Page 4 of Between Love and War
Heather ignores me, already checking her phone again. “Unpack later. You’re due at the preschool in two hours. Nothing heavy yet, just a quick orientation.”
I groan, but Polly claps excitedly in my arms. “Yay! You’re gonna meet my teacher! She’s really pretty.”
Tricia snorts. “And here I thought you only cared about the swings.”
“I do,” Polly says. “But Miss Kate is so nice. She lets us have an extra five minutes for snacks.Andher stories always have puppets!” She turns back to me, whispering conspiratorially, “I think you’ll like her.”
“Love her already, Polly Pocket,” I tell her, even though Miss Kate sounds overstimulating.
I knew moving here would make me a bit of a town spectacle, but wow—these people are relentless. They’re not even pretending to be subtle. I catch glimpses of curtains twitching, heads popping in and out of view, and at least three different neighbors blatantly peeking through my windows like I’m some kind of rare zoo exhibit.
Heather already left, while Tricia and Polly are finishing something for Pol’s art thing. So I’m alone. I’m leaving in two hours, so I thought I’d just take a nap.
But just as I put my feet on the sofa, the doorbell rings. I freeze. Maybe if I stay really still, whoever it is will just go away.
The doorbell rings again. And again. Followed by rapid knocking.
Jesus.Okay. I get it.
Resigning myself to whatever hell this is, I make my way to the door and swing it open. An old woman stands there, wearing a polka dot top and oversized sunglasses. And she’s holding a big container.
“Well, look who finally answered!” she says. “Welcome to Magnolia Heights, Mr. Basketball Star.”
I stare at her. “Uh… thanks?” I glance over her shoulder and—yep. More neighbors. A small crowd of them, watching from their porches, pretending to water plants or check their mail.
“I’m Linda, by the way. You can call me Manang Linda, like everyone else does.” She shoves the container to my hands and continues, “That’s homemade biko. You’ll love it.”
Well, Iamhungry. I barely have time to thank her before she shifts her position.
Manang Linda leans in slightly, lowering her voice like she’s letting me in on a secret. “They’re all dying to meet you, you know.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
She grins. “Good. Because I told them you’d be at the neighborhood barbecue this weekend. It’s at the Cruz residence. Right next door.” And just like that, she’s gone.
I look down at the homemade biko. Then back to Manang Linda and her army of neighborhood gossipers behind her.
As she retreats and I close the door, I also notice how unbelievably good this biko smells. I’ve only been here for fifteen minutes, and it’s already too much for me to handle. Looks like I have absolutely no idea what kind of weird, small-town ecosystem I just walked into.
CHAPTER THREE
Kate
Why is there a crowd?
Parents are dropping off their kids for the afternoon session and some of them are taking out their phones to snap photos of somebody. It isn’t until most people are huddled in the drop-off areas that our principal comes out and instructs guards to intervene.
I still don’t see what or who exactly they’re buzzing about when Mrs. Ramos calls us all into her office.
“Sorry,” she says as she closes the door to her principal’s office. “I signed an NDA that I couldn’t talk about this until today. And, I was supposed to set a meeting this morning if it weren’t for the issue with the children with the stomach flu.” She looks at me pointedly and rolls her eyes. This morning, about three or four students went home with a stomach bug, because they all shared a student’s lunch that had apparently spoiled.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I don’t have much time.Thatis Michael Lee.” My co-teachers gasp, but I try to contain myself, listening as intently as my headspace allows. Michael Lee. I just saw him on the news this morning. He’s…here?
“You all know the issue.” Yes, the one where this grown man threw a fit. “He is expected to spend three months doing community service in our school. In the Little League program.” She looks at me with an eager expression.
“I trust you can handle it?”
“Sorry? Me?” I stare in disbelief at our principal. I hear what she’s saying, but my mind is having trouble processing it.
