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nods.
    “We’ll see,” I answer evasively, thinking I’m not about to lug our shopping bags throughout the mall. The café is close and convenient, and I can charge our lunch on my Nordstrom’s card.
    On the way to the mall, we swing by the school so Jemma can check the class lists one more time before school starts on Tuesday. She heard that she’s got Eva Zinsser in her class again, and she wants to see for herself.
    I park my Lexus SUV in front of the school, and the girls scramble from the car. Stepping out of the car, I pray that Paige is wrong. I can’t bear another year with the Zinssers. Jemma feels the same way. Last year was a bear, a real struggle, and I refuse to go through another school year like that.
    “Paige was right,” Jemma shouts, standing in front of the window and scanning the names. “We’re in the same class again.” She turns around and groans. “Why, Mom? Why me?”
    “It’ll be fine,” I say unconvincingly, hating that there are now two strikes against the new school year.
    First, Jemma’s been assigned to Mrs. Osborne’s class—something I’m just dreading, as it’s rumored that Mrs. Osborne piles on the homework, although not as much as Mrs. Shipley last year. Nathan might say it’s good for the girls to have hard teachers, but he isn’t the one who helps with homework every night, and he’s not the one devoting hours to overseeing the reports and projects, either.
    I’d been hoping Jemma would get Miss Tanzey for fifth grade. Miss Tanzey arrived midyear last year, replacing Mrs. Jenkins, who was going out on maternity leave, and everyone who had Miss Tanzey just loved her. Miss Tanzey didn’t assign homework during winter or spring break—not like Mrs. Osborne—and she was, by all accounts, a much easier grader, which would be so much better for Jemma, who has begun struggling in school.
    It’s not that Jemma’s not bright enough, but she’s just not motivated, and last year her grades really dropped, which sent Nathan through the roof. He took Jemma’s cell phone away from her and grounded her from the computer for nearly a month, but Jemma just sulked and then used Annika’s phone behind her father’s back.
    I vowed this year would be different. I vowed that we’d start school on a more positive note, but it’s hard to be as optimistic knowing that we’ve got to deal with the bizarre-o Zinssers again.
    “Come on, girls, let’s go shopping.”
    The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of picnics, barbecues, and swimming dates at the lake and the country club pool. Kate and Bill have us over for dinner Saturday night. Patti and Donald have a pre–Labor Day party Sunday night. Then some people I don’t know well invited us to a big shindig Monday afternoon, and I wouldn’t have gone except that Gary Locke, the former governor of Washington, was going to be there with his wife and children.
    By Monday night, I’m so tired of small talk and smiling that it’s a relief to put the kids to bed.
    In our bed, Nathan reaches for me in the dark and I’m about to refuse, citing extreme exhaustion, but then I remember our odd night Friday night and the tension over money. I don’t want tension over sex.
    I give in to his kiss. He is such a good kisser, and as his body sinks into mine, I know that at least I’ll climax. I always do. Nathan wouldn’t have it any other way.
    The morning arrives along with tears and tantrums. Tori doesn’t want her big sisters going off to school and leaving her alone. “But you’re not alone,” Brooke tells her imperiously. “You’ll be with Annika.” Which of course leads to more tears.
    Brooke’s upset because her hair isn’t holding a curl.
    Jemma’s upset because her hair won’t stay straight.
    I’m upset because I’ve got to get ready, too, and I can’t get dressed or do my hair with everyone screaming in every upstairs bedroom.
    But finally by seven forty-five we make it to the car. I’m driving the girls this