Asami is already waiting when I walk in at two o’clock on the dot, secretly patting myself on the back for once again stuffing ten pounds of potatoes into a five-pound bag.
After I grab a chai latte, I join her on the couch. She has certainly made a brave choice of headgear on this cold, wet day. She is sporting a green hunter’s hat with eyes on the front and a lid that looks like a duckbill.
“So what’s up?” I take a sip and ease my coat off.
As usual, Asami comes right to the point. She leans toward me with purpose.
“I think I told you once that I believe there is no such person as Sasha Lewicki, and now I’m more convinced than ever.”
Really? This is what I had to rush here for? I never pegged Asami for the conspiracy-theory type.
“How can you even think that? I mean, I know I’ve never met her, but I heard that Miss Ward goes to her house, like, three times a week and tutors Nadine.”
“According to whom?” Asami raises a very defined eyebrow at me.
“Uh, I can’t remember who told me. Why?”
“Because I went to the address listed in her school file, and guess what? No one lives there. It’s one of those old abandoned row houses off Mission Street near the Walmart.”
I really don’t know what to say. Do I want to ask how she got access to the Lewickis’ school file in the first place?
“Maybe they moved. Or maybe it’s a misprint. There could be a lot of explanations.” I can’t believe I’m the voice of reason in this conversation.
“Maybe, but then I Googled Sasha Lewicki, and guess what? All I found was some doctor who works at Kaiser Permanente in California and a girl at Boston College who puts inappropriate pictures of herself on Instagram.” She pauses for what I guess is effect or drama, then says, “There is no Sasha Lewicki in Kansas City.”
I want to say “So what?” but I can see that Asami is really whipped up about this. I take a long sip of chai in the hopes of finding some answers for her.
“So what’s your endgame here, Asami? What exactly are you trying to do?”
“I’m trying to prove that these people are made up.”
“By who? And for what reason?” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Well, that’s what we need to find out.” Asami sits back for the first time during our conversation and crosses her arms.
I’m still not convinced there is anything to give a royal rip about, but I take a few breaths to absorb her information. Okay, we have a kid in class that no one has ever seen; a mother who only answers emails with an out-of-office autoreply, but manages to contribute to class parties; and there is a wrong address in the school records. If she is made up, someone has taken the time to plan this ruse admirably.
“Have you talked to Miss Ward? Asked her about it?”
“Of course I have.” Asami seems insulted. “She brushed me off by saying she couldn’t talk about another student.”
I remember having a similar experience when I casually asked Miss Ward about Nadine at the beginning of the year. At the time, I wasn’t fishing; I was just making conversation. I look at my watch. We have about ten minutes.
“Okay, let’s say Nadine and Sasha are made up. So what? It doesn’t affect the class dynamic at all. Why do you care?”
“It just bothers me. It’s like a loose end that is just … dangling there.” Asami waves her hand in front of my face. “Plus I can’t stop feeling like someone is having a good laugh at our expense, and I do not like to be laughed at.”
If you don’t like to be laughed at, you should seriously rethink your hat choices, I think.
“Okay, so what would you like me to do?”
“I want you to help me get to the bottom of this. See if we can force this person to show herself.”
“Right. And how am I supposed to do that?”
“I was hoping you’d have an idea. You’ve got that slick, cagey mind.”
I chew my lip and consider the backhanded compliment my co–class parent just launched at me. God, she is hard to take seriously with that hat on. I start to put my coat on, and she does the same.
“Let me think about it,” I say as we walk to the door. “My slick, cagey mind needs time to brew.”
We run to our respective cars in a lame attempt to hold on to the warmth from Starbucks, and drive the quarter mile to school. We park and get out and Asami joins me as I walk to where we wait for the kids. As we approach, I can imagine Peetsa and Ravi checking me out with my new bestie, but to my surprise I find them locked in conversation with none other than Shirleen Cobb.
“Hey, girls, what’s up?” I say by way of inserting myself into the exchange.
“Jennifer, I’m glad you’re here. Does Graydon say inappropriate things to Max?” Shirleen asks.
“Inappropriate?” I look to Ravi and Peetsa for any clue as to what we have walked into.
“Yes, inappropriate. Surely you, of all people, know what that means.”
And I thought I was the snarky one.
“Well, to be honest, he did tell Max not to invite girls to his birthday party because they’re gross.”
Judging by the openmouthed stares I’m receiving, this is the wrong answer. When will I ever learn that the only thing you say to other parents is how wonderful their child is? Even if they ask you for the truth, they really don’t want it.
“I don’t see anything inappropriate about that. In fact, it is extremely age appropriate.”
“And that’s why I never said anything to you about it.” I look around the circle. “Why are we talking about this?”
I feel like Peetsa is about to say something, but Shirleen jumps in.
“As a matter of fact, Zach told my son that his mother said that Graydon says too many inappropriate things and he shouldn’t listen to him.”
“Which Zach?” Asami and I say at the same time.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She turns to Peetsa and Ravi. “But I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“It must have been Zach E., Shirleen,” Peetsa says, in her most appeasing voice. I’m impressed by her ability to throw Trudy Elder under the bus without even blinking. “I certainly hear all about Graydon from my Zach, but I would never say anything like that to him.”
Ravi nods solemnly, but doesn’t say anything.
“Well, I guess I should go have a word with Trudy.” Shirleen turns to leave our weird little circle of friends, but then pauses for a final comment.
“I sure hope you girls will always come to me if there’s a problem with Graydon.”
With that, she stalks away.
“Because clearly you are open to the criticism,” I say when I know she’s out of earshot.
My besties laugh. So does Asami.
Just then the bell rings and our cuties come trudging out looking the way most kids do by this time of winter—exhausted and disheveled. I spot Max’s leopard-print jacket in the crowd and wave to him. He has accessorized today with a headband that has brown felt antlers on top. He is walking arm in arm with Zach T., and they both look upset.
“Hey, sweetie.” I give him a quick hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” His voice tells me he’s anything but.
I look to Peetsa to see if she has any idea what they’re so glum about. She shrugs and takes Zach’s bag from him.