It's Elementary (Mavis Miller Mysteries) - Softcover

Buch 1 von 2: Mavis Miller Mysteries

Bryant, Elise

 
9780593640784: It's Elementary (Mavis Miller Mysteries)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593640780 ISBN 13: 9780593640784
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

A fast-paced, completely delightful new mystery about what happens when parents get a little too involved in their kids' schools, from NAACP Image Award nominee Elise Bryant.

Mavis Miller is not a PTA mom. She has enough on her plate with her feisty seven-year-old daughter, Pearl, an exhausting job at a nonprofit, and the complexities of a multigenerational household. So no one is more surprised than Mavis when she caves to Trisha Holbrook, the long-reigning, slightly terrifying PTA president, and finds herself in charge of the school’s brand-new DEI committee.

As one of the few Black parents at this California elementary school, Mavis tries to convince herself this is an opportunity for real change. But things go off the rails at the very first meeting, when the new principal's plans leave Trisha absolutely furious. Later that night, when Mavis spies Trisha in yellow rubber gloves and booties, lugging cleaning supplies and giant black trash bags to her waiting minivan, it’s only natural that her mind jumps to somewhere it surely wouldn’t in the light of day.

Except Principal Smith fails to show up for work the next morning, and has been MIA since the meeting. Determined to get to the bottom of things, Mavis, along with the school psychologist with the great forearms (look, it’s worth noting), launches an investigation that will challenge her views on parenting, friendship, and elementary school politics.

Brilliantly written, It's Elementary is a quick-witted, escapist romp that perfectly captures just how far parents will go to give their kids the very best, all wrapped in a mystery that will leave you guessing to the very end.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Elise Bryant is the NAACP Image Award-nominated author of Happily Ever Afters, One True Loves, and Reggie and Delilah’s Year of Falling. For many years, Elise had the joy of working as a special education teacher, and now she spends her days reading, writing, and eating dessert. She lives with her husband and two daughters in Long Beach, California. You can visit her online at www.elisebryant.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

I don't see her coming.

If I had been on top of my game, if I had been alert, there's no way she would've got me. I've mastered the swift, no-small-talk drop-off in the years that Pearl has gone to Knoll Elementary. Head on a swivel, sunglasses on, don't make eye contact, keep it moving. I can do it in my sleep. (And, well, I actually do sometimes, in this recurring stress dream, which is why my only nighttime companions are a mouth guard and a double dose of magnesium and melatonin.)

But today, I sleep through my alarm. And when I do get up, thirty minutes past the time when I should have gotten up, I immediately step into a fresh pile of puppy poop, left there by Polly-our Shar-Pei-pit bull mix-who sits a few feet away at my bedroom door, with her head cocked to the side, all self-righteous like, You didn't hold up your end of the social contract. What did you expect me to do? My screech wakes up Pearl, who runs into my room and slides through a separate, secret pile of poop. And though we speed through feet cleaning and toothbrushing and backpack packing, all the time we've gained is lost when I can't find Pearl's favorite silver-and-black-striped knee socks, just her other silver-and-black-striped knee socks. So I have no choice but to break several traffic laws on the drive to the school, basically drifting in on two wheels, while Pearl stares resentfully at the impostor socks in the back seat. And when I finally do get my child to the side gate, because it's closer than the front gate, and muster my most cheerful "Have a good day!" she raises her chin and says with complete certainty, "I will not," before swishing her way to her class's line, like she didn't just throw a mom-guilt grenade over her shoulder.

I'm sweaty. I'm exhausted. I'm trying to figure out how many more cups of coffee I'll need to drink to make it through the eight hours of work before me when it's only 7:56 a.m. and I've already lived an entire day.

So of course this is the morning she manages to sneak up on me.

"Hey, Mavis! Just the woman I was looking for!"

Her voice is like a tinkling bell, bright and beguiling, but if you don't know better, it'll suck you in, like those sirens making a snack out of Odysseus's homeboys. I know better. I start looking for the exit points, formulating my strategy. A horde of cooing, crying kindergarten parents are to my left, waving goodbye through the chain-link fence just one more time and blocking the goddamn sidewalk. And a gang of kids on Micro scooters is rolling up on my right, so if I take off that way, I might be risking a maimed toe or two. Which would be inconvenient, but . . .

"Mavis! Yoo-hoo!"

I don't see a way out-or at least a way out that doesn't involve me sprinting or somersaulting or some other wild move that'll definitely get me posted up on the parents' Facebook group.

Trisha Holbrook, Knoll Elementary's PTA president and mother of Pearl's bestie Anabella, is standing right behind me. And I have been yoo-hoo'd.

I fix my face into a tight, plastic smile so my resting expression can't be misread as unfriendly-or, even worse, aggressive.

Deep breath. Let's get this over with.

"Oh, hi, Trisha!" I say, turning around. "Were you calling me?"

"Yes, I was! Today and yesterday." Trisha reaches up to pat down her hair, even though not a single strand of her flawless brown bob is out of place. "Actually, I've been trying to find you since the first day of school, but you sure are a hard one to flag down!"

It's quick, but a single wrinkle erupts on her forehead, which is usually porcelain-smooth and so pale it must be a part-time job to maintain in the Southern California sun. And I swear there's a flash of something-could it be annoyance?-in her eyes. But it's gone before I can fully clock it. Because annoyance doesn't fit in with the perfect persona that's led her to win every PTA presidential election by a landslide since Pearl started kindergarten at Knoll. Perfect Trisha with the perfect kids and perfect Theory wardrobe doesn't get annoyed-and definitely didn't step in puppy poop this morning.

"Sorry, I've probably just been running out of here to get to work." I take a few steps in the direction of my car so she remembers I have to head there now.

"Yes, work." Her blue eyes go wide and she shakes her head, like I've just mentioned some fatal affliction. "I don't know how you do it!"

I do it because I have to, I think. No one else is going to pay my bills for me. But I just press my lips into an even tighter smile to fight against the massive eye roll my face wants to let loose.

"So strong," she murmurs, and then claps her hands together, getting us back on track. "Well, I have some PTA business to discuss with you!"

"I paid my annual dues," I spit out, sounding more defensive than I mean to. But I still haven't recovered from the membership drive last year, when the first-grade room mom went rogue and listed all the nonmembers in one of her email blasts. I mean, nobody yelled, Shame! Shame! at me during drop-off, but they basically did with their judgy eyes. I put the thing on auto-pay after that.

"Oh, I know you did," Trisha says with such firmness that I'm certain she has the entire membership roster memorized. "It's not that. I just have a really fun, really exciting opportunity for you!"

Okay, now that's unexpected. What kind of opportunity could Trisha, reigning queen of all the Knoll Elementary moms who don't sleep through their alarms and know where the right socks are and not only make small talk at the gate but also continue it at coffee dates after . . . well, what could she have for me?

"You see, I met with Debra at Beachwood Council PTA this week," she continues, as if I should know who the hell that is. "And she told me about this new committee requirement, passed all the way down from the state level. She was apologizing for asking so much of us, especially in the middle of such a busy time. You know how these membership drives go." She pauses and smiles at me, but I know what that smile means. Shame! Shame! "I told her, though, no problem at all! Because I know just the woman for the job! In fact, I can't think of anyone else who would do it better."

I have no idea what this is, but I already know I don't want it.

"Well, I appreciate you thinking of me, Trisha. But I already have a job, one that I'm actually going to be late for right now, so . . ." I turn to walk down the block back to my car, but Trisha leaps to the side, nimbly dodging a kid with a rolling backpack, all the while holding eye contact with me.

"Oh, don't you worry about that! You can still volunteer with the PTA even if you have a-a . . . job." Her whole body shudders when she says the word. "Felicia, our VP of Ways and Means, has a job, too!"

I take a few more tentative steps. "I really don't think-"

"Please just let me tell you more about it, Mavis," she cuts me off. "If you're in a hurry, I can walk you to your car, maybe? Or can I call you on your lunch break?" My lunch break? I know my smile front drops, and this lady gets the side-eye that she deserves at that. Why is she so desperate to talk to me of all people about this?

"And like I said, I really don't want you to miss out on this great opportunity. I think you'd be just the DEI chair that our school needs."

Oh.

Ooooooooooooooh.

Now I get it.

"DEI, huh? Hmmmm." The smile is securely back in place. And I'm no actress, but I can make my voice sound believably inquisitive and kind after years of navigating conversations like this. "Why do you think I would be perfect for that?"

I know why. It is now abundantly clear why she wants me to head this new DEI committee mandated by the PTA powers that be. But I'm gonna make her say it.

"Well,"...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2024
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593640780
ISBN 13 
9780593640784
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

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