Page 2 of A Class of Her Own

“I’m definitely in,” Aryn said.

Surprisingly, it was Hailey who was next. “Okay, Lizzie, I’m in.”

Lizzie held off celebrating until she’d heard from all of us. She looked to me. “It’ll be amazing. The five of us, out in the wild, nobody calling us ‘teacher, teacher.’ No routine, no long days of trudging along.”

It did sound nice. I didn’t vacation often, and maybe it would be good for me. “You plan something, and I’ll come,” I agreed.

It was only a matter of moments before Ruby joined up. Lizzie clapped her hands together, her tight honey-blonde curls bouncing against her forehead as she nodded with excitement. Her expression held the promise of something fun and something different . . . which were probably the two things I most feared in this world.

CHAPTER ONE

November

Let’s pretend for a second that I’m the type of person who would go to a psychic, and while gazing into a crystal ball, I’d be told that someday I’d buy a six-foot tall, inflatable turkey wearing a Pilgrim hat and spend an entire Saturday night after dark trying to stake its stubborn bubble-like feet into my front lawn. Well . . . I’d have asked for my money back and called her a kook while loudly proclaiming my disbelief to anyone within ear shot.

Yet, here I was, holding a stake while a stupid six-foot bird tried to blow away in the truly annoying east wind that came blowing over the top of the mountains and straight into my yard. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a cosmic funnel existed upwind from my property and that someone was having a laugh at my expense. My neighbors’ leaves appeared to be hardly blowing while my trees were attempting to fall to the ground. Plus, it was cold.

“Do you think we could try again during daylight tomorrow?” Lizzie asked, her voice muffled by both the turkey’s gigantic plastic feathers shoved up against her face and by the scarf she’d moved up from her neck to cover her from chin to eyes. She looked hysterical with her curls poking out from under her cap and her hands flailing to push the feathers away.

“The goal is for everyone to wake up to this little surprise,” I replied with some effort. I had a stake between my teeth and was trying my best to tug the bird’s feet back toward the ground. “If they see me doing this, I’ll have to answer too many questions.”

“I think you’ll be answering questions regardless,” Ruby piped up from my front porch, where she was sipping something steamy while wrapped in winter clothing and a blanket she’d stolen from the back of my couch after announcing that it was colder than a brass toilet seat on the shady side of an iceberg.

She’d originally been totally on board with this yard decorating plan of mine, but upon stepping out of her car and experiencing the frigid wind, she’d flat out refused to get involved. However, that didn’t mean she was leaving because she definitely still wanted to watch it all unfold. Just . . . from a place of warmth.

“My yard, my choice,” I stated, a mantra I’d been saying to myself all afternoon.

Did I really want a gargantuan turkey, complete with an LED light-up bow tie, towering in my yard? No. Did I really, really want to passive-aggressively get under the skin of my HOA board? Yes. I had a point to prove, and if it took a little bit of tacky yard decor to accomplish it, well, I was game. And exactly what was that point? Well, it was still percolating. I hadn’t landed on a firm creed yet, only that it was time to go overboard if I wanted them to start seeing the world outside of their meetings.

Another gust of wind hit, and I heard Lizzie squeak as she tumbled to the ground. She was now being mauled by the turkey, which made Ruby laugh out loud, and I bit my lip to keep from joining her. All I could see of poor Lizzie was her mittened hands and her kicking feet. The struggles of her short stature never stopped being funny to me. I grabbed one of the winged, arm-looking things and heaved it toward me, but it insisted on going back down and disrespecting Lizzie once more.

“Ruby, a little help?” I called as I tried to wrestle the bird.

Ruby thankfully set down her mug and joined me, lifting from the other side. The problem was that we’d started laughing while Lizzie begged for mercy, and it made it harder to get a firm grip and lift. Before too long, though, Lizzie’s head popped around, and the look she gave me was anything but amused as she straightened her cap and tucked her springy curls back into place. She stood, unwrapping the scarf from her face, and put her hands on her curvy hips.

“I’m done here,” she grumped. “I was on board with making your yard into a haunted house last month, and I’ll definitely be back to set up Christmas next month if you’re still at war, but this turkey crossed a line with me, and I’m out.” She huffed a little as she marched to the porch to retrieve her purse and then headed toward her car. Her coat was bubble gum pink, and her curls bounced against the collar like the period at the end of her statement. “You’d better pray I don’t have a black eye from that battery pack that just tried to knock me out cold. I have my bridal pictures next week.”

“Don’t worry, it’s so cold out it’s like putting ice on your face. Maybe drive home with your window down?” Ruby called.

The two of us watched her drive away as we held onto the wings and struggled against the beast. When Lizzie’s taillights were out of sight, I turned to Ruby, who had been unusually quiet for the past couple of minutes.

“I feel like I shouldn’t enjoy her anger so much,” Ruby stated thoughtfully. “The problem is that she bounces around like an irritated oompa-loompa, and I can’t take anything she says seriously.”

The description was spot on, and with Ruby’s deadpan delivery I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You want to help me finish this?” I asked.

She reached out a hand, and I gave her a stake and the hammer I’d been using. Ruby made short work of it, staking the bird as competently as I’d known she could. Ruby had a strange and varied set of skills that made her quite handy to have around. We stood, both of us putting our hands on our hips and taking a few steps back to see the finished product—which ended up being different than I’d imagined. The bird was facing the house and its tail feathers were facing the street. With the breeze blowing, it looked like it was wiggling its bum at the neighborhood in a taunting and sassy manner.

Ruby laughed and bent over to tug at a stake, most likely thinking I’d want to fix it.

“No, leave it,” I said before she could loosen anything. “It’s perfect.”

A knock on the door sounded right as my toaster popped the next morning. I smiled smugly to myself, buttering the bread and spreading on some homemade raspberry preserves I’d made from last summer’s harvest at my dad’s house. The tart and sweet scent mixed with the warm butter, and I inhaled as a second knock came. I put it on a paper towel and rounded the corner out of my kitchen into the small entry hallway of my home. After a quick hand smoothed my hair to make sure nothing was sticking up where it shouldn’t be, I opened the door and held out the toast in offering.

Brooks VanOrman, HOA president and pain in my backside, looked at the toast and back at me with an inscrutable expression. His dark hair was still wet from his shower, and his black beard looked freshly trimmed. As usual, he was wearing a button-down shirt and jeans, but in concession to the cold morning air, he had a jacket unzipped over the top.

“You’re right on time,” I said, wiggling the toast. “So predictable that the toast popped up right as you knocked. I made it for you. The raspberries are organic.”

His dark eyes looked at the toast again before moving up to my face. “I don’t want your toast.”

---