Alien Education

by Gini Koch

  Mercifully, my phone rang. Being the Worst First Lady in the World, I pulled it out of my purse. Not a number I knew, but it wasn’t a blocked number, either. Decided to answer just in case it was, against all the odds, Aerosmith’s manager calling to tell me that the band had so loved performing for Jeff’s inauguration that they wanted to spend the weekend with us. And it was a fantastic excuse to get out of the room.

  “Hello?” I said as softly as I could, as I kept a hold of my purse and slid out of my seat as unobtrusively as I could manage.

  “Is this Missus Martini?” A woman’s voice, indeterminate age.

  “Yes. Who’s this?” Used a little hyperspeed burst to get out the door and into the hallway. Breathed a sigh of relief. Away from the lecture and no longer disturbing the rest of the class.

  “This is Charmaine Cordell. Do you always act like you’re having phone sex when people call you?”

  Well, that was a new opening gambit. Decided that, regardless of why she was calling, up to and including if she was managing Aerosmith, I didn’t care for her. “No. I was in a meeting and hurried out of it to take your call. I have no idea who you are or why you’re calling me. Are you always rude when you make phone calls?”

  She sniffed. “I have no idea what you’re insinuating. I’m the President of the Sidwell Friends School Parent Teacher Association.”

  Fantastic. Great way to get off to a terrible start. I was batting a thousand as usual. “Oh. Nice to meet you.” Not really, but I’d learned enough by now not to share that.

  “I’m sure it is. I wanted to let you know that, particularly since you have so many children coming into our school, you’re in charge of our first bake sale.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Surely you’ve heard of the concept of bake sales?”

  “Um, yes. I’m still stuck on your idea that one early-starters kindergartener and one high school freshman are ‘many.’”

  She heaved a dramatic sigh. “You have, at last count, well over a dozen. Jamie Katt-Martini, Patrick Dwyer, Ross Billings, Sean Muir, and Ezra Weisman, early-starters kindergarten. Jonathan Price the Second, first grade. Miriam Price, second grade. Rachel Lewis, third grade. Cassidy Maurer, fourth grade. Kimberly Martini and Raymond Lewis, fifth grade. Chance Maurer, sixth grade. Elizabeth Vrabel and Anthony Valentino, ninth grade. Claire Valentino, tenth grade. Sidney Valentino, eleventh grade. I’ve possibly missed some, but those are who are on my roster.”

  “Ah . . . you do realize they’re not all ‘my’ children, right? I mean, I’m happy to claim them since they’re all great, but they aren’t my legal children. You’re clear on that, right?”

  The Price and Valentino kids were among Jeff’s many nieces and nephews, and the rest were Embassy kids. The Embassy kids were all great. Kimmie had been my flower girl and I adored her. The jury was out on the rest of the Martini Clan Kids, mostly because I had no idea how badly Stephanie had or hadn’t turned her siblings and cousins against us. But I wasn’t going to share that with Charmaine.

  She sniffed again. “Yes. However, they’re all enrolled through the White House. Ergo, they all fall under you, as the First Lady.”

  “Do they? I’m sure their parents wouldn’t agree.”

  “I’m sure that we at the Sidwell Friends School Parent Teacher Association will leave that up to you and your myriad relatives who are all apparently using their connections to you to shove their children into the finest preparatory school in the country.” Received another sniff.

  Had no idea who’d come up with the plan for the Valentino and Price kids to go to school with regular humans instead of A-Cs or instead of hitting up the Intergalactic School, but I was pretty sure that Jeff hadn’t been the one to do it. Any time something like this happened with his family, though, knew I needed to look no further than his parents for the likely culprits. Alfred and Lucinda were about to have some ’splaining to do.

  Though why only Jeff’s eldest and youngest sisters’ kids were going to school with ours was a mystery, too. One I’d have to figure out after I could get off the phone with Ms. Prez of the PTA. Who was, frankly, pissing me off.

  “I’m certain that you’ll find that all of our children belong in Sidwell.”

  She sniffed again. She was starting to remind me of the kangaroo from Horton Hears A Who. “Never in our history have so many unqualified students been enrolled. And we have your husband’s administration to thank for that.”

  Decided she was totally that bitchy kangaroo from Horton Hears A Who and also decided it was high time I chose to hate her. “So, other than to insult a group of young, talented, bright children, my family and friends, and my husband, why are you calling me again?”

  “Because you haven’t done one bit of fundraising for the school and, as I said, that means you’re in charge of the first bake sale.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we took a vote and you were chosen.”

  “I feel so lucky.”

  “You should. It’s a great honor.”

  “I note that I wasn’t included in this vote. How is that fair?”

  “The vote was unanimous, so your one vote wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “Well, that’s all neat and tidy then.”

  “Isn’t it? And, as I mentioned, you have the most children registered.”

  “Um, gotcha and whatever, not my thing and—and I realize this will shock you—I actually have running the country and representing us galactically to do. We’ll happily shove whatever money you want at the PTA.”

  She sniffed. Again. No matter what this woman looked like in person, I was always going to see her as a supercilious kangaroo with opera glasses. “We don’t allow our students’ parents to merely toss money at them. No, we of the Sidwell Friends School Parent Teacher Association pride ourselves on the fact that we honestly fundraise to support the school and school activities.”

  “So, seriously, everyone going to this school comes from wealth in some way and you’re saying that none of the parents donate? Pull the other one or however you say it at the Sidwell Friends School Parent Teacher Association.”

  “Oh, of course we expect the parents to donate as well.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Your donation envelopes will be mailed to you.”

  “Excuse me? Donation envelopes? Is this like a monthly tithe or something?”

  “Yes, very much like that. This is only for the Sidwell Friends School Parent Teacher Association, though. What you choose to donate directly to the school is, of course, up to you.”

  “Oh, of course. And how generous of you to tell us that we can donate as we see fit to the school. I’ll just bet there’s a dollar amount you’ve given us for the monthly PTA Tithe, though, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, because how else will you know what’s needed or expected?”

  “Oh, gosh, good point.”

  “However, we also expect the children to represent. The Annual First Week Bake Sale is a fine tradition that raises funds for the first quarter.”

  “You raise all the money you need for the first quarter of the school year from a bake sale?” Good lord. What kinds of baked goods were these people bringing? The winning entries from Cake Wars?

  “Yes. And you’re in charge of it.”

  “Lucky me. When is this historic annual event happening?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday what week?”

  “This week. This Wednesday. As in, tomorrow, for the first day of school.”

  CHAPTER 24

  WORDS, LITERALLY, FAILED ME. I was standing outside the LSR with my mouth hanging open.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re finally taking this seriously,” Charmaine said, as if my silence on the other side of the phone indicated consent versus shock.

  Forced myself to speak.
“I have no idea of how to run a bake sale. My first biological child is the one entering early-starters kindergarten. She’s been in our Embassy’s daycare school all this time and we don’t do bake sales to raise funds for that.”

  Charmaine stayed consistent and sniffed. “Of course you didn’t. However, it’s different out in the real world.”

  “Gosh, I can’t wait to see that real world of which you speak. However, since I have no idea of what to do, when to do it, where to do it, and so forth, if you want this sucker to be a success or even just not a total disaster, you’d better plan on giving me more information and people to help me. Otherwise, I’m going to call the head of the Sidwell Friends School and ask if the bake sale can be moved back to a more convenient time for me.” Like never.

  “Oh, you’ll have a team,” Charmaine sneered. “We wouldn’t let a novice such as yourself work unsupervised.”

  “Right. So it’s all my responsibility but you’ll all be telling me what to do and how to do it.”

  “In a sense. I’ve sent the list of other parents who will be available to assist you, along with suggested treats that your many children could consider making, to your office. I believe your social secretary has them.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Mrs. Maurer had certainly not mentioned this and, all things considered, it seemed unlikely she was waiting for later to share this news with me.

  “Oh, it was delivered ten minutes ago. I have the confirmation.”

  So she’d waited until she knew the information had arrived before calling me. This woman’s spirit animal was definitely that nasty kangaroo. And I was Horton, only I had no Whos to help me.

  “How convenient. Anything else you want to share with me at the eleventh hour?”

  “Only that, despite our expectations, we hope that you and your many children will represent our school well. I, frankly, have no real belief of such, having seen you in action, but perhaps not all of those children have been spoiled by your example yet.”

  “You’re really good at making friends and influencing people, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, totally ignoring that my sarcasm knob had been turned to eleven. “I’ve been the President of the Sidwell Friends School Parent Teacher Association ever since my twins entered kindergarten. They’re freshmen now, and since my tenure our organization has never had to worry about funds.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Keeping consistent, she sniffed again. “Since you seem to think you’re involved in running the country, I look forward to seeing if you can run a bake sale. It should be instructive to see what happens.” And with that, she hung up.

  Stared at my phone, then decided I’d better log this woman’s information in, so I’d know it was the Evil Kangaroo calling next time.

  As I was doing this, the door opened and Jeff slipped out. He put his arm around me and hugged me. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Not really, but I think I’d better.” Gave him the fast recap as I finished logging in the Evil Kangaroo’s name and nickname. “So, now, on top of everything else, I have to manage this stupid bake sale and this horrible woman is already being cruel about children she’s never met. Maybe the kids met her kids or something and that’s why they don’t want to go to this school.”

  Jeff kissed the top of my head. “The kids are just scared of change. You’ll manage this just fine, baby. Like everything else.”

  “All my things don’t go according to plan all that often, Jeff.”

  This earned me a nuzzle. “But most of them do, and it all works out in the end. You want me to come with you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but you can’t. By the way, why are Sylvia and Marianne’s kids going to Sidwell? And, for the other by the way, why aren’t Elizabeth, Constance, or Lauren’s kids in Sidwell, too?”

  He sighed. “I honestly have no idea. I can check with my parents, but not right now.”

  “I hope they have a good answer.”

  “Me, too.” Jeff hugged me again. I turned and buried my face in his chest and he rocked me for a bit. “It’ll be fine, baby. I promise.”

  Looked up. “You know you can’t promise that.”

  He smiled, slowly and sexily. “That’s true. I can promise this, though.” With that he bent and kissed me.

  Like always, his lips and tongue owned mine and, also like always, I was grinding against him in short order. Jeff was the God of Kissing and his kiss did to me what it always did—washed any fear or stress away and reminded me of one of the many reasons it was great to be his woman.

  He ended our kiss slowly but his eyes were still smoldering. “Later on, I’ll show you the other things I can promise you.”

  “Mmm, wish you could do that right now. Pity we have the LSR packed with important people.”

  He sighed. “True. And Serene’s winding down on her lecture, too.”

  “Do I need to go back in? Part of me says I do and the other part says that I have to figure out what’s going on with this whole bake sale horror.”

  “We’re running a country and have the eyes of the galaxy on us. I say that this is what you have staff for. I’d like you back in the LSR with me.”

  “No argument. Let me call Vance and have him represent.”

  Jeff hugged me again then went back inside. Could hear Serene indeed winding down on the Q&A. Quickly dialed and Vance answered right away. “Glad you called. First off, because they have lives they need to get back to, the Ambassadress and her entourage have left the Prince and his bodyguard in our care.”

  “Not that this was a surprise. Were things okay when they left?”

  “Yes. Mossad said to call if you need them. The Ambassadress said the same. Khalid said what I assume was the same to Naveed. Everything is secure. Plus, we sent two A-C Field teams with them, just in case.”

  “Good thinking, thank you.”

  “It’s what I’m here for. Next, we just got some interesting information sent to us.”

  “Is it about the bake sale I’m suddenly in charge of?”

  “What? What the hell? No, it’s something else.”

  Groaned. “Of course it is. Tell Nancy to look for something from Sidwell addressed to me. Open it. Read it. Save my day. Then tell me what else is going on.”

  “Hang on.” Heard Vance talking to the rest of my team. It was clear that they were in back my office. Was also clear that Lizzie and Wasim were still with them. Which begged a question. “Oh, my God, are you kidding me?” Vance said as he returned to our call. “Who does this to any new school parent, let alone the First Lady?”

  “Charmaine ‘I’ve been the Prez of the PTA for Life’ Cordell does, that’s who.”

  “This is something we can handle,” Vance said soothingly, having apparently realized that his agreeing with my freaking out probably wouldn’t help.

  “Yeah, I hope so, though I’m just betting that I have to be on-site running this thing, don’t I?”

  “Yes, you do. Think of it this way—you were going with them tomorrow anyway and the kids will like having you there.”

  Could remember being in school. Sure, the little kids might be thrilled I was there. The older ones, however, might prefer to not have a parental unit hanging about, particularly this early in the school year. “Maybe. But that reminds me. Evil Kangaroo listed a ton of kids. But Wasim wasn’t on that list.”

  “I’ll ask why you just called this woman the Evil Kangaroo later and reply to your concern now. I assume that she isn’t clear that Wasim is part of your underage entourage. He’s registered via the King of Bahrain, not the White House.”

  “Lucky Wasim, apparently.”

  “Yes, let’s hope. At any rate, we’ll get this handled in some way, determine what you have to do when, and ensure that your team is with you tomorrow so that everything will go smoothly. Between me,
Antoinette, Nancy, Chef, and P-Chef it’ll be fine. We’ll also call in Pierre. We’ll be good.”

  Perked up. “Pierre, Chef, and P-Chef can be involved?”

  Chef was the Official White House Executive Chef and he was a culinary genius. However, the White House scored an additional chef, the Official White House Executive Pastry Chef, or P-Chef for short. Apparently I was the first person to give the pastry chef her own gangsta name, but she rolled with it, in part because, as the FLOTUS, I was the one who did the Executive Food Top Dawgs hiring and firing. There were advantages to this gig. They were few and far between, but they were there.

  He snorted. “Yes, per some of the paperwork Nancy’s reading through. The children have to help whoever’s doing the main baking and such, but an adult can do the majority. And that might be fun for them in a Sound of Music kind of way. It’ll make for a good photo op, no matter what. I’ll ask Mister Joel Oliver if he’s available and, if he’s not, then hopefully Bruce Jenkins can cover.”

  Oliver was now considered the top investigative journalist in the world, though that hadn’t always been the case. He’d been thought of as a crackpot because he was sharing that the A-Cs were here long before most of the world realized he was right. Jenkins, on the other hand, was nicknamed the Tastemaker and had been our adversary at the start—until he’d seen that Maurer had been turned into an android and had run to us for protection. Both men were now firmly on our side, which was nice, because the rest of the press wasn’t.

  “My mind boggles. Let’s go for what you were going to tell me about. Maybe it’s not worse than this. Or will require that I miss this bake sale extravaganza.”

  “No, you can’t miss it. This is part of being a parent of a Sidwell student. Involvement is required. Not all the time, but often enough. The school is very understanding of the parents’ responsibilities in the real world, but they do request this kind of support. The PTA is quite strong. We don’t want you on their wrong side if at all possible.”