She pointed at me with the lint roller. “You’re the stereotypical parent of an only child. I’ve got three boys. I don’t have the luxury of lording over them. I just want them to get the hell out of my house and give me some peace.”

I laughed. That blunt kind of talk didn’t seem too popular among most of the moms around here. It was refreshing.

“Ah, I’m just joking.” She exchanged the lint roller for ChapStick and rubbed a liberal amount on her lips. “Where were you before here?”

“Born and raised in Philly.”

Maggie nodded. “What did you do?”

“I was a reporter.”

Her face softened. She pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m a reporter, too. Channel 7 news.”

“Ah, that’s where I’ve seen you,” I said. “I knew you looked familiar.” And now I saw it—the husky voice, heavy makeup. Like she was always on camera. Always on. “I was in newspapers, not TV.”

“Still, though, it’s in your blood.”

Maggie chatted my ear off while we worked. I heard about the four cats she’d adopted, her sons’ bathroom habits, all the recent stories she reported for the news. When Diane, the unfriendly woman from before, wandered by, shooting me another look, I asked Maggie about her.

“Diane Bloomington. She’s an assistant principal at Jackson Middle School, but her son’s here at Woodard. Why?”

“Just wondering. I met her earlier and I worried I upset her in some way,” I said.

Maggie laughed. “That’s because she was a finalist for your husband’s job. She’s probably pissed she didn’t get it.”

Ah. That explained the attitude. She’d played the same game, but we’d won.

Just before lunch, as my stomach started to growl, a short elfish woman strolled up to the table, gazing at all the trays. Maggie introduced us. “Beth, this is Theresa Pressley. The new principal’s wife.”

“Right! How nice to meet you. I’m Beth Posniak.” Beth’s nails were long, probably fakes, manicured with a bright pink-and-black swirl design and a tiny sparkling gem in the middle of each. She held out a hand, and I shook it gently, worried one of her nails might snap off and fall into the Rice Krispies treats. “I’m on Parent Team. Part of the Daphne Brown Merit Scholarship committee this year.”

“How nice.” I had no idea what the Daphne Brown scholarship was. Was this something Lily should be applying for?

“My god, look at these. Oh my. They must be Liz’s turtle bars, right? I can tell her work anywhere.” She peeled away the cellophane with Maggie’s help. “Oh god, I need like three of those. And these over here, too. Do you guys have boxes?”

I stepped aside while Maggie packed Beth’s sweets.

“So, tell Theresa here that she needs to come to my poker game,” Maggie said to Beth.