We Have Confidence!

By Cheryl Cory

The O'Rourke sisters are back!

It's been four years since the events of Must've Done Something Good, and Sylvie is slipping back into her procrastinating ways. When Kate and Meg show up for another "sisterly life smackdown," she can't believe it's happening again...

But, if she's being honest, lounging on the couch all day watching Judge Carmen and making sure the soup cupboard stays in tip-top shape probably is not the life she was born to live.

When Meg enlists Sylvie to help run a Common Sense Academy in town, she reluctantly agrees, thinking it may be just the thing to kick-start her life—and help her sister realize her dream, to boot. That is, until a rival school springs up, determined to drive them out of business.

And as if that's not enough to worry about, Kate and Jared announce they're having a baby, prompting Sylvie and Evan to examine their own feelings about parenthood, and leading Meg to wonder if there could possibly be a future with Luke, the father of one of the Academy's most endearing students.

Join the O'Rourke sisters as they don disguises, stage a mall melee, engage in school-to-school combat, and issue a televised ultimatum—all on their way to discovering that, when it comes to finding your dream, sometimes a little confidence is really all it takes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl Cory
• Release date: Apr 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476128863

Cheryl Cory

Cheryl Cory lives in Worcester, Massachusetts with her husband Matthew and their cat Betsy. She enjoys reading, cleaning (seriously), and making cookie dough (not to cook, just to eat). She has tried and quickly given up a number of sports including, but not limited to, golf, skiing and snowboarding. Must've Done Something Good is Cheryl's first novel. Contact the author at: cherylcory11(at)yahoo(dot)com

Book preview

We Have Confidence!

Cheryl Cory

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Cheryl Cory

All rights reserved

Cover by Lorraine Hruska

Cover Photo by Olaf Simon

www.1300media.com

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is dedicated

to everyone who kept bugging me

to get it out.

Thank you!

Chapter 1

Our musical doorbell went off, just after the defendant had entered the hallway to tell the host, in typically ungrammatical fashion, why Judge Carmen was wrong and needed to go back to law school. I was lying on the couch, wrapped up in a Snuggie, with a couple of remotes and a big bowl of apple crisp within snarfing distance. Something about this whole situation seemed terribly familiar.

The remote control door opener I’d commissioned (I wish) was still in the works, and I was one hundred percent positive the mute button didn’t work on uninvited guests, so I stood up. After a short struggle, getting caught on the Snuggie and nearly tipping over my glass of milk—during which time the doorbell was set off again—I finally made it out of the living room and ran to the back door.

I pulled back the left-hand door curtain. It was my younger sister, Meg. Then the right-hand curtain. Kate, my older sister, was there too, and it looked like she meant business. I opened the door.

Come on in out of this fine, crisp day, I told them. No need to wait out in that gorgeous early spring weather any longer than necessary.

Thanks, Meg said. Have you even been outside today? She squinted. Are those pajamas?

I looked down at my comfy, fleecy attire. Not technically, I told her, but I did wear them to bed last night.

Meg grunted as Kate took off her jacket and hung it up neatly in the closet. I liked the fact that my sisters treated my house as their own, because that meant they could help themselves to anything they needed without bothering me about it. It’s what they call a win-win situation, I believe.

Want to go sit down? Kate asked, leading the way into the kitchen. Meg and I followed her and the three of us sat down at the kitchen table.

Do you guys want anything to drink? I asked. If so, help yourselves. I think I have some orange soda. Sorry, Meg, I’m fresh out of Yoo-hoo.

I haven’t drunk that since I was five, you goober, she responded, rolling her eyes.

So, what brings you girls here today? You look mighty chipper for so early in the morning.

Kate glanced over at Meg. Sylvie, it’s one-thirty already. Are you feeling OK? What were you doing before we got here?

I looked around the kitchen for something that would save me. There was no way I was telling them I’d been in the middle of a two-hour Judge Carmen binge. My eyes settled on the wine rack in the corner. I was just drinking, I said matter-of-factly.

Right, Meg replied. Though that might help explain things.

You said yourself it was past noon. That’s fair game, I reasoned.

You were watching TV, weren’t you? I bet you were watching that judge, Meg said, squinting again.

Yeah, I thought I heard some superior-sounding laughter floating by right before we rang the doorbell, Kate added.

You know very well that could’ve been coming from anywhere. Or about all sorts of things, I replied, making a note to myself to keep my scoffing joviality a bit more on the DL from then on. I think we might have an arrogant ghost, if you want to know the truth.

Meg went to get some orange soda from the fridge. So, she asked, pouring some fizzy chemical goodness into a tall glass, what have you been doing lately? Anything exciting? She pointed at Kate, who pointed at the faucet, prompting another tall glass to be taken down and filled to the brim with water.

Oh, good Lord—they were checking up on me. Why, oh, why had I not foreseen that this would happen and come up with a dozen or so exciting and interesting lies to share enthusiastically with them? It was pretty clear that thinking on my feet was not going to work. I decided to share the most exciting, truthful things I could come up with.

I rearranged the soups in the cabinet yesterday, I told them—with no small amount of pride, I must add. It had been a tough job. There were a lot of soups. And not just a lot of a couple different kinds. No, there were a lot of a lot of different kinds. You can go look if you want.

We believe you, Sylvie, Meg said.

No, I mean you can go awe at the sight and compliment me, I told her. You too, Kate.

Kate was not amused. What else have you been doing?

You know, playing computer trivia… I drifted off, as I tried to remember something better. Don’t make fun. A lot of that information is important.

No, actually, it’s not, Sylvie. That’s why they call it trivia. Kate put her glass down on the table and looked over at Meg. Whatever was going on between the two of them looked very suspicious.

Are you guys sending signals? I asked incredulously.

Yup, Meg said, nodding vigorously. I think we’ve just reached the point where we sit you down and give you a talking to.

I’m already sitting down, I pointed out.

Well, then, here’s the talking to. Meg and I have been talking—

Oh, no.

—and we think it’s about time—

Good Lord, can this possibly be happening again?

—that you figured out something you want to do with your time that doesn’t involve sitting here and watching TV, organizing cans or drinking.

I wasn’t really doing that.

We know. The point is, we think you need to find something that you really do want to be doing and do it, Meg added. Something you can do that requires you actually changing out of your pajamas by two in the afternoon.

I think I already told you these aren’t pajamas. And today is clearly an anomaly. Most days I’m up and out of the house by six-thirty. Seven at the absolute latest.

Oh, yeah? Doing what? Kate gave me a skeptical little frown.

They’d caught me. Fine. Getting the paper from the porch. Does that really matter? I feel the cool air on my face before most people have even hit snooze for the second time. Just because the early bird is wearing pajamas doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy a hearty worm or two with her morning paper. Honestly, I don’t know where you two get your ideas.

Is it just me or is she talking gibberish? Meg asked, turning to Kate. Sylvie, we get that you like to relax, she continued, turning to face me. And we get that you’ve earned a little time off after all the hard work you’ve done over the years. Especially that whole teaching thing. But you’ve somehow morphed from a procrastinator who eventually got things done into a super-charged procrastinating goof-off machine. Deny it. She raised her eyebrows about as far as I suspected they would go.

Of course there was no denying it.

Fine. That’s probably true. I likes my goofing, what can I say. I’m fine with it. Evan’s fine with it too. He likes it when his soups are in a coherent, orderly style. He actually complimented me on it the other day.

He had done no such thing.

Yesterday? Kate asked.

That’s what I meant. Yesterday. The days all start to run together when you’re a big goof-off like me. Suddenly, I got it. I shook my head. You have to be kidding me. Is this an intervention?

More like a sisterly life smackdown. This was, clearly, Meg.

I’d say it’s more like a caring opportunity to set you onto a new path—to help you decide what it is you should do and where to take your life from this point, Kate tried to clarify.

It feels much more like a sisterly smackdown, to be honest. You’re not trying to send me back to St. Matt’s, are you? Because I won’t go. It’ll take much more than a speck of guilt to work on me this time.

Sylvie, you have practically unlimited time and loads of imagination. And look at how you’ve been spending it. Kate had on her disappointed face, one of the faces I really hated to have to look at. There must be hundreds of things you’d like to do, if you sat down and thought about it for a while. We can help you. She smiled and for a second it felt like I was being inducted into some sort of cult.

Do you know how many people would love to have their soups in a recognizable ord—

Drop the soups, Sylvie.

Kate pulled a piece of paper and a pen from her pocketbook and placed them on the table. I think this’ll actually be fun, she said, writing How Sylvie Can Stop Wasting Her Time across the top of the page.

Yeah, for you. Um, that’s a little harsh.

I know we said we were dropping the soup—

Fine. Whatever. I stood up and walked to the window. Then I walked back to the table. What am I supposed to put on this list? How about ‘Become President of the United States?’ That should take a while. Will you guys leave me alone as I try my best to work toward that lofty goal?

Great! You have to start local. Will you let us file some campaign papers for you tomorrow? They’re always looking for a few good city councilors, I hear. Ooh, or school committee! Meg beamed. Was it possible for someone to get more annoying with each passing year?

I just want to start at the top—none of this working up the political ladder nonsense. Anyway, I just decided that politics isn’t actually for me. I’d rather be an astronaut. I added astronaut training to the blank piece of paper.

Kate and Meg both stopped talking. I think I’d finally driven them over the edge.

Is there some dirty meaning to astronaut training that I’m not aware of, because things have gotten a little weird right about now?

Sylvie, we’re leaving now, Kate said, looking at Meg and picking up her notepad. But we want you to stay right here and think for a little while about what we said. There must be something you want to do—something you’ve thought about trying, but just haven’t gotten around to. That’s where you need to start, and I get the feeling that one new thing will lead to another pretty soon.

Yeah, and get you out of this crazy rut, Meg thoughtfully added.

Help you get back on track with things, Kate even more thoughtfully amended.

They left and I wished they’d taken their ridiculous ideas with them, but it was too late. They’d gotten me thinking, and (as anyone who knows me fairly well will tell you) this is not always the start of something good.

*****

Evan, do you think I’m a boring lazeabout? We were getting ready for bed that night, and I’d spent the better part of the evening thinking about what I would answer to that very question, if posed by myself, to myself, in some alternate, clone-ridden universe. I don’t really want to say what my reply would’ve been.

Evan happened to be in the middle of brushing his teeth, which, to tell the truth, I’d planned. I wanted to give him a bit of a chance to think about what he wanted to say, without making it obvious that he was thinking about what he was going to say. If that makes any sense. He smiled and kept brushing, and if he hadn’t had a toothbrush lodged in his mouth, I bet he would’ve been laughing too. He held up a finger to signal that he was still thinking about how to phrase his lie to make me feel better.

When his teeth were appropriately cleaned, this is the answer I got: You’re not a lazeabout, Sylvie—at least not all the time. Why are you asking me this?

At least not all the time? That took you a whole tooth-brushing episode to come up with? I gave him one of my specialty scowls.

Where is this coming from? Evan asked, probably wishing he’d taken a little longer on his teeth and come up with something better. I hope I haven’t been making you feel like I think that—

I shook my head.

But, it is funny you should bring it up, he continued. I stopped my head mid-shake. I have kind of been thinking lately that you might want to find something, some kind of project, that you might like to try out. There’s only so much organizing you can do, right? I really think we’re pretty much set, as far as that goes. He walked over to me and put his arms around me. I really felt as though I might cry. Even my own husband thought I was a lazy lazeabout. What the heck had I done to deserve this?

The answer, of course, was not much.

I’m still recovering from that horrible year teaching, you know. Trauma like that can take a lifetime to get over. And at going-on-four years out, I was pretty sure I was pushing the sympathy limit on that one.

Let’s keep talking about this in bed, Evan said. Although this may sound like man code for, OK, be quiet about this nonsense and let’s have sex (or even, I’ll let you talk to me about it while I sleep), I was pretty sure Evan actually meant it, which did make me happy, in the midst of my utter unhappiness about being called on my slacker ways.

I crawled into bed and pulled the flannel sheets up over my head. Evan crawled in next to me and promptly pulled them back down. So, what was this about teaching trauma? he asked.

OK, honestly, I’m over that. Listen, though, do you think I need to start doing something more productive—really applying myself to something important? Am I getting…boring? I cringed as I said the word.

Sylvie, you could never bore me. Just seeing the expressions on your face as you read—and gutturally comment on—the letters to the editor is enough to keep me entertained for days on end. Maybe even years. What was that one this morning about God wanting us all to become farmers again?

Yeah, that was crazy. If I want zucchini, I’ll buy it at the store. Anyway, do you have any ideas on what I could possibly do to increase the importantness quotient of my life? I’m talking something really good here. It has to trump even the whole St. Matt’s thing. I knew it was probably a dumb thing to ask, but I had to try. What if Evan had noticed something I’d be perfect for but hadn’t told me about it before, because he thought I was too lazy to do it?

I honestly think this is something you need to figure out on your own, he said. I started to pull the covers back over my head, but he stopped me. But, I will give you a tip, Evan said, holding tight to the sheet. Think about two things. First, what really makes you happy that you could incorporate into a job, or volunteering, or even a hobby? Second, what things really bug you that you might be able to stop, if you put your mind—and some of your time—to it? That’s it. I think you can take it from there.

He let go of the sheet, but I didn’t pull it back over my head. It was too hot under there anyway. But the real reason was because what he’d said made sense. There were tons of things that bugged me. Putting an end to them would make me feel great. And there were even some things I did like that I could probably fit in there too, if I put my mind to it.

Ready for bed? Evan asked. Maybe you can think about it until you fall asleep, and I bet something will come to you tonight. Maybe you’ll get a message in a dream. He smiled at me and rolled onto his side so he could wrap his arm around me. I turned out the light and enjoyed the warmth and closeness of Evan’s body, as I thought about how perfectly happy I was, with the minor exception of not having anything really meaningful to take up the bulk of my days. Kate and Meg were right, I guessed. I think I’d become a little too complacent. I needed something to get excited about, to throw a little monkey wrench of adventure into my well-oiled machine of a life.

Chapter 2

The phone rang at eight-forty-five the next morning. I was drinking my coffee (which had already been microwaved up twice) and reading the paper. I had made it to the letters to the editor and was, presumably, well on my way to a mime-school expressions scholarship, if you were to believe my husband. Evan had left for school around seven, and I was just about to get ready for the day. Truthfully, the words just about should be in quotes back there.

I checked the Caller ID (which I now understood perfectly and had grown to love). It was Meg. I considered not answering, but then I thought she would probably just stop by, knowing I was ignoring her. I picked up the phone. Hi, Meg, I greeted her uber-cheerfully.

Sylvie, cut the crap. I know the only reason you picked up was to keep me from coming over there. I’m coming over, by the way.

What? No. What are you talking about? I asked.

We need to talk, Meg whispered.

Why are you whispering? I asked. Are we being spied on? Are you being followed? Is the phone bugged with a very low-tech listening device?

I have something important to talk to you about. Can I come over now?

I guess so, I replied. Have you eaten breakfast yet?

No, I figured I’d have some at your place, Meg kindly informed me.

I’ll meet you at The Sunny Cup, I said. Twenty minutes. I’ll be the one with the carnation and dark glasses. Be there or be square. I felt like adding NaNuNaNu, but it just seemed like overkill.

I hung up the phone, dumped the cold coffee down the drain and ran upstairs to change out of my PJs. After quickly brushing my hair and teeth/face (still needed to be more careful about that), I put on a cute hat and bounded out to the MINI, ready for some steaming biscuits and sausage and more than just a bit curious about what crazy scheme Meg more than likely had up her sleeve.

When I got to the Cup, Meg was already seated in a booth toward the back. She waved me over. No shades? And where’s the secretly-miked flower? she asked when I got back there, clearly disappointed by my obvious lack of secret agent expertise. Or, should I say, faux secret agent showiness.

You know the flowers around my house don’t do so well, Meg. Did you order yet? I asked.

No, I was just taking in the ambiance, she replied, looking around the restaurant. Lots of interesting people here. Interesting clearly with quotes, judging from her expression and slow nod. These are my people! she added, holding her arms out wide.

Meg lived right down the street, near the apartment the three of us had shared while I was teaching at St. Matt’s. Once Kate and I had moved out, Meg said she felt like Louis XIV, with such a big apartment for herself (and all the rent falling to her alone, with no peasants to tax for it), and moved into a tiny one bedroom right down the street. When she moved, we just carried a lot of her stuff down the street from building to building. I almost felt like hiring a drum major to lead us, as we marched from building to building and back with armloads of Meg’s stuff.

I was suddenly in the mood for a big old omelet. The waitress came over with some silverware and I ordered a ham and cheese omelet with peppers and onions and a large orange juice. Then I added some pumpernickel toast with butter. Just remembering this meal is literally making my mouth water all over again. It really was delicious. Meg ordered the French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs combo, with some cranberry juice, which also sounded quite good. The O’Rourke sisters have never been known to skimp on their food, especially when we weren’t doing the cooking ourselves.

So, what’s up, Meg? I asked, once the waitress had left our table. What’s your plan for world domination and when will you show yourself to the masses in your natural, non-human form? I may have said this a little bit on the loud side to get a reaction from her.

Shhhhh! Sylvie, I told you, this is important stuff. It’s not exactly top-secret, but still, you don’t need to go around using your intercom voice.

I’m so sorry, Meg, I said, but you know me—voted ‘Most Likely to Compromise National Security.’ That and ‘Best Alf Impersonation.’

Quiet! No more joking. She meant business. Thank you. Now listen, I wanted to talk to you about what Kate and I suggested when we came over yesterday.

I nodded. Go on.

I have an idea. She was smiling very widely, never a promising sign for one of Meg’s ideas. Seeing a huge smile like that was always an accurate predictor of an O’Rourke scheme about to be hatched. It was like achy joints and rain. I knew what was coming. I’m going to open a school. And you’re gonna help me. She said it so quietly, I wasn’t sure if what I heard was really what she’d said. It couldn’t be…could it?

I was silent for a moment as I thought about it. How, exactly, does one go about roping in a school? Of fish, I’m assuming? Do we need lassos? Nets might be better.

Meg stared at me, wide-eyed. I broke in on her a second later as she started to repeat what she’d said, this time in a slightly raised whisper. I’m kidding, Meg. I heard you. And I have to be honest—what you said is even crazier than roping in a school. And even less likely to happen.

Meg got pouty for just a second, then fired back, That’s what you think now, but wait till you hear my plan!

Just then, the waitress arrived at our table and placed two steaming hot plates in front of us. As I unwrapped my straw, I debated whether to humor Meg by pretending I would actually consider her plan, or tell her straight out that only once I began howling at the moon on my hands and knees could she expect me to open a school with her. I was a little curious, though, I have to admit, about what she meant by opening a school. People don’t just go around opening schools every day. A bakery, a tattoo parlor—yeah, I can see that—but how the heck does one up and decide to open an institution of learning?

So, are you gonna listen now? Meg asked.

Fire away, Professor.

"I want