And I had been staring at him this whole time, which was starting to become awkward.
“Are you always this grouchy?” I asked.
“Only when nosy soccer moms invade my damn space! Now, get out!”
“Just as an FYI, in case the policy manual is outside your reading-comprehension level, most school employees don’t strip in front of parents.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Why had I said that? That was mean. But my insult hadn’t even fazed “Wade,” who was waving me toward the door. “Keep walking, Bree.”
“My name isn’t Bree.”
He scoffed. “Your names are always ‘Bree’ or ‘Krissy’ or ‘Elizabeth.’ And then you slap it on everythin’ you own, including those stupid little stick figures you stick on the backs of your minivans.”
“It’s Libby,” I shot back.
“Which is short for Elizabeth. Thanks for proving my point.”
Actually, it was short for Liberty, because I was born on the Fourth of July and the pain meds made my mom all weepy and patriotic. But Sassy Janitor didn’t need to know about that.
“Do us all a favor and try to develop a nicer attitude before the kids come back to school.”
“I don’t need to. The kids know better than to go where they’re not wanted!” he shot back as I walked out to find a bemused Jane standing outside the closet.
I would not walk down the hall of an elementary school flipping double birds at a school employee, even if that hallway was empty. That was not something classy mothers did, living or undead.
“You couldn’t have stopped him from going into the closet?” I asked drily.
“I was distracted by text messages,” she said, sounding not at all apologetic. “You have a thing for tattoos, huh?”
“Don’t read my mind without my permission!” I hissed quietly. “That’s just rude!”
“Hey, I only got half of the picture before you managed to shut me out. How did you do that, by the way? Meditation exercises?”
“Do what?”
“Shut me out of your head,” she said. “The only other person who can do it is Nola, and she has an unfair magical advantage.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I said. “Let’s just get out of here before I make a bigger scene.”
“Eh, there’s so much background noise no one really noticed the muffled voices coming from the closet.”
I stopped in my tracks, turning on my heel and shouting toward the now closed closet door, “And my face is fine, by the way! Thanks for asking, jerk.”
Danny was still happily rolling about on the magic story-time carpet in the library when I found him, completely engrossed in Miss Lisa’s narration of Pete the Cat: Rockin’ in My School Shoes. Jane took a deep breath as we entered the library, as if she missed the smell. Afterward, I tried to give her some space as we walked to the car. She looked a little weepy. Danny filled up the silence with chatter about his new friend Charlie, Pete the Cat, Charlie, the cafeteria, Charlie, the music room, and Charlie. Charlie was apparently the source of all things cool. He had a dog named Ratchet and a collection of snakeskins and arrowheads.
“So I take it you’re excited about this year, buddy?” I asked him as I buckled his seatbelt.
“Yup. Charlie and I are going to be in the same class. We’re going to play pirates at recess. But close the door, Mom. I don’t want anybody seeing that I still use a Bubble Guppies booster seat.”
I nodded and saluted as I closed the door. The poor kid had always been a little sensitive about being smaller than the rest of the kids in his class. He considered his continued use of a preschool-brand booster to be on par with thumb sucking or needing a sippy cup. But he hadn’t outgrown it yet, and booster seats weren’t cheap.
“I’m proud of you,” Jane told me. “That was a lot of sensory input, and you handled it beautifully. And you didn’t even show any signs that you’d been turned. Do you know how hard that is? I barely got through a first visit with my mama, and she kept trying to force-feed me pot pie!”
“Thank you, vampire Yoda,” I said. “Do I get my ‘first outing’ merit badge?”
“No, but I’m going to ignore the fact that you’re sassing your mentor. You should consider that a gift.”
“I do,” I told her solemnly.
“Drive safe,” she called as she walked toward her tank of a car, an SUV she called Big Bertha, Jr. “I need to swing by my place, and then I’ll see you at the house.”