{ 35 }
December 2023
Dalton Elementary
Philadelphia
LILY HALE
“Moms and Dads, I think it’s about time. Let’s begin our December meeting.” Maggie Hollybaum clutches a wooden clipboard like it’s a second appendage. Hair in perfect blonde curls, pearl earrings clipped tight, a yellow monogrammed purse perched on the teacher’s desk—I wonder how she looks so clean and neat.
I can’t even keep stains off my clothes. Right now, I think I have peanut butter on the collar of my shirt.
At least…I hope it’s peanut butter. Please let it be peanut butter.
I don’t check.
We all quiet down while Maggie scans her clipboard.
As the head of the PTA, I initially thought Maggie would be the most stuck-up, judgmental parent of them all. I was prepared for her disdain to rain down on me. Then she made a fart joke to Daisy and laughed when her own son picked his nose.
I like Maggie, but it’s not to say the rest of the PTA like me.
I currently sit in the back row of the elementary classroom. I feel like I’ve stepped into some fucked-up time machine.
Maggie clicks her tongue in thought. “Okay, here we go. Annie and Summer have already agreed to head the annual ornament painting festival. We still need someone to organize the cookie fundraiser.” Her finger runs down the roster of parents.
One desk over, Daisy whispers to me, “Don’t look her in the eyes.”
Connor sits on my other side. He halfheartedly followed us to the back row of desks. Apparently his inner honor student withers away the longer he’s in the “apathetic” row. Personally, I love Apathetic Row.
At least when it comes to school.
I try to follow my little sister’s instructions and stare at the surface of my desk. I squint at a faint marker doodle. Did someone draw a dick and balls? Noooo. This is just my dirty mind. It could be a weirdly shaped hot dog?
I whisper to Connor, “Is this a dick doodle?” I point at my desk. I’m glad he doesn’t question why I asked him. Ryke definitely would’ve, and I’d have to explain that since he has a penis, he’d be a better judge than me. Even though I’ve seen my fair share.
Connor examines the doodle in about one second flat. “Yes but it’s crooked.”
“Lily Hale.”
I jump at my name, my neck roasting. They didn’t hear you talk about a dick doodle. For some reason, I rest my arm across my desk, covering up the crooked penis like I’m the one who drew it.
“Yeah?” I look to Maggie.
“You’re not signed up for anything.”
“Really?” I stare at the ceiling. “I could’ve sworn I signed up for that…thing.” Lo and I made an agreement not to be swept up into too many activities. We already have enough on our plate that we don’t need to add ornament painting to it.
“How about you head the holiday cookie fundraiser?” Maggie suggests nicely. It nearly sways me to say yes.
Then Frank Kale, the only other man here besides Connor, interjects, “You shouldn’t give that much responsibility to someone like her.”
He’s the second worst person in the PTA. Moffy tried Little League for one season (he likes swimming more), and we all saw Frank scream at the coach to make his son pitcher. The coach asked his son if he wanted to be pitcher. To which the boy said, not really. Frank dragged his son by the arm and took him off the team.
Lo called him a helicopter dad.
Ryke called him a fucking prick.
Connor called him Frank Kale.
His whole persona makes us all cringe. So Connor ended up being the most accurate. Like right now, I cringe at Frank and wish he’d turn his judgy eyes onto the whiteboard.
Before I can respond, Maggie sticks up for me. “Lily helped with the Easter Egg hunt last year. There were no issues, Frank.”
“Because Rose handled that event, not her.”
“I helped.” I stick up for myself. Though the truth: the cookie fundraiser might be too much responsibility for just me. So the heart of what Frank said is correct. I hate that it is, but it is. I have a baby that’s about to turn one. A bouncy four-year-old. And an eight-year-old with a crazy swim practice schedule.
I love cookies, but I don’t know where to squeeze in an entire cookie fundraiser between all of that and Superheroes & Scones.
I suck at multitasking. I’d willingly give myself an F. So there.
Then Justine whatever-her-last-name-is physically swivels in her seat to cast a snide comment my way. “Where are you even going to bake the cookies?”
She is the absolute worst. To my face, Justine said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but you probably shouldn’t have children.” It hurt, and it hurts worse when she tries to spread lies to her gaggle of friends. They don’t keep a clean household.
Kids shouldn’t hear sex. Or see it.
She’s disgusting. We should have her children kicked out of the school.
They’ve tried and failed. I have a secret weapon called Rose Calloway Cobalt and Connor Cobalt. No one can defeat nerd stars.
Connor speaks before I find words to reply. “Bake implies kitchen, which most commonly implies house. It’s simple language skills.”
Justine purses her lips, brown hair in perfect waves from a curling iron no doubt.
“I haven’t signed up for anything either,” Daisy says to the PTA-filled classroom. She tries to spin the spotlight on herself and off me. Rose and Connor never signed up for an event this year too, but they haven’t been called out. I’m just an easy target sometimes.
Frank tightens his silver-plated Rolex watch in front of Connor. “Then you should do the fundraiser instead of her.”
“I have a name,” I mention softly. My shyness escalates to eighty-percent functionality. I’m just happy I’m not hiding beneath my desk.
“I can do it with Lily,” Daisy says.
“The three of us can,” Connor notes.
I relax at the sound of teamwork. I truly love the concept, especially when the guys are better bakers than us (especially Ryke), and it’s likely they’ll just take over. That’s my idea of excellent teamwork.
“But at which house?” Justine asks.
“Mine?” Is this a trick question?
Justine bristles. I failed the mommy mind game. She whips towards me. “I don’t think any cookies should be touching your counters.”
“Justine,” Daisy says, beating everyone to speak. “We’re doing the cookies at my sister’s house. And you can go to hell.”
My eyes pop out. Whaaa…?
Daisy crosses her arms and acts like the protective older sister, the role reversal something that happens between us. But never has she come to my defense by telling a mom to go to hell. It’s so unlike Daisy.
Even Justine gapes in shock, unsure of how to respond. Whispers float around the room.
I smile at Daisy.
She smiles back.
Hushed, I tell her, “I feel like I could throw out some middle fingers in a weird champion-like dance.” I feel it, but executing it takes a different kind of courage.
Daisy wags her brows. “Let’s totally do that outside.”
We smile more.
2024
“I never understood how much I had lost my voice until I started using it.”
- Daisy Meadows, We Are Calloway (Season 6 Episode 07 – Motorcycles & Crosswords)
{ 36 }
January 2024
The Hale House
Philadelphia
LILY HALE
I carry a sleeping four-year-old Luna up the flight of stairs. Proud of my arm strength. Good job, arms. Green glitter is tangled in Luna’s brown hair. I’m sure she’ll fuss when we both try to pick it out in the morning. She still wears a pair of 2024 sunglasses and New Year’s Eve stickers all over her alien-printed PJs.
When I reach her room, I gently rest Luna on the mattress and slide off the sunglasses. I pull up her white
comforter and tuck her into bed.
Luna’s room is an explosion of personality: alien-stuffed plushies, plastic blowup chairs (green, of course), multi-colored carpet, and a lava lamp. Sometimes I just catch her watching the colors and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
“Night, Luna,” I whisper and kiss her head before tiptoeing to the hall. I shut the door closed.
I yawn when I enter my dimly-lit bedroom. “Luna’s passed out.” I plop on the bed with my arms and legs splayed.