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By eight fifteen on a Tuesday morning, Chloe Beale had already located a missing lunchbox, prevented a dispute over a glue stick from becoming a diplomatic incident, and sent three separate messages reminding parents that Friday’s school spirit day theme was Favourite Book Character, not Favourite Movie Character, and that superheroes only counted if their child could name an actual comic book.
She had also packed two lunches (one adult, one kid, the main difference being the adult one had more fruit snacks), signed a permission slip she distinctly remembered signing the night before, braided her daughter’s hair twice because the first braid had apparently been “too mature,” and loaded forty-eight miniature blueberry muffins into the back of her SUV.
The muffins were not for her daughter’s class.
They were for the new-family welcome coffee Chloe was helping to organize the following morning.
Naturally.
“Mom,” seven-year-old Clara said from the back seat, “did you remember my library book?”
“Yes.”
“My water bottle?”
“Yes.”
“My friendship bracelet for Maya?”
“Yes.”
“My…”
“Clara.” Chloe glanced at her daughter through the rearview mirror. “I have your backpack, your lunch, your library book, your water bottle, your friendship bracelet, your indoor shoes, your permission form, and the small plastic horse you insisted needed emotional support today.”
Clara looked down at the purple horse sitting on her lap.
“Her name is Marigold.”
“I know.” Chloe smiled.
“And she’s nervous about math.” Clara said earnestly.
“Of course she is.”
“She has number anxiety.” The smaller redhead explained to her mother who nodded along with the explanation.
“She’s a plastic horse, though my sweet. She doesn’t have to do numbers. Only little girls do.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings.” This was said with a humph that signaled the conversation was over and her mother’s observations were not agreed with.
Chloe smiled despite herself and turned into the elementary school parking lot with the ease of someone who had made the same drive approximately six hundred times.
Barden Hills Elementary stood at the end of a quiet tree-lined street, a broad redbrick building with a cheerful mural painted across one side. The mural showed children holding hands around a globe, though one of the children had recently acquired a pirate moustache in black marker. The school administration had made three attempts to remove it. The moustache kept returning.
Chloe secretly admired the commitment.
The crossing guard waved as she pulled into the drop-off lane.
“Morning, Chloe!”
“Morning, Mr. Ramirez!”
“You still need volunteers for the fall carnival?”
“Always!”
“I’ll ask my sister.”
“You’re my favourite person!”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I meant it yesterday too!”
She stopped at the curb. Clara unbuckled herself, hoisted her backpack onto her narrow shoulders, and leaned forward between the front seats.
“Are you picking up the new girl today?”
“I am.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Lucy Mitchell.”
“Is she nice?”
“I haven’t met her yet.”
“Does she like horses?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she have number anxiety?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
Clara considered this.
“Can she sit with me at lunch?”
“That would be a very kind thing to offer.”
“I know.” Clara kissed Chloe’s cheek. “I’m very welcoming.”
“You’re very modest too.”
“I know.”
She hopped out of the car and ran toward the entrance, where two other girls immediately engulfed her in a conversation involving a lost eraser and a rumour about someone seeing a possum behind the portable classrooms.
Chloe watched until Clara was safely inside.
She always did.
Then she pulled away from the curb and headed toward the address Principal Taylor had given her.
The request had come the afternoon before.
A new student was joining Clara’s class. Her mother had accepted a job in the area and relocated from Los Angeles on very short notice. Their moving truck had been delayed, their regular transportation arrangements had not yet been settled, and the mother had called the school sounding, according to Principal Taylor, “capable but one minor inconvenience away from walking into traffic.”
Chloe had volunteered before the principal finished asking.
Of course she had.
Chloe was the classroom parent for Clara’s class and the unofficial classroom parent for two others. She ran the carpool spreadsheet, helped coordinate hot lunch days, organized volunteers for school trips, remembered everyone’s allergies, and somehow knew which parents were divorced, which grandparents had pickup permission, and which children would become emotionally unmanageable if their banana had a bruise.
She had chaired the spring fundraiser, co-chaired the winter concert, and been strongly encouraged by several parents to run for the school board.
She had declined.
For now.
Welcoming a new family was exactly the kind of thing Chloe enjoyed. Moving to a new city was hard. Starting at a new school halfway through September was worse. Chloe had spent the previous night preparing a small folder for Lucy’s mother containing a school calendar, a neighbourhood map, a list of local pediatricians, information about after-school programs, and a colour-coded explanation of the pickup and drop-off procedures.
There was also a welcome card from Clara, decorated with stickers of horses, rainbows, and one inexplicable shark.
Chloe had packed an extra adult sized blueberry muffin too.
Muffins, she found, went a long way to de-stressing stressed out mothers.
She was walking proof of that theory.
It was well known around the parent community that if the smile that was normally present on the redhead’s face slipped even an iota, baked goods, preferable muffins were the sure-fire way to get Chloe back to peak Chloe-ness.
Chloe was prepared.
She was friendly.
She was going to make this transition easy.
The GPS directed her into a neighbourhood of older detached homes fifteen minutes from the school. The street was quiet and pleasant, with broad maple trees and small front gardens. Most of the houses looked established and tidy.
Number 142 looked as though it had recently been struck by a very localized tornado.
Cardboard boxes covered half the porch. A rolled-up rug leaned against the railing. One garbage bag had split open near the front steps and released an assortment of coat hangers across the lawn.
The front door stood wide open.
A little girl wearing a backpack sat calmly on the porch steps eating dry cereal from a coffee mug. The mug had a slogan emblazoned across it. The slogan read “Boss Bitch”.
Chloe raised her eyebrows at that.
She parked at the curb. Precisely.
The girl looked like she was about Clara’s age, maybe slightly smaller, with dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail and a solemn expression that transformed into interest when she spotted Chloe’s SUV.
“You the ride?” she called.
Chloe stepped out.
“I am. You must be Lucy.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Chloe. My daughter Clara is in your class.”
“Does she like dinosaurs?”
“She has a complicated relationship with dinosaurs.”
Lucy nodded as though this answer made perfect sense.
“Good.”
A crash came from inside the house.
Lucy continued eating cereal.
Chloe paused beside the walkway.
“Is everything all right in there?”
“Probably.”
A woman’s voice shouted from somewhere inside.
“Lucy! Have you seen my left shoe?”
Lucy raised her voice without turning around.
“You’re wearing it!”
There was a brief silence.
“Oh.”
Lucy looked at Chloe.
“She’s always like this.”
“I heard that!” the woman called.
“I know!”
Another crash sounded, followed by a muffled curse.
Lucy tipped more cereal into her mouth.
“She’s a boss at work.”
“That’s nice.”
“At home, she can’t find anything.”
“I can find things!” the woman shouted.
Lucy glanced toward the open door.
“Find your purse.” She called out to the mysterious inside voice.
Silence.
Then, less confidently, “I know where my purse is.”
Lucy looked back at Chloe.
“She doesn’t.”
Chloe pressed her lips together.
She knew she shouldn’t laugh. She was meeting a new family. She was there in an official, welcoming capacity.
But the child’s calm resignation was making that difficult.
“Your mom sounds busy.”
“She starts her new job today.”
“That’s exciting.”
“She says she’s going to be in charge of a whole department.”
Another bang came from inside.
Lucy lowered her voice.
“I think the department’s in trouble.”
Chloe lost the battle and laughed.
At that moment, Lucy’s mother appeared in the doorway.
Chloe’s first impression was movement.
The woman seemed to arrive in pieces, as if several different versions of her had all tried to leave the house at once. She had dark hair cut in an uneven shoulder-length style that probably looked intentionally tousled on a normal day but currently suggested she had slept inside a clothes dryer. A travel mug was tucked under one arm. Her phone was wedged between her shoulder and ear. She held a laptop charger in one hand and what appeared to be a child’s winter mitten in the other.
She wore a fitted black blazer over a white blouse. Very “woman in charge who has her shit together” chic.
Below the blouse, she wore pale blue underwear. With daisies on them.
And nothing else.
Chloe’s eyes dropped automatically.
Then snapped upward.
The woman did not appear to notice.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “You must be Chloe. Sorry. I know you’re probably in a hurry. We’re almost ready. I just need to find my keys, except I think they might be in a box, which doesn’t make sense because I drove here, obviously, unless I left them in the car, but the cars at the dealership because the stupid battery died, and I know batteries aren’t technically stupid because they don’t have cognitive function, but this one feels personal…”
Chloe stared at her.
The woman continued.
“Lucy has her lunch, I think. Luce, do you have your lunch?”
“No.”
“Okay, great.” The woman seemed confused by this. Like something wasn’t happening that should be happening.
Lucy ate another piece of cereal.
“I have cereal.” She said confidently.
“That isn’t lunch.” The woman didn’t seem completely sure about this.
“It’s in a mug.” Said by young Lucy with a certainty that brooked no disagreement.
“That doesn’t make it lunch.”
“It’s portable.” Case closed in Lucy’s mind.
The woman looked back at Chloe.
“I swear I’m usually better than this. We’ve just moved, and half our stuff is in Nevada for some reason, and my new boss scheduled an eight-thirty meeting on my first day, which feels aggressive, and I can’t find the folder with Lucy’s school forms. Do you know if they need the medical form today? Because I filled it out, but then I used it to write down the Wi-Fi password, and now I think it might be taped to the router, except I can’t find the router either.”
Chloe’s gaze attempted to remain firmly on the woman’s face.
It was challenging.
Not because there was anything remotely inappropriate about the woman’s underwear. It was plain. Practical. Entirely unremarkable.
The issue was the complete absence of pants.
The woman shifted the travel mug under her arm and kept talking.
“Also, I’m Beca. Rebecca technically, but no one calls me that unless I’m in trouble or at the dentist. You can call me Beca. Sorry, I should have started with that. Hi. Beca. New person. Total disaster.”
“Mom,” Lucy said.
“Not now, Luce.”
“You forgot something.”
“I know. Your lunch.”
“No.”
“The medical form?”
“No.”
“My keys?”
“No.”
Beca looked down at herself.
Her face went blank.
Chloe watched the realization arrive in stages.
First confusion.
Then recognition.
Then horror.
Beca’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God.”
Chloe raised a hand.
“I’m going to stop you there.”
Beca seemed incapable of speech.
“I really can’t keep having this conversation until you put on your pants.”
For one suspended second, no one moved.
Then Lucy sighed.
“I tried to tell her.”
Beca looked down again, as though hoping trousers might have appeared through sheer force of embarrassment.
They had not.
Her legs were very pale, startlingly so, beneath the dark blazer. Not unhealthy pale. Just unmistakably lived-in-Los-Angeles-but-avoided-the-sun pale.
Beca made a strangled sound.
“I…”
“Pants,” Chloe repeated gently.
“Right.”
“Then conversation.”
“Right.”
Beca turned around so quickly that the travel mug slipped from under her arm. She caught it against her hip, lost her grip on the mitten, stepped on the laptop charger, and nearly collided with the doorframe.
Lucy watched her disappear into the house.
“She does own pants,” she assured Chloe.
“I’m relieved.”
“She wore them yesterday.”
“That’s promising.”
“She had them on backwards at first.”
“Less promising.”
Lucy shrugged.
“She fixed it.”
From somewhere inside, Beca shouted, “Why are all my pants in a suitcase?”
“Because you packed them!” Lucy shouted back.
“Why would I pack all of them?”
“Because we moved!”
“Oh, right!”
Chloe pressed a hand to her mouth.
She was trying to remain composed. She truly was.
But laughter was already building in her chest, bright and helpless.
Lucy watched her with interest.
“You can laugh. I do.”
That ended Chloe’s resistance.
She bent slightly, laughing hard enough that tears stung the corners of her eyes. It had been a long time since anything had caught her this completely off guard. Her carefully prepared welcome speech, her colour-coded folder, the muffin waiting in the car … all of it had been obliterated by a pantsless woman babbling about a vindictive car battery.
Lucy smiled around another mouthful of cereal.
“You’re nicer than the last carpool lady from my old school.”
“What happened to the last carpool lady?” Chloe’s interest was piqued. She sensed if Lucy was involved there would be a good story.
“She yelled a lot.”
“At you?”
“No. At traffic. The voices in her head. And birds.”
“Birds?”
“She said they were flying irresponsibly.”
Lucy thought a moment. “Plus, she smelt like cheese. Not cheddar cheese. More like Parmesan.”
Chloe straightened.
“I promise not to criticize the local birds unless their behaviour becomes genuinely dangerous. And if I do decide to smell like cheese, I’ll select a milder variety. Like Swiss.”
“Good.” Lucy appeared satisfied with this answer.
Beca reappeared three minutes later.
She was wearing black trousers.
They were wrinkled and slightly too long, but they were unquestionably pants.
She had also found her purse, though it was open and a charging cable trailed from it like a tail. Her phone was now in her hand. Her hair was marginally smoother, suggesting she had attacked it with a brush while running down the hallway.
She stopped in the doorway.
Chloe smiled at her.
Beca’s cheeks turned bright red.
“Okay,” Beca said. “Conversation with pants on.”
“Much better.”
“I am so sorry.” Beca seemed on the verge of a babble.
“It’s fine.” Chloe said calmly as if she was trying to calm a spooked horse.
“It’s not fine.” Beca’s eyes were getting wider.
“It’s a little funny.” Chloe smiled.
“It’s horrifying.” Beca looked like she might faint. Or throw up. Or throw up while fainting.
“It can be both.” Chloe replied decisively, trying to send calming energy Beca’s way.
Lucy stood and slung her backpack over one shoulder and sighed. It was as if she sensed her mother spiraling. So she decided to be helpful and defuse the situation.
Not.
“I told you you forgot something.”
“Thank you, Lucy.” Beca sighed.
“You said not now.” Now Lucy sounded smug.
“Yes, and that was clearly a mistake. One of many I’ll probably make today the way things are going.”
Beca came down the steps, checking her watch.
Chloe finally had the chance to look at her properly.
She was smaller than Chloe had initially realized. Slim, with sharp features, blue eyes, and the restless energy of someone who seemed to be mentally managing twelve crises simultaneously. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, and one side of her blouse had come untucked.
She looked exhausted.
She also looked so genuinely mortified that Chloe’s amusement softened into sympathy.
Moving was hard. Single parenting was hard. Starting a new job while trying to launch a child into a new school in an unfamiliar city was the kind of challenge that could reduce even competent adults to wandering around without trousers.
“I brought you some information,” Chloe said.
She retrieved the folder from the passenger seat and handed it to Beca.
Beca accepted it cautiously.
The label on the front read:
WELCOME TO BARDEN HILLS!
Underneath, Chloe had written Beca and Lucy’s names in green marker.
Beca opened it.
There were tabs.
Of course there were tabs.
“School calendar,” Chloe explained. “Pickup information, emergency contacts, a map of the neighbourhood, local doctors and dentists, after-school care, weekend activities, and a list of parents who’ve agreed to help with carpools.”
Beca flipped through the pages.
“You made this?”
“Yes.”
“For us?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Chloe blinked.
“Because you’re new.”
Beca looked at her as if that did not answer the question.
“You just do this?”
“Chloe does everything,” Lucy said firmly.
Beca looked at her daughter.
“You met her four minutes ago.”
“I can tell.”
Chloe smiled.
“I like helping.”
“Are you real?”
“I’ve been asked that before.”
“Is there some kind of catch? Do I have to join a cult? Sell scented candles? Attend a twelve-hour parent council meeting where we debate the moral implications of playground mulch?”
“Only the mulch meeting.”
Beca stared.
Chloe let the silence stretch.
Then she grinned.
“I’m kidding.”
“Oh, good.”
“We settled the mulch issue last spring.”
Beca’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re still kidding, right?”
“Mostly.”
Lucy stepped closer to Chloe.
“Does your daughter like horses?”
“She does.”
“Real ones or fake ones?”
“Both.”
“Drawing?”
“Constantly.”
“Soccer?”
“She thinks the rules are a personal attack.”
Lucy nodded.
“We’ll get along.”
Beca glanced at her daughter, and something in her expression shifted.
For all the chaos around her, her attention settled fully on Lucy. The panic in her face eased.
“You feeling okay about today, bug?”
Lucy shrugged, but her shoulders tightened beneath the backpack straps.
“I guess.”
“It’s okay if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“Right.”
“About escape routes.”
Beca crouched in front of her, heedless of the knees of her trousers touching the walkway.
“You don’t need an escape route. But if you have a bad day, you tell me, okay? I’ll come get you.”
“You have work.”
“You’re more important.”
Lucy studied her mother’s face.
“What if your boss gets mad?”
“My boss will survive.”
“What if you get fired?”
“Then I’ll start a rival company and crush them.”
Lucy smiled.
“That sounds hard.”
“I’ll have Chloe organize it.”
Beca looked up.
“That was a joke. I’m not assigning you corporate revenge. We barely know each other.”
“I’m excellent at spreadsheets.” Chloe grinned wickedly.
“See? Terrifying.”
Lucy wrapped her arms around Beca’s neck.
Beca hugged her tightly, closing her eyes for a moment.
Chloe looked away, giving them privacy.
She knew that hug.
She knew the way single mothers tried to pour reassurance into their children even when they were operating on fumes. She knew the private calculation behind every cheerful promise. How much could go wrong before the entire structure of their lives became unstable? How much fear could they let their children see?
When Lucy stepped back, Beca stood and brushed off her trousers.
“Okay. School. We can do school.”
“Definitely,” Chloe said.
“And work.”
“Probably.”
“And pants.”
“You’ve already mastered those.”
Beca groaned.
“Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”
“No,” Lucy said.
“Wasn’t asking you.”
“I’m telling everyone.”
“Lucy.”
“I’m going to tell Clara first.”
“You haven’t even met Clara.”
“She’ll want to know.”
“She absolutely will,” Chloe admitted.
Beca pointed at her.
“You’re supposed to be helping me.”
“I am helping. I’m preparing you for the reality of second-grade information networks.”
Lucy headed for Chloe’s SUV.
Beca watched her go, then lowered her voice.
“Seriously. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No, I mean it.” Beca held the folder against her chest. “This morning has been… I don’t even know what this morning has been.”
“Pants-optional?”
Beca barked out a laugh.
It seemed to surprise her.
The sound was sharp and unpolished, and it changed her face completely. The tension around her eyes loosened. Her smile was crooked, almost shy.
“Hell of a way to meet someone,” she said.
“I’ve had worse introductions.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Beca laughed again.
Chloe found herself smiling back.
For a moment, they stood beside the chaos of boxes and coat hangers while Lucy climbed into the SUV and began introducing herself to Marigold the emotionally vulnerable horse, who had been left behind in the vehicle as an emotional support toy for the new kid by Clara.
Beca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re sure this is okay? Driving her?”
“Absolutely. I’ll walk her into class, introduce her to Clara, and make sure she knows where everything is.”
“I was supposed to do that.”
“You can tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow I’m planning to wear pants from the beginning.”
“That’s an ambitious goal.”
“I’m trying to grow.”
Chloe opened the driver’s door.
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
She reached inside and retrieved the extra muffin.
Beca stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“Blueberry muffin.”
“You brought me breakfast?”
“I made too many.”
“You made too many muffins?”
“Forty-eight. Mini ones. You get a grown up one.”
Beca looked toward the back of the SUV, where several containers were stacked neatly beneath a blanket.
“Why?”
“Welcome coffee.”
“For who? The cult?”
“For new families.”
“There are enough new families to require forty-eight muffins?”
“Some of the returning parents come too. And they’re mini muffins. Bite sized almost. ”
“Noted. And of course they do. Your muffins bring all the parents to the school…yard ”
“I’m going to ignore you said that Beca.”
“I really wish you would, Chloe.”
Chloe handed her the muffin.
Beca accepted it with the reverence of someone receiving emergency medical supplies.
“I haven’t eaten.”
“I suspected.”
“What gave it away?”
“The lack of pants suggested time-management problems.”
Beca closed her eyes briefly.
“I walked into that.”
“You really did.”
Lucy rolled down the rear window.
“Mom! You’re going to be late!”
“I know!”
“You said your boss is aggressive!”
“I said the meeting was aggressive!”
“Same thing!”
Beca looked at Chloe.
“She’s seven.”
“They’re extremely literal at this age.”
“Also judgmental.”
“That lasts longer.”
Beca stepped back from the SUV.
“Okay. I’ll pick her up this afternoon.”
“Actually, Tuesdays are Clara’s dance days. I can drop Lucy home afterward if that helps.”
Beca stared at her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I can manage pickup.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Because I do manage things.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m very competent.”
“I can tell.”
Beca narrowed her eyes again.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
Lucy leaned farther out the window.
“She burned Pop-Tarts this morning!”
“They were defective!”
“They caught fire!”
“They were on a new setting!”
“Toaster settings are easy numbers!”
“I was distracted!”
Chloe laughed and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Beca pointed at Lucy.
“We’re discussing loyalty tonight.”
“Okay!”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am!”
“Then stop giving her evidence!”
Lucy rolled up the window.
Beca stood at the curb, still holding the muffin and Chloe’s folder, her charging cable dangling from her purse.
Chloe lowered her own window.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said.
Beca’s expression softened.
There was a flicker of surprise in it, as though no one had said those words to her in a while.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Beca nodded once.
“Thanks, Welcome Wagon.”
“You’re welcome, Pants Lady.”
Beca’s mouth fell open.
Chloe pulled away from the curb before she could respond.
In the back seat, Lucy was already showing Clara’s empty booster seat to Marigold.
“Chloe is funny,” Lucy announced.
“Marigold usually thinks so, Clara less so.” Chloe said.
“My mom is funny too.”
“I noticed.”
“She gets stressed.”
“Moving is stressful.”
“She stayed up all night unpacking my room.”
“That was thoughtful.”
“She said she wanted the new place to feel like home before school.”
Chloe glanced at Lucy in the mirror.
The little girl was tracing one finger over the edge of her cereal mug.
“She left her own room in boxes,” Lucy continued. “And she slept on the couch because she couldn’t find the screws for her bed.”
Chloe’s smile faded into something gentler.
“She sounds like a very good mom.”
“She is.”
Lucy looked out the window.
“She just forgets pants sometimes.”
Chloe laughed.
At school, Clara was waiting near the office with Principal Taylor, vibrating with the excitement of a child given an official welcoming responsibility.
The two girls eyed each other for approximately three seconds.
Then Clara noticed the small dinosaur clipped to Lucy’s backpack.
“Is that a brachiosaurus?”
“Yes.”
“They’re herbivores.”
“I know.”
“My mom spent last night making too many muffins. And cursing.”
“Mine set breakfast on fire.”
Clara’s eyes widened.
“Cool.”
And just like that, they were walking toward the classroom together, already talking over each other.
Principal Taylor watched them go.
“Well,” she said. “That was easy.”
“The children, yes.”
“How was the mother?”
Chloe pictured Beca in the doorway, blazer neat, underwear visible, talking at high speed about car batteries and missing routers.
“She’s memorable.”
“Everything all right?”
“I think she has a lot on her plate.”
“Anything we can do?”
“I’ve got it.”
Principal Taylor smiled.
“I knew you would.”
Chloe watched Lucy and Clara disappear around the corner.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
An unknown number had sent her a message.
This is Beca. I got your number from the folder because apparently boundaries are dead. Thank you again. Also I found the medical form. It was in the freezer. I have no explanation.
A second message appeared.
And for the record, I am fully dressed at work.
Then a third.
Shoes and everything.
Chloe typed back.
Proud of you. Big morning.
Three dots appeared immediately.
You’re never letting this go, are you?
Chloe smiled at her screen.
Absolutely not.
There was a pause.
Then:
Fair. I’d probably be disappointed if you did.
Chloe slipped the phone back into her pocket and headed toward Clara’s classroom to make sure Lucy had settled in.
The morning sunlight streamed through the school’s front windows, catching dust motes in the air and turning them gold. Children’s voices echoed down the hall. Somewhere nearby, a teacher was reminding someone that scissors were tools, not toys.
It should have felt like any other Tuesday.
But it didn’t.
Chloe thought of Beca’s crooked smile. Her pale legs. Her helpless babbling. The way she had crouched on the walkway and promised Lucy that no meeting or job mattered more than she did.
She thought of the muffin in Beca’s hand and the unexpected softness in her eyes when Chloe had told her everything would be okay.
Clara appeared briefly at the end of the hall, Lucy beside her.
“Mom!” Clara called. “Lucy’s going to sit with me at lunch!”
“That’s wonderful!”
“And her mom forgot her pants!”
Lucy nodded enthusiastically.
“She did!”
Chloe called back. “I know, Clara. I was there!”
Two passing teachers turned their heads.
Chloe closed her eyes.
The second-grade information network was already operational.
When she opened them again, both girls were giggling.
Chloe waved them toward their classroom and started laughing too.
Beca Mitchell had been in town less than twenty-four hours. Chloe had known her for approximately fifteen minutes, at least five of which had occurred before Beca located her trousers.
Yet somehow, Chloe already suspected the orderly systems of her life were about to become significantly less orderly.
The school year was going to be very interesting.