Andrea’s glass slams onto the bar. “Speaking of work, did you read the board minutes?” She pulls her phone from her cleavage and scrolls through it at lightning speed. “Dr. Reynolds was let go!”

My eyes go wide. Our principal was fired?

“Are you serious?” Mary snatches Andrea’s phone and we huddle around it to read the e-mail.

Board minutes are like gossip columns in the education world. Salaries, firings, and retire-ings are e-mailed to every employee working for the Board of Ed.

“Good riddance. I’ve had enough of these female principals on a power trip,” Kerry says. “We need some testosterone in our school. Someone to scare all those little shits into behaving.”

Sammi shakes her head. “It’s going to take a lot more than a man in a suit to scare our students.”

“Forget the kids,” Mary says. “We need to teach parents how to discipline their children. I’m tired of getting hit, and then asked what I did to make the kid hit me.”

“Amen to that.”

The six of us have been friends for as long as we’ve been teaching at Roosevelt Elementary school. We refer to ourselves as the kindergarten dream team. Not every grade level in our building is as tight-knit as we are. Not every teacher pulls her own weight. But in our group, we’re like a well-oiled machine.

You need a good support system when you’re battling a room full of five-year olds. Teaching kindergarten isn’t for the faint of heart.

I shudder at the thought of going back to work with my maiden name. The looks, the whispers, the questions, all from co-workers who act like they care just because they want the gossip. At least I have thirty-one more days of summer bliss.

I lean toward the bartender who’s mixing a drink in front of us. “Can we have a round of shots, please?”

“What’s your poison?” he asks.

“Whatever’s strong enough to help me forget about these balloons hovering over my head.”

He chuckles. “Got it.”

Soon after we down our shots, the bartender pours us another round. “These are from those gentlemen over there.”

All six of our heads swivel in the direction of the bartender’s finger. Four smiling men raise their own shot glasses.

“What does this mean?” Sammi asks. “What do we do?”

Andrea pats her on the back and hands her a glass. “We do the shot, babe.”

“Won’t they think we’ll want to sleep with them if we do the shot?”

“They’re men. They already think everyone wants to sleep with them.” Kerry lifts her chin and throws back the amber liquid.

I wrap my arm around Sammi’s tense shoulders. “The bartender poured them right in front of us. No one’s getting roofied. Now smile at the nice men and drink your free alcohol.”

“They’re coming over here.” Kerry nudges me toward the front of our circle. “You’re single now. Go get ‘em, tiger.”