The Very Principled Maggie Mayfield

by Kathy Cooperman

  ALSO BY KATHY COOPERMAN

  Crimes Against a Book Club

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Kathy Chen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503903357

  ISBN-10: 1503903354

  Cover design and illustration by Liz Casal

  Interior worm illustrations by Jacob Chen

  To my children—Jacob, Lily, Daisy, and Oliver.

  I love you equally and endlessly.

  CONTENTS

  A NOTE TO THE READER—THAT’S YOU!

  1 HOW IT STARTED

  2 THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

  3 THE PEOPLE IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD

  4 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

  5 LUCY’S BIG PLAN

  6 RAGING RACHEL

  7 MAGGIE’S WORSE HALF

  8 DIANE’S LOW-BUDGET MENAGERIE

  9 DANNY Z’S INFOMERCIAL

  10 THE FUTURE HAS ARRIVED

  11 THE WORM

  12 A WELL-OILED MACHINE

  13 CONNOR

  14 MAGGIE’S DAYMARE

  15 SHOUTING FROM THE SAME PAGE

  16 BACK TO LUCY

  17 HAPPY HALLOWEEN

  18 THE ART TEACHER’S BLUE PERIOD

  19 CUPID’S PENNIES

  20 LIFESTYLES OF THE RICH AND BOOZY

  21 DR. SEUSS WEPT

  22 AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP

  23 KEEPING UP APPEARANCES—JUST BARELY

  24 UNLOCKING CONNOR

  25 STRAGGLERS’ THANKSGIVING

  26 THE SCARLET LETTER

  27 THE RECKONING

  28 MY PRETTY PROSTITUTE

  29 TRAVELS WITH WALTER

  30 APOCALYPTIC CHIC

  31 INSPECTING RACHEL

  32 THE VERY PRINCIPLED MAGGIE MAYFIELD

  33 AND THE WINNER IS . . .

  34 GUERRILLA VALENTINES

  35 SOME ENCHANTED EVENING

  36 TRAPS EVERYWHERE

  37 SURVEY SAYS . . .

  38 APRIL IN PARIS

  39 ANDREA’S ATTEMPT

  40 CRAZY HAIR AND SOCK DAY

  41 AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH

  42 THE BIGGEST LOSER

  43 OPPORTUNITY COSTS

  44 HOSTAGES

  45 TRICKING SIMON

  46 MAGGIE MAKES HER MOVE

  47 YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE

  48 RICHARD’S AMENDS

  49 THELMA & LOUISE

  50 ARRANGEMENTS

  51 THE CHIPS FELL WHERE?

  52 SOMEWHERE IN ECUADOR . . .

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A NOTE TO THE READER—THAT’S YOU!

  Please don’t judge Maggie Mayfield too harshly. I’m not telling you to never judge people. Hell no! Judging people is big fun. Nothing livens up a wait at the supermarket like those “Worst Dressed” lists or grainy snapshots of some actress who chubbed up by eating a whole sandwich.

  But I digress. I tend to do that. Maggie says I should be kind to myself about it. She says it’s the ADD—that’s attention deficit disorder—that makes me run off into the weeds. Maggie always tells me, “Diane, you’re very insightful.” Maggie throws around words like “insightful” a lot, kind words that make people sit up straighter. Maggie’s a kind woman. She’s smart and strong too. Just not all the time.

  And her crimes—if you have to call them that—were stuff that happened when she wasn’t being her usual smart self. She was trying too hard was all, trying to take care of the kids in her school. She lives for those kids. And I guess she got tempted to do something sorta shady to make sure they got what they needed.

  Education costs money, dammit. Without art class, that dyslexic kid Rachel—I love that gal—would have had nowhere to shine. Without PE, hyper little Connor would have ended up on meds. And without science lab, that whiz kid Lucy Wong would have been bored out of her mind.

  Maggie was looking out for those misfits and hundreds like them. So don’t believe what they say about Maggie on the internet: the fraud, the secret love nest, the sex show. It’s 100 percent lies—mostly.

  Respectfully yours,

  Diane Porter

  Administrative Assistant

  Carmel Knolls Elementary

  1

  HOW IT STARTED

  Sometimes, life hands you a cupcake with a rock inside it. And that’s what happened to Principal Maggie Mayfield—fate sent her a curse disguised as a blessing.

  Maggie and her administrative assistant, Diane Porter, were in the school’s front office when they got the “good” news. It was early August, so the rest of Carmel Knolls Elementary was empty—think tumbleweeds. Diane was fiddling with the school’s website while Maggie tried to make headway on her paperwork. But it was hopeless. Maggie was a wreck—bags under her eyes, her desktop littered with Hershey’s Kisses wrappers.

  The silence grew oppressive, so Diane goosed the elephant in the room with characteristic tact. “Well, Fearless Leader, have you decided whose life you’re gonna ruin?”

  Maggie gave Diane one of her trademark behave-yourself glares. That look could drop a misbehaving child at fifty yards, but—after a decade working together—Diane had built up an immunity. Maggie said pointedly, “I don’t want to ruin anyone’s life, Diane.”

  Diane persisted, “Arlene hasn’t called yet, has she?” Arlene was Maggie’s boss, the district superintendent. For days, Arlene had been in secret talks with Silicon Valley bigwigs, wizards who could solve the district’s problems with a wave of their financial wands.

  Maggie groused, “No, dammit. No word yet.”

  “Don’t worry, she’ll get the funding,” said Diane.

  Maggie eyed her. “You don’t really believe that.”

  Diane threw up her hands. “Well, no. But I always think the world’s going in the shitter. Earthquakes, A-bombs, zombies. Civilization could go down any second.”

  Maggie frowned. “You sound like the world’s most depressing greeting card.”

  “Thank you.” Diane batted her eyelashes as if Maggie had just complimented her cotillion gown. Then she serioused up. “My point is, I always think the world’s gonna end. But up to now, I’ve been wrong. So maybe I’ll be wrong again. Maybe Arlene will come through, and you won’t have to fire anybody.”

  Maggie forced a smile. She knew Diane was doing her pathetic best.

  Diane prodded, “If Arlene doesn’t come through, who do you want to cut?”

  “I don’t want to cut anybody,” said Maggie.

  “I don’t see much choice if Arlene fails. We only got money for two STEAM teachers, not five. Way I see it, either you’re firing somebody or we’ll just have to throw the teachers in a pit and have them duke it out Hunger Games–style.”

  Maggie blew her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t know who to cut. I can’t get rid of Mr. Baran. The kids would mutiny.”

  Diane nodded. Carmel Knolls students loved Mr. Baran. He oozed third-world dictator levels of charisma, but he used his powers for good as
a humble PE teacher. Without PE, it’d be impossible to teach Maggie’s antsier kids. They’d be as unfocused as tabloid photos of UFOs.

  Maggie went on, “And Mr. Carlsen’s off the table. So’s Ms. Seborne.” Mr. Carlsen was the school’s science guy. Ms. Seborne taught tech.

  Diane pointed out the obvious. “Art’s got to go.” Maggie put her face in her hands and groaned. Diane told her, “Now, don’t you go beating up on yourself. You were straight with Miss Pearl from the get-go.” Sadie Pearl was the school’s new art teacher. Diane added, “You warned her she was a provisional hire. If there’s layoffs, it’ll be last in, first out.”

  Maggie cringed. “Don’t play bureaucratic tough guy. I know you feel bad for her too.”

  “I do feel bad for her,” admitted Diane. “But she’s not my jurisdiction. You are. I don’t want you to torture yourself over her.”

  Maggie answered, “I’m not torturing myself over her. It’s not about just her.”

  Diane cocked her head in puzzlement. Then comprehension dawned. She asked, “It’s the mansion, isn’t it?” Maggie nodded. Like a kid asking for a much-loved bedtime story, Diane said, “Tell me about the mansion, Maggie.”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair and gazed at the corkboard ceiling. She spoke softly. “A child’s mind is like a mansion with dozens of rooms: one room for art, one for math, one for literature, and so on. The child can make each room as elaborate as she wants it to be—but only if she spends time there. To do that, she needs someone—a teacher—to unlock the room for her, to show her how to move around in it, to show her what’s possible. The younger you are, the easier it is to enter a new room, to explore. So not letting a child explore, that’s worse than a sin. It’s like a little death.

  “If Arlene can’t cut this deal with the Silicon Valley people, we’ll have to chop art and music. Then next year, it’ll be tech. And after that, science and probably PE will go. Our kids’ minds will become narrower each year till they’re down to just math and English.”

  Diane nodded. Both women knew the California legislature wouldn’t cut funding for math and English because those subjects were the guts of the state’s standardized tests. California loved to brag about its test results. Being ignorant was fine, but looking ignorant was a big no-no.

  Maggie went on, “Some kids can make do. Their parents are smart or rich enough to supplement with lessons and tutors. But a lot of kids can’t. With no PE, the restless ones won’t get their wiggles out. No art or music means the artsy kids will have nowhere to shine. And no science means budding nerds won’t have anyone to show them what’s out there, what to dream about. Intellectually, the kids’ll be squatting in two rooms, while their mansions sit vacant, rotting away like . . .”

  “Like a kiddie Detroit,” said Diane.

  And then it happened—a miracle. The phone rang. Arlene Horvath called to report that she’d made a deal. Silicon Valley’s hottest for-profit education company—Edutek—had come to the rescue. They’d give the district just enough cash to pay for one year of science, tech, PE, art, maybe even music. And all the district had to do in exchange was let Edutek beta test some dopey tech program at one of its schools. What a deal!

  Maggie thanked Arlene profusely, then asked, “But what about next year? I thought Edutek was planning on a five-year STEAM grant?” STEAM was the clumsy acronym the district used for subjects the state didn’t fund: science, technology, engineering, arts, and mathematics—no mention of gym, and math was actually already funded, but still, an imprecise moniker was better than having to itemize everything on the district’s wish list.

  Arlene said, “No, we get only enough cash to pay for this year.”

  Maggie winced. She had hoped Edutek’s money would free her from tedious, nerve-racking fund-raising forever, or at least for the next five years—the timeline Edutek had bandied about. But Edutek was only offering a short reprieve, not a full pardon.

  Arlene crowed, “For the other four years, we get something else, something better.”

  “What’s better than cash?” asked Maggie. She feared Arlene would start babbling about magic beans.

  But instead, Arlene said, “Stock. Edutek stock. Just imagine it. If Edutek’s software is a hit, their stock will go through the roof. We’ll have enough cash to fund STEAM programs for the next ten, maybe twenty, years. It’ll be like having an endowment.” Arlene savored the word “endowment,” giving it an almost erotic charge.

  Maggie frowned. She didn’t share Arlene’s faith in Edutek’s bright, shiny destiny, but there was nothing to be gained in harshing Arlene’s buzz at this point. So Maggie gushed, “Wow, I guess it doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “No, Maggie dear, it doesn’t.”

  Maggie thanked Arlene some more until the great bureaucrat was sated. Then Maggie got off the phone and high-fived Diane until both women’s palms hurt. And just like that, Maggie set out on a course that would screw up her life forever.

  2

  THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

  The four children stood like tiny mourners at a pet-hamster funeral, their heads bent as they stared silently at something on the ground. Maggie couldn’t see what that something was, but her school-principal senses were tingling. Not wanting to sneak up on them, she put two fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistled like a lusty construction worker.

  The children knew that sound. Only one person in their world whistled like that: the principal. They whipped around, watching Maggie as she made her way toward them. She was not a physically intimidating figure. Just five feet tall, she had to crane her neck when meeting most parents. And even though she was in her late thirties, her face remained stubbornly girlish: pert nose and Cupid’s-bow lips set in a heart-shaped pale face. In a bid for urbanity, Maggie wore her thick dark-brown hair in a bob with a shock of bangs that ended just above her lively green eyes.

  And for the first day of school only, she sported high heels. Maggie’s height worked fine for her with the kids, but the parents were another story. If she didn’t wear heels, other adults towered over her. It was hard for her to feel authoritative when talking to a couple who could easily take her by the hands and swing-walk her down the street. So the heels. As she drew closer, Maggie said, “Hey, kids. Whatcha got there?”

  Third grader Lucy Wong announced: “A rattlesnake! And I saw it first!” Lucy held her pigtailed head high, her face aglow with self-importance. She pointed at her discovery.

  Maggie’s eyes widened. But she forced a smile as she came up alongside the children. She saw that, yes sirree, it was indeed a rattler: a three-foot-long diamondback. Very poisonous. Maggie, a New Englander born and bred, would never get used to rattlers. Even after fifteen years in San Diego, coming across a rattler on the playground felt surreal to her, like running into a lion at the bank. But Maggie was grateful the snake had shown up so early. With thirty minutes to go before the first bell, only a handful of kids were on the playground. Still, there were enough of them, enough to delude themselves into feeling safe so they’d do something cataclysmically stupid.

  Maggie needed to get them out of there, but she’d have to do it slowly. Rattlers tend to get bitey in a stampede. A few yards from the children, the rattler coiled itself and turned to look at them. A boy with a surfer’s shag haircut said, “Dude, it’s huge.” He pronounced “dude” with its California-mandated five beats (“duuuuuuuuude”).

  The snake punctuated dude-man’s point by rattling its tail, and the kids stepped back—all but a freckly, brown-haired first grader named Connor. He crouched down, murmuring, “It’s legendary.” Connor’s word choice confirmed he’d spent half his summer playing Pokémon Go.

  Rachel, a chubby, tall girl who towered over the other children like an awkward skyscraper, warned, “It’s poisonous. See those brown patches? That’s a Southern Pacific rattler.” Like most San Diego kids, Rachel had done her time at the city’s famous zoo. She was ready to host her own show on Animal Planet.

&nbs
p; But Connor wasn’t listening. His blue eyes took on a dreamy cast. Maggie had seen that look before. Connor was zoning. In his mind, he wasn’t even on the playground anymore. He probably thought he was in a Ninjago episode, facing off against the Great Devourer, a gigantic serpent who wanted to take over the world. Maggie was careful to stay current on her students’ interests, so she’d force-fed herself a few hours of Lego’s Ninjago cartoons. It was about as much fun as force-feeding herself actual Legos.

  Maggie decided to tug Connor’s mental leash. As loudly as she dared, she commanded: “One, two, three. Eyes on me.” The kids’ programming, long dormant for the summer months, suddenly kicked in. All eyes, Connor’s too, snapped to Maggie’s. In her best this-is-your-mission-should-you-choose-to-accept-it voice, Maggie said, “I’ve got a job for all of you. You’ve seen a guy walk across a tightrope, right?”

  The children nodded yes. Maggie continued, “Good. Now tell me, how fast does a tightrope walker move?”

  “Not fast at all,” said Lucy.

  Maggie nodded. “That’s right.” Lucy puffed out her tiny chest. “And that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to tightrope-walk backwards together. And we’ll do it on the count of three, slow and quiet. Okay?”

  The children nodded, their faces earnest with a sense of mission. Maggie said, “Okay. One, two, three.” Maggie took one slow, giant step back, and the children copied her. Then another and another. As the children moved across the playground, Maggie murmured encouragement: “Nice and slow . . . that’s it.”

  When the kids were at a safe distance, she said, “Okay, now stop.” The children froze. Maggie beamed at them. “You guys did great. Best tightrope walkers I’ve ever seen.”

  She leaned down toward them. “Now, I’ve got another big job for you. The other students are going to arrive soon, and we need to keep them off this playground. We don’t want any of them running into that rattler, do we?” The kids shook their heads, proud to be consulted on a matter of such importance. “So, I need you guys to run over to the office and tell Mrs. Porter there’s a snake on the playground. Can you do that?”