I want them to get good grades, so I suppose I’ve picked mine. Besides, they’re not as lippy with Nathan. They wouldn’t be. He doesn’t put up with it, not like I do.

“Good meeting today, Taylor,” Patti says as Brooke grabs Tori by the shoulder to haul her into line at the snack bar.

Patti is co-chair with me for the Points Elementary School auction, and we held our first meeting of the year this morning at Tully’s on Points Drive.

I was worried about the meeting, but I needn’t have been. Our committee of seven is amazing. We’ve got the best parents this year, the best moms hands down.

“I heard so many great ideas during our brainstorm session,” I say, squeezing the rest of my lime wedge into my gin and tonic. “I have a hunch that this year’s auction is going to just blow everyone out of the water.”

And it will with what we’re planning.

We’ve got some spectacular live-auction items already lined up, including a trip to Paris—first-class on Air France—and a week on Paul Allen’s private yacht . . . in Greece, no less. I suppress a shiver of excitement. Corny as it is, I get goose bumps just thinking about it. “Patti, we can make this happen.”

“We are making it happen,” Patti corrects. She might be tiny and pretty, but she’s a workhorse. “We’ve already got chairs for each committee, and everyone’s experienced—”

“On the ball,” I add.

“And as we know, experience makes all the difference.”

Isn’t that the truth? I just love Patti. We’re on the same wavelength. It’s not just that we’re friends, but we’ve served on practically every school committee possible, and there’s no way I would have tackled the school auction if Patti hadn’t suggested we co-chair it together.

The school auction is Points Elementary’s biggest annual fund-raiser. The phone-a-thon, walk-a-thon, and wrapping paper sales all bring in money, but they don’t come close to generating the kind of money the auction does.

A strong auction nets a quarter million dollars. A fabulous auction nets a hundred thousand more.

Patti and I think we can hit four hundred thousand this year. At least that’s our goal.

“Anything juicy happen at the meeting?” Kate asks, pulling up another white chair to stretch her legs on. Her legs are thin and tan, but they’re always tan. Kate plays a lot of golf, and she and Bill routinely sneak off to Cabo.

Patti and I look at each other, try to think. There wasn’t a lot of chitchat. We were pretty organized, and the auction meeting isn’t the place for gossip. It would look bad. Unprofessional.

“I know something juicy,” Monica chimes in eagerly.

I shoot Patti a “here we go again” look. Monica Tallman irritates me. She isn’t poor, and she’s not unattractive, but she’s pathetically insecure and compensates for her feelings of inferiority by trying too hard.

The truth is, Monica needs a life. And she needs to stop copying my hairstyle.

Monica throws a hand into her hair, showing off her most recent highlights, which are nearly identical to mine. “The Wellsleys separated this summer,” she announces loudly.

“The Wellsleys?” Kate gasps.

Monica nods, sips her wine cooler, pleased to be the bearer of horrible news.