More Like Her Read Online Free PDF Page B

grip.
    “Frances Reid. I’m sorry, I don’t usually . . . he’s my ex and now he’s dating Jessica and I’m . . . I’m just . . . I have to act like it doesn’t bother me and it’s—”
    “Lisa Campanari,” she says, cigarette dangling out of her mouth. Her New Jersey accent is thick. I like her immediately.
    “She’s in the upper school science department,” Jill says with just the slightest hint of a Jersey accent by osmosis.
    “So, what room are you in?” I ask, knowing Lisa will be most affected by the construction of the new science building and tech center expansion.
    “Some makeshift annex. Whatever. The new building looks like it’s going to be worth waiting for,” Lisa says, putting out her cigarette. I’m not staring into the lounge. I swear I’m not. Ryan sips his coffee . . . not sweet enough. More sugar. I clear my throat and focus back on Jill and Lisa.
    “Best money can buy,” Jill says.
    “Oh yeah?” Lisa asks.
    “My husband works for the architectural firm that’s doing the expansion,” Jill says.
    “Nice gig if you can get it,” Lisa says.
    “He’s with an international architectural firm, so everything was aboveboard,” Jill says.
    “I doubt you working here as a speech therapist would have anything to do with whether or not an international architectural firm was hired,” Lisa says, popping a breath mint.
    “Well, it didn’t,” Jill says, almost to herself.
    “Jill?” Lisa asks, focusing.
    “Hm?” Jill answers, her voice hesitant.
    “Get over yourself,” Lisa says, smiling.
    “I like you,” Jill says, pointing directly at Lisa. Lisa laughs—open, assured and booming.
    “Hey, gals.” Debbie Manners peeks out the door to the balcony. A) Anyone who says “gals” should be drawn and quartered. B) It’s too early in the morning—and the school year, for that matter—for Debbie to be saying anything to us.
    “What’s up, Debbie?” I ask, shark eyes in full effect.
    “Just wanted to have you guys sign the birthday card we’ve got going around for Headmistress Dunham,” Debbie says, passing me a file folder that apparently conceals the key to the lost-wax process if you judge by how carefully she’s handing it off to me.
    “It’s the first day of school, Manners. Come on,” Jill says.
    “It’ll just be a dash,” Debbie says, moving farther out onto the balcony.
    “We don’t have a pen,” I say, hands in the air.
    “Here you go,” Debbie says, fanning an entire pastel spectrum of Sharpies in front of me. I choose the least-offensive light blue. Debbie is disappointed and resolves, surely, to take that color out for future signees.
    As I sign the card Debbie continues. “We’re doing cake and ice cream in the teachers’ lounge next Wednesday after school. We’re asking everyone for a donation to help with the present.” I pass the card and the pen to Jill.
    “Debbie, right? That’s a full week and a half away and we just want to get through this first day,” Lisa says.
    “If you could just sign the card,” Debbie says, growing ever more panicked.
    We are quiet.
    Debbie continues. “We’re getting her a Waterford apple for her desk and any donation will do, but we’re hoping you’ll be generous.” Debbie snatches the blue pen away before Jill passes it to Lisa. She quickly replaces it with a bright pink one. Lisa looks none too pleased as she passes Debbie back the card along with the bright pink Sharpie.
    “So stop by the library anytime with the money,” Debbie says. She heads back into the teachers’ lounge, thrusting the card and request for a generous donation at another group of unsuspecting teachers. “ We’d really appreciate it ,” I hear from the balcony.
    “Great. We have Emma’s birthday thing on Wednesday and then that whole fund-raising fair that Friday? That’s a whole lot of extracurricular activities we’re sure not getting paid for,” Lisa says, putting this new information into her calendar.
    “Try