone under my chin, I remark defensively, “Well, I
was
home, Laura. I just didn’t know that she was here. Or that this Taylor kid was here either.”

“Taylor? Taylor Jordan? Oh I think he was doing Kaitlyn’s homework for her for a while until I broke that up. Guess that’s why he moved on to Allie.”

I can’t help thinking that she’s trying to imply that my daughter is getting sloppy seconds. I’m about to make a snarky comment when an incoming text from Roger turns my blood cold.

Went to pick up Jill. Mom said other aunt picked her up.

“Uh, Laura…I gotta go.” I hang up the phone without even waiting for her reply.

Jillian’s only other aunt is Joey. And she is currently in Mexico on vacation.