Thankfully, there are signs to guide me right where I need to go. As quietly as possible, I open the door, but it’s like the hinges haven’t been greased in a million years. The creak is like a crackling sound, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I slip inside and hope that no one noticed, but I must be all out of luck today because every single head in the room is turned and staring right at me.
“Sorry,” I mock-whisper, and plop down in the nearest open seat, which is unfortunately in the middle of a full row. “Sorry. Excuse me,” I continue to murmur apologies as I step on toes and purses.
“We started promptly at two o’clock,” a prissy voice says to me as I take my seat. I look up and quickly regret my “I should get involved campaign.”
It’s the snobby blonde from The Wandering Raven.
The one I told off.
And she’s at the front of the room leading the meeting.
Shit on a stick.
“Got it,” I return with two sarcastic thumbs up, even though I would really love to give her two other fingers.
Her displeased smile is unable to rattle my cage, leaving her unsettled. She’s someone who is used to getting their way. What a shocker.
She resumes the meeting, and I pay attention. I’m not gonna let Prissy Pants rain on my campaign.
“So, it looks like we have someone for every booth except one…” The blonde’s gaze goes directly to me.
They already gave out assignments? I wasn’tthatlate.
“Looks like our newcomer has the honor of manning the dunk tank this year,” she announces all too gleefully.
Ain’t no way…
“Thank you so much for offering to do that,” she thanks me with the fakest of all fake smiles.
She’s pulling my leg…
She looks down at the pad of paper in her hands and continues, “Now, onto the bake sale…”
I’m starting to regret this. Getting dunked in water as people throw baseballs at a target does not sound like my kind of fun. But I’m not going to let Miss Manners and her high school bullying techniques work on me. I’m going to be the best dunker there ever was.
Dunker? Dunked? Dunkess?
Whatever.
At least it’s still hotter than Satan’s oven in October or else my tits might give everyone a show that is not appropriate for a school function.
At the end of the meeting, everyone disperses, but the three-woman welcoming committee heads right for me. They’re like clones, wearing the same style of outfit.
I stay in my seat and take up a relaxed position. I’m not afraid of a few mean girls who peaked in high school.
“Hi, we weren’t properly introduced the other day. I’m Kaitlyn LeBlanc. I’m the PTO president. My husband is FrankLeBlanc. The mayor.” She holds her hand out to me, but I don’t take it.
LeBlanc? More like LeBitch.
“How nice for you,” I return with a sad smile. “I’m Raven Henry.”
“This is Nicole Harlow and Heather Davis,” Kaitlyn introduces.
“Nice to meet you,” Nicole and Heather say at the same time.
“That’s so cute. You two must rehearse that often. The delivery was spot on,” I comment while giving a sarcastic nod.
