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on his desk. “I don’t want the op-eds to stop. That’s your first job, and they better keep coming. If you want to throw in a few investigative pieces, we’ll see how it goes.”
    Damien jumped up. “Thank you!”
    “Bruce is not going to take this well.”
    “I’ll handle Bruce. I’ll talk to him right now. He’ll be fine.”
    “Okay. Hey, you want to go grab a sub for lunch?”
    “Sure. In about an hour?”
    “Yeah, sounds good.”
    Damien raced out of the office and headed for Bruce’s desk, which sat across the room from his.
    Bruce looked up from his Sports Illustrated . “Hey, Damien. What’s going on?”
    Damien lowered his voice. “Edgar’s going to let me do investigative pieces.”
    Bruce’s magazine dropped to his lap. “What?”
    “Yeah, I just talked to him. Figured he wouldn’t go for it, but he said to go ahead, except I gotta keep doing the op-eds. So basically I’m doing twice the work for the same pay, but at least I’m not dying a slow death at my desk.”
    “So . . . you’re doing the investigative pieces? Not me?”
    “Kind of. He still wants you to—”
    Bruce threw his magazine to the floor, jumped out of his seat, and tackled Damien, backing him up several feet before managing to wrap his arms around him and pick him off the floor a good two feet. “My man! My man! How did you manage that?”
    “I’ll tell you as soon as my feet are on the ground.”
    “Sorry.” Bruce let go and Damien dropped straight down. “Dude, this is amazing!”
    “I can’t believe he went for it. But look, you’re going to have to play up some disappointment. The man was nervous, certain you’d be devastated.”
    “I only intimidate Edgar because I’m six foot three and can quote sports stats.” Bruce high-fived him. “I owe you big-time. Let me know if you want tickets to the game or something.”
    “All right. See you later.”
    “Hey, Damien?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Frank okay?”
    “Why?”
    “It’s his ex-anniversary, right?”
    Damien smiled. “He’ll be fine. I’m feeding him chicken wings tonight.”
     
***
     
    Kay put on another coat of light lipstick and got out of her Navigator. She tugged at her T-shirt, which must’ve shrunk in the wash.
    Once inside, she checked into the office, then went to the gym, where the ladies were setting up the cheer moms table. “Hi. How can I help?”
    Nobody bothered to look up. Nobody responded. All five women continued their conversation as if she wasn’t there. Which wasn’t unusual. It was like no one had ever taught them any social skills. She decided to start arranging the brownies on the platters.
    “I wouldn’t do them like that.”
    Kay looked up. Jill Toledo, dressed in a tight tank and a tighter miniskirt, stood above her, hands on her hips. “Do what?”
    “I’d arrange them more stacked, so people will see them.”
    “They might get knocked over or off the plate.” Kay tried to eyeball how many inches Jill’s skirt was from her knee. Six, maybe? The woman looked ridiculous.
    “I’ve been doing this a long time since I’ve had three daughters in cheer, and I’m telling you that if you don’t stack the brownies, people will walk right on by. These are kids. They have no attention span.”
    “What about these balloons we’ve got tied here? That’ll draw attention.”
    “Yeah. Right. Like this is fourth grade.”
    Kay glanced behind Jill at two of the other moms who were watching. She tried a smile, but they just stared. This was her first year as a cheer mom. She’d been against Jenna trying out for cheerleading, but Damien had convinced her Jenna was really good at it. She hated how pressured the girls were to wear those tight, belly-exposing uniforms. “All right. I’ll stack the brownies. No problem.”
    Jill spun around. “Who has the change bag?”
    “Nobody’s picked it up,” one lady said.
    “Can’t anybody do anything around here?” Jill threw her hands up. Fifteen bracelets clanked