Audrey and Aubrey

Why the hell is she staring at me like that?

Unless I’m mistaken (which I’m NOT), I made it very clear to her that she wasn’t to come within five feet of me, look at me, breathe the same air as me, etc.

And, okay.

Maybe I did pie her.

Maybe I did place crickets in her lunch.

Maybe I did use spray cheese to ruin her house.

Maybe I do have a Burn Book filled with the dirtiest, most vile thoughts about her. (Maybe I add a page or two to it every day.)

But that doesn’t hold a candle to what she’s done to me.

Once middle school started, we mutually agreed to stop talking to each other.

Then high school rolled around. We blocked each other from almost every form of communication the modern world has given us.

Afterward, we somehow ended up in the same college. Luckily, a bigger campus meant more room for us to ignore each other. The four thrilling years passed. She hasn’t been to school since then. Nor have I.

Caroline Jackson and Carolina Johnson.

Two middle-aged women. With jobs. With husbands. With kids.

Rivaling like teens.

You’d think that, from our names, we’d be best friends. I mean, we have so much in common. We’re both thirty-seven years old. We both prefer silver over gold, limes over lemons, and cats over dogs. We both have tall husbands obsessed with basketball. Both of our moms are still alive–unfortunately they’re in the same knitting club. And we both have duos of thirteen-year-old twins.

Who were all born on the exact.

Freaking.

Day.

It’s like God wants us to be miserable.

The Burn Book (credits to the Mean Girls movie) I write in every time she does something even I can’t stomach (literally–she once snuck a laxative in the water bottle I use to jog) is my secret weapon. Not the water bottle–the Burn Book. It relieves stress and brings me immense joy. She’s just lucky that I don’t scatter the pages around the school we both work at like Regina Georges did. Great movie, Mean Girls. Everyone should see it.

But anyway. Right now I’m stuck in a stupid meeting.

Oh crap.

I hurriedly straighten my back, organize my papers, and sweep back my hair from my face.

This isn’t just any teacher meeting.

This is Principal Brown’s meeting.

Principal Brown almost never calls meetings. Ever. But when she does, the teachers of Elm Tree Middle School know three things.

One: we can expect to be sitting at this god-awful oblong table for a few hours, at least. Stupid rickety plastic thing. I would throw it out myself, if I could.

Two: there is something important to discuss. Amanda Brown scarcely uses words. But when she does, she does not waste them. If the problem isn’t solved during the meeting, she will call us back however many times it takes to find the solution.

And three: someone is getting fired. With any luck, it’ll be my sworn nemesis, who can also pass for my hated twin.

I plaster a smile on my face and fold my hands in my lap. The picture of perfect teacher-ness. I swear, if Brown fires me, I’m gonna sue.

“–which is why Charlotte and James can’t be in the same classes next year. Agreed?” I could pick out the principal’s voice from anywhere. It’s sharp and timeless, as well as disciplining and powerful. I nod my head like I’m rapt on every word she says.

Across from me, the she-jerk voices her opinion. “Most definitely, Principal. I understand and concur that their arguments are disruptive and unacceptable. Believe me, they will be punished at home.”

Oh, right!

For the first time all day, I’m genuinely happy.

Charlotte and James are the witch’s twins. Look who’s in hot water now, rat-woman!

Principal Brown breathes deeply. “On a similar matter, Victoria and Henry are having some problems, as well.”

No. Oh, no. Tori and Hen are my twins. Please, please, please, let it be confidence problems or something like that. I’m tired of being tied with the other one my whole life. Please don’t let my kids’ problems be as bad as Jarlotte’s. (I make a mental note to add this nickname to the Burn Book.)

“Both of your children are failing their science and math classes.” I’m too scared to look at Principal Brown, but I can feel her eyes burning into me. How did this happen? I’ve checked their homework every day for the past month! There isn’t a test score or report card going in or out of this house that I’m not aware of! I’ve made a dedicated hour of ‘study time’ at my home, right after Tori and Hen get back from school!

Have I failed as a mother, just as they failed STEM?

Have I been too preoccupied with my rivalry with her so much so that I didn’t notice my kids’ grades sinking lower and lower, from an A to a B- to a C to a D+?

For heaven’s sake, I teach a freakin’ algebra class!

“Have there been any drastic changes in your household, Carol?” Principal Brown calls me by my nickname.

“Not that I’m aware of, Principal. And I, too, noticed their grades descending, but I couldn’t find the source of it. Every week at my house is a week spent studying. Tori and Hen will be profusely reprimanded.”

“Thank you. Now, on to more pressing matters.” Brown claps her manicured hands together. I feel profound chills bolt down my back. Here is the part where she fires somebody. She’ll call them by their preferred name, speaking gingerly but sharply, and tells them that the school is overstaffed, and that she’s laying them off. She’ll say the school would be happy to give them two months to find a new job, and that they can start clearing off their desk. Meeting over.

“We don’t have a lot of students.” Frowny Brown points out in her signature matter-of-fact tone. “Therefore, we don’t need a lot of teachers.”

My heartbeat pulses in my throat.

“So. Carol.”

Oh nononononononono. This cannot be happening.

“And Liner.”

Her. Of course she gets fired when I do! Can we do anything separately?

I clutch every word Amanda Brown says, hoping, praying. I need this job. The health benefits are spectacular.

“I’m so sorry–”

Please.

“Wait!” Liner shouts, voice scratchy and downright unpleasant as ever. We all turn to her. She’s sweating. “Look at my numbers! I may be the best ELA teacher Elm has ever had! Also, my husband is your lawyer, and if I get fired, he leaves with me!” She takes a breath to contain the anxiety and fear and tension surrounding her like an aura. I nod feverishly to punctuate her plea and I realize I appear the same frantic way she does–muscles clenched, face frozen, fists balled in nervousness.

“What is happening to you, hon?” Suddenly Principal Brown is all maternal and confused. “You’re not getting fired! Oh, no. I was just saying that you and Carol will have to work together.”

Nausea rises in my stomach. And it’s not from the threat of losing my job.

“There is a mole in this school.” Principal Brown stands up, the whole room breathing heavily and befuddled in the plasticky light of school. “Some student–or teacher–is leaking our successful academic strategies to out biggest competitor, Green Willow Middle. Like I was saying, we don’t need a lot of teachers. Fiona and Will can cover your classes.” Her expression is sinister and forceful. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

“You two have spent years slipping about where you shouldn’t be, pulling the most absurd pranks.” She points at me and my undisputed nemesis. “Find me the rat.” Brown bangs her fist on the table like a gavel.

“Or never work here again.”