Head wound? Maren’s breath hitched on the words. “This can’t be happening.” Her voice sounded high in her ears. “Please tell me she was wearing her helmet?” Like nearly every mom in Seattle, Maren viewed with extreme suspicion the thousands of neon ride-share electric scooters that had swarmed into the city the prior year like a plague of locusts. But Winnie had at least promised she’d always wear a helmet if she ever rented one. Though new, off-the-shelf purchases were not a part of their consumer vocabulary, Maren had made an exception and invested in a top-rated bike helmet for Winnie. She tried to think back to this morning but couldn’t remember whether Winnie had left the house with her helmet dangling from the outside strap of her backpack as it usually did.
“I’m afraid there was no helmet found at the scene,” the detective said as he consulted his notes. Detective Davis looked Maren directly in the eye. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this: Did your daughter have any enemies? Anyone threatening her? The witness said Winnie was mumbling about someone following her.”
“Oh my God, do you think someone did this on purpose?” Maren froze. Like a sports highlight reel, all the cutthroat jockeying to claim the last remaining spot at Stanford cycled through her mind. Even by EBA standards, the past few weeks had been unhinged. Maren thought back to the night of Alicia’s email when Winnie had promised to take Stanford off her list. If only Maren could have frozen time that night, Winnie might not have gone on to break her word and make the decision that may have landed her here at Memorial in a full-blown medical crisis.
But would someone in Winnie’s privileged school community risk everything just to secure a spot at Stanford? That it was difficult to imagine didn’t mean it was impossible. As Maren knew all too well, given the right set of circumstances, even normal people were capable of heinous acts. And in her experience, Alicia Stone was far from normal.
6
Kelly
Kelly sat in the PTA lounge skimming the wrap-up report from last Friday night’s victorious home football game, a satisfying smackdown of EBA’s crosstown rival, Olympic Prep. She noted with satisfaction that the PTA sports committee’s plans for merchandise sales, food concessions, and this week’s spirit surprise—distribution of giant photos of the faces of the starting offensive and defensive lines on sticks for the students to wave around—had all gone off without a hitch. However, with Ms. Barstow’s shocking news of Stanford’s single spot still ringing in her ears, Kelly was having more trouble than usual caring about the details.
Sipping her lukewarm coffee, she took in the smartly decorated parent hangout where she’d spent countless hours over the past several years (and where she would no doubt still be spending time five years from now when her youngest would finally be a senior) and hoped all her hard work would pay off. She thought back to the new parent welcome coffee she had attended in this same room on Krissie’s first day of sixth grade. The PTA president hadn’t explicitly said so that day, but the implication was clear: women (it was only women in attendance) in her position (stay-at-home moms who had time to attend parent coffees and could afford to send their kids to EBA but not make huge donations) were expected to volunteer—with gusto. Having given up her career years before to raise the kids, Kelly figured she might as well apply her energy and talents to the betterment of her new school community, so she’d started at the bottom and worked her way up through the volunteer hierarchy.
Along the way, she discovered that the EBA parents who most generously supported the school’s annual fund and never-ending capital campaigns were rewarded with secret cocktail parties with the head of school, the tables closest to the action at the school auction, preferred parking, and, eventually, the best college counselors for their lucky offspring. No random lotteries there. Lacking the financial resources to get noticed by the school’s development office, Kelly doubled down as EBA’s uber-volunteer as an alternate path to earning the same perks.
However, no matter how many hours she devoted to her thankless volunteer positions, it was galling to realize blood and sweat were never valued as highly as financial contributions. Last spring, as Kelly completed her two-year term as PTA president—basically a fifty-hour-per-week unpaid job—she was looking forward to finally getting the recognition she deserved at the annual EBA awards luncheon at a fancy hotel downtown. She’d even bought a new dress for the occasion. But in a shocking turn of events, Diana Taylor was awarded Parent Volunteer of the Year, and Kelly had been caught starting to rise from her seat in the front of the room as the announcement was made. Kelly could not believe her ears. In what had been an obvious quid pro quo, Diana had been appointed chair of the EBA board of trustees that year, a mostly honorary position, after she and her husband had donated $1 million to fund the new gym’s snack shack. Apparently, her ego required even more brownnosing from the school.
Instead of the public appreciation Kelly had rightfully earned, her consolation prize for years of exuberantly donated quasi-professional services was her appointment as chairwoman of the Senior Send-off Team or SST, the committee responsible for planning all events for the graduating senior class. She may as well have had “sucker” stamped on her forehead. But she swallowed her pride. She had two more kids to consider. At least she’d been rewarded with the college counselor who was always assigned to the wealthiest families. Plus the new SST position gave her the opportunity to keep tabs on the most powerful families at the school during Krissie’s crucial senior year. A fleeting glance at the expensive mid-century modern wall clock, donated by a mom when it clashed with her new Hamptons-style kitchen, confirmed that Kelly was due at the SST meeting in five minutes.
The SST was originally composed of a couple of EBA big donors, including Diana Taylor and Augusta Wagoner, the Southern belle wife of the CEO of Cascadia Airlines, and a few industrious worker bees like Jennifer Tan, Amanda Russell, and Sarah Silver (after all, someone had to be willing to execute the grand visions of the wealthier ladies). It had been Kelly’s idea to invite Alicia to join the committee in an effort to leverage her proximity to Alicia for Krissie’s benefit. All it took was promising Alicia she wouldn’t actually have to do anything.
The unexpected bonus was that Alicia sent Maren in her place to all the meetings. Kelly had never experienced the luxury of a personal assistant, or even a nanny or regular house cleaner for that matter, but as head of the SST, she could almost pretend Maren was her own hire once she, and the rest of the committee, realized Maren could be called on to do most of the work. And now, precisely when Kelly most needed to know where Winnie was applying, it felt like destiny that Maren was trapped under her thumb.
Kelly planned to focus today’s meeting on the final plans for College Critter Day, which was scheduled to take place the following week. College Critter Day was a long-standing EBA tradition. Seniors brought their pets to school to alleviate college application stress. Of course, in the spirit of inclusivity, the SST would also be sponsoring a menagerie of animals from local pounds and pet stores to be transported to campus for students without their own portable pets. The question of portability was a controversial topic at the last meeting; after last year’s horse manure debacle in the quad, the maintenance staff had issued a rare complaint when the students hadn’t bothered cleaning up after their animals, so horses were now officially deemed not portable (i.e., not welcome).
When Kelly opened the door of the Taylor Family Conference Room (named after Michael, Diana, and Tenley Taylor, of course), she was surprised to find Maren already seated at the table looking at her phone. “Good morning, Maren,” Kelly said, perhaps a bit more brusquely than she’d intended, as she took her place at the head of the table.
“Hey,” Maren said, barely looking up from her phone.
“Maren, while we’re waiting for the others, do you mind running down to the office to make sure they’re bringing in coffee? I requested it when I booked the room, and I’m not seeing any,” Kelly said
, making a show of looking around. Kelly hadn’t actually ordered coffee service, but the errand would occupy Maren long enough for Kelly to enlist help from the other SST mothers.
“Sure—”
“Good morning, ladies,” Kelly sang out, cutting Maren off and turning her attention to Augusta, who entered the room followed by Jennifer, Amanda, and Sarah.
Once the door closed behind Maren, Amanda squealed, “Oh my God, Kelly, we just heard the Stanford news. Are you freaking out?”
“No,” Kelly said, prickling at Amanda’s brash question. “It doesn’t change anything.”
Sarah’s mouth formed a perfectly round O. “Wow, you’re so brave! I would be dying.”
In her peripheral vision, Kelly could see Augusta, the only college admissions veteran in the room, smirking. But it was easy for Augusta to minimize everyone else’s anxiety when her daughter, Greer, was a shoo-in at Vanderbilt like her two older brothers and untold generations of Wagoners before them. “I’d hardly call it brave,” Kelly said. “I mean, Krissie is second in the class with a 34 on her ACT, and she’s a National Merit Semifinalist, a double legacy, and a woman in STEM.”
“I know, Krissie’s so amazing. But if there’s only one spot and Brooke is applying too…” Amanda said, her question trailing off as her forehead creased to give the appearance of concern. The women were careful never to talk about Alicia or Brooke in front of Maren, convinced she reported back everything they said. “And what about Winnie? Have you heard anything?”
“I haven’t, but maybe one of you can ask Maren?” She looked at Amanda. “You know, so it’s not coming from—” Kelly stopped mid-sentence as the door opened and Maren returned carrying a tray with coffee. “That was fast, Maren. Thank you!”
“Well, I have news,” Sarah said. “Over the weekend, Hannah finally flipped a coin between three schools. She’s applying early to Middlebury.”
“Oh, that’s great! But gosh, isn’t Vermont cold?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we can afford to buy her a new coat and boots if she gets in.” Sarah rolled her eyes.
Maren sat back down at the table, and all eyes turned toward her.
“So, Maren,” Amanda started in. “Has Winnie made any decisions about where she’ll be applying early?”
“Her plan is UW Honors,” Maren said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Amanda said, raising her eyebrows and directing her next comment in Kelly’s direction. “Isn’t that great?”
While Amanda’s methods were about as subtle as a sledgehammer, she could always be counted on to deliver the goods. Kelly pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. She wasn’t shocked that Winnie had decided not to go head-to-head with the daughter of her mom’s boss, but she was overjoyed to hear the words straight from Maren’s mouth. Winnie had been Krissie’s nemesis since arriving at EBA. At nearly every turn, Winnie had edged out Krissie for special honors, awards, and class rank. But those small losses no longer mattered. Kelly’s eyes were now locked on the big prize, and Winnie had bailed out of the running. As far as Kelly was concerned, the only outcome worse than Krissie not getting the Stanford spot would be Winnie getting it. Given Kelly’s education and commitment to her family as well as all she’d sacrificed to support Krissie and build her résumé, she really didn’t want to lose to someone like Maren.
“UW will be so lucky to have her. How ’bout you, Jennifer?” Amanda said, shifting the conversation. “Where is Lily going early?”
Jennifer’s face instantly went from smiling to blank. She adjusted her sweater and said, “Well, we’ve decided to respect Lily’s privacy in the college journey.”
Dead silence. But really, what could anyone say? Jennifer was merely following the counseling office’s guidelines. Nevertheless, there was something about her rehearsed comment that rankled Kelly. Maybe it was her self-righteous tone. Kelly couldn’t escape the feeling that Jennifer’s closed lips were an indictment of her and the others talking openly about college. But everyone knew Lily wasn’t Ivy Plus material, so maybe Jennifer could afford to follow the silly EBA rules.
“Y’all, it’s all gonna work out,” Augusta reassured. “Every kid is going to end up where they’re meant—”
“Hi, everyone,” Diana said, bursting into the room holding her small, white fluffball of a dog under one arm. “Sorry I’m late. Miss Fussypants here refused to let me put on her pearl necklace today. I had to bring her. I mean, we’re planning College Critter Day after all.” Diana held up her dog’s face to her own and in a voice several octaves higher than normal said, “You can be the queen of College Critter Day. Yes, you can!”
Ordinarily, Kelly was not an animal person, and she was even less a fan of people who flouted rules, like the “No Dogs Allowed” signs clearly posted on each EBA entry door. And of people who dressed their pets in jewelry. But Diana was her friend now, so Kelly tried to be tolerant. She couldn’t help noticing, though, that the dog’s pearl necklace looked nicer than the one Kelly’s in-laws had given her at the engagement party they’d thrown for her and Kevin years ago. Kelly made a mental note to text Diana after the meeting to update her on the college gossip she’d missed.
“Oh my God, Miss Marigold is so adorable!” Jennifer squealed.
“Look at her matching sweater and booties,” Amanda cooed.
Kelly tried not to gag.
With a beatific smile, Diana pulled out a Swarovski crystal–encrusted water bottle, poured water into a matching dog bowl, and set it on the floor for Miss Marigold. After the first time Diana had done this during a meeting, Kelly had been curious and found the water bottle and bowl set online for $500 at Saks Fifth Avenue.
Over the incessant lapping sounds, Kelly said, “Looks like everyone’s here. Why don’t we get started? Lots to do to get ready for College Critter Day! Jennifer, you’re the College Critter Day chair. Where should we begin?”
Jennifer turned in her seat. “Maren, were you able to get those EBA-branded tissue boxes we talked about in case anyone has an allergic reaction?”
Maren checked her notes. “Yes, I ordered twenty boxes.”
“Diana, based on all your party planning experience, do you think twenty boxes is enough?” Jennifer asked.
“I already placed the order,” Maren said. “If they run out, couldn’t the students just use regular recycled tissues?”
“Oh my God, that’s disgusting,” Sarah said.
“Sarah!” Kelly laughed. “I think what Maren means is generic tissues that are also made out of recycled content, like the EBA-branded tissues. Not previously used tissues.” Honestly, sometimes Kelly wondered how bright children emerged from such dim bulbs.
“Whoops! My bad,” Sarah said with a lighthearted shrug. “Sorry, Maren.”
Maren acknowledged the apology with a nod, but she was, as usual, all business. “I also ordered EBA-branded animal waste bags. And yes, they too are made from recycled content.”
“Such good thinking, Maren,” Kelly said. “And let me see, do you also have the pet labels for us to approve?”
“Yup. I was thinking B for bites, F for friendly, H for hypoallergenic, W for wash hands after petting,” Maren said, reading from her notes.
“What about D for don’t fucking touch me?” Amanda said, chuckling at her own suggestion.
“Do you think Double Ass will be OK with that one?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“She’s kidding, Sarah,” Kelly said. “Those sound fine, Maren. I’ll run them by Ms. Richards just to be sure and then let you know so you can get them printed.” Ms. Richards was the assistant to the assistant head of school and the faculty liaison for the SST. Augusta, the colorful Southern transplant, had dubbed her Double Ass early on, and the derogatory nickname had stuck, but Kelly refused to use it mostly because she worried she might slip up and say it to her in person.
/> The meeting proceeded apace with Maren providing updates and the rest of the SST members no doubt secretly thankful to be escaping without any action items. Kelly wrapped up the excruciating meeting, but at least it had yielded important intel. As far as Kelly was concerned, Winnie was mission accomplished. Now she set her sights on Brooke.
7
Alicia
Alicia left her roller bag in the front hall and called out, “Hello! Anyone home? Bryan? Brooke?” Her voice echoed through the house. Not even the dog bothered to come greet her. As Alicia walked into the kitchen, she dropped her handbag on an island chair and glanced at the familiar loopy handwriting on the counter.
A—Cut-up veggies and fruit in the fridge. Found a new brand of dark chocolate called “Wicked Dark”—87 percent cacao—left a piece on your nightstand. Hair at 10 a.m. tomorrow.—M
Maren’s terse two-word response (“message received”) to the email ending Alicia’s yearslong financial support of Winnie’s education had been their only communication since Alicia had pressed Send. Relieved to see they were back to business as usual, at least on the surface, she crumpled up the note and tossed it in the recycling bin on her way to the fridge. She stood at the counter munching on a carrot, opened up the cable app on her phone, and turned off the Wi-Fi. A foolproof way to draw out her family.
Approximately eight seconds later, Brooke bellowed, “Dad, the Wi-Fi isn’t working! Can you reboot it?” Bingo.
“Oh hey, babe, I didn’t hear you come in,” Bryan said, padding into the kitchen clad in cargo shorts and a faded UW Baseball T-shirt. “I gotta reboot the Wi-Fi.”
Girls with Bright Futures Page 8
