“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.
“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.
Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) Page 8
