“Let’s head out as soon as the staff meeting’s over.”

Two

They met at Z’s Cocktail Lounge in Alameda after the school staff meeting ended. It was one of their favorite places to go since it was far enough from Memorial High that they didn’t risk bumping into other teachers or parents, and quiet, as Z’s was a bar that only locals knew about. The outside was nondescript and drew little attention from the street. Inside, it was small, cozy, and upscale, with just a few tables along the walls, the stools at the bar, and the requisite piano.

“I don’t think I could do it again, not knowing what I know now,” Fiona was saying, her Irish accent pronounced as she pushed her empty beer glass around on the table. “It’s too hard, this blended family thing. I was so naive thinking I could make it work. Thinking that we could all get along.”

This wasn’t new news. Kit and Polly were aware that Fiona, a Dublin native and brilliant science teacher, had been struggling for a while. The problem was the kids. Chase’s kids. She’d never been married before, but he had, and he came into the marriage with three children, two teenagers and a preteen. Fiona knew that the kids had been scarred from a bitter divorce and a poisonous mom, but she’d thought that with patience and love they would warm up to her. They hadn’t.

“I’m trying so hard,” Fiona added, blinking back tears. “I honestly couldn’t try harder.”

Polly couldn’t contain her frustration any longer. “That’s the problem,” she said tartly. “You’re too good to them.”

“No,” Fiona protested, but unconvincingly.

“Yes!” Polly slammed her fist onto the table, making the glasses bounce. “They’re little shits, especially the youngest, Alexander. They’re trying to break you and their dad up, and they’re winning. It’s time you fought back. Turned the tables. Taught those brats a thing or two.”

“Polly!” Kit choked on smothered laughter. She’d taught with Polly for years now, and loved her sense of humor, but to call Fiona’s stepkids brats and little shits?

Polly shrugged. “I’m right,” she said, successfully catching the eye of the waitress and indicating that she’d have another round. She’d already finished two strong key lime daiquiris but was by no means drunk. Polly could hold her liquor. “Those kids totally manipulate you, Fiona, just as they manipulate their dad, their mom, and everyone around them. It’s time you turned the tables. Put them in their place. Taught them a thing or two.”

Fiona’s forehead wrinkled. “But wouldn’t that just give them more ammunition?”

Polly rolled her eyes.