Pretenders (6 page)
Authors: Lisi Harrison
Q:
Where?
A:
The back room of REP’s.
Q:
Randy’s Exotic Pets?
A:
Yup.
Q:
Really?
A:
Really.
Q:
Why?
A:
I feed the animals at night and Randy lets me sleep there for free.
Q:
I was just there on Saturday! My brother got a skink.
A:
They eat baby food, you know.
Q:
And spiders. I didn’t see you there. Were you there?
A:
I leave during store hours. Randy uses the back room, where I sleep, to meet with international pet dealers. Now, those are some shady dudes.
Q:
Where do you go?
A:
I visit my parents in jail. I hop a train to Manhattan sometimes. When it’s cold I read at the public library.
(Silence.)
Q
(The Brave One): So, why exactly are your parents in jail?
A:
Bully beating.
Q:
You mean they beat up bullies?
A:
Yup.
Q:
Like bullies who were bullying you?
A:
No. Not me. Do I look like the kind of guy who gets bullied?
Q:
So…?
A:
We lived next door to a kid who got picked on. Not in a regular way. This was really bad. Don’t ask me for details because I don’t like to talk about it.
(The girls look at each other all creeped out and stuff.)
The guy lived with his grandfather who was too old to do anything so he asked my parents if they would, you know, help out.
Q:
Did they?
A:
Yeah. They kind of overdelivered.
Q:
Did you help them?
A:
No. I had no clue.
Q:
How did you find out?
A:
The police came to the door while my mom was making pancakes. A social worker took me and… can we change the subject?
Q:
Definitely.
Q:
Totally.
Q:
Let’s.
Q:
So what’s jail like?
A:
It’s bad. Really bad. I’d rather spend the day with Mr. Wiggons.
This kills them because Brit Lit is the most boring class at Noble. And Wiggons’s cockney accent makes it impossible to understand the boring things he’s saying.
Since we’re all laughing, everyone in the cafeteria checks us out. They wonder what could possibly be so funny. They wish they were in on it.
No one has actually told me this, but I know. I have seen a lot of things. Dark things. And I have read hundreds of crime novels. If there’s one thing I understand it’s human behavior.
It’s starting to rain again.
Maybe I’ll steal a bike.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Poor Duffy. You’re drenched. You are spinning a basketball on your finger as you walk to your front door. Come over here instead. Let me dry you. Let’s spend the afternoon together.
Hot chocolate and Chinese checkers? Fuzzy socks and footsie? Swap sections of the
New York Times
?
You just went in but then opened the door twenty seconds later and tossed the basketball onto the soggy lawn. You don’t know that my bedroom window faces the side of your house. You don’t know that I have been watching you since you moved next door last spring. I will wait ten minutes, scamper out in the rain, and claim my prize.
Don’t be afraid. I’m not psycho. Just homeschooled. I’m still having a hard time getting used to being in the real world. Pub girls get so dressed up. The boys don’t sit still. Teachers are serious. Bells are loud. Changing classes is Penn Station on a Friday afternoon. And, worst of all, you have no idea who I am. Someday you will.
Until then…
9.9.12
INT. VANILLA-SCENTED BUBBLE BATH—AFTERNOON.
SHERIDAN rests her journal on a white towel in the corner of her bathtub. She opens to a fresh page, closes her eyes, and summons her muse.
Random images cyclone through her mind’s eye.… Chasing her brothers through Target… A red ballet flat stepping in tar… Biting a burning hot mozzarella stick… Audri feeding Skittles to Harry Styles… SHERIDAN opens her eyes, shakes the bubbles off her right hand, and begins.
I have flu-like symptoms. My body aches and I feel dizzy. I’m not sick, though. Just depressed. Not in a need-meds kind
of way. More like I’m buried under a quilt of sadness. It’s so cumbersome I can barely lift my quill.
CUT.
Writing the word “quill” just made me smile. Audri always laughs when I call pens “quills.”
I miss Audri.
(Sigh.)
Sad again.
SHERIDAN’s JOURNAL ENTRY TAKE TWO.
ACTION.
Audri is visiting her dad in Montclair. This divorce is killing me. The good news is, with Audri gone and no rehearsals (yet) I had plenty of time to write my social studies essay this weekend.
That’s
my good news. Pathetic, right?
I had to spend the day with my family yesterday because Spencer BMW is selling Mini Coopers now so there was a big party. It was called the Big Mini. Dad made me watch Henry and Max so he and Mom could mingle. It would have been more fun if I had someone to hang out with.
H&M spent most of the day hiding in cars and were taken on three test drives by accident. When Dad found out, he dragged us into that office with all the keys and started lecturing us on respecting the family business. Then a flatbed truck pulled up and he bolted. Saved by the arrival of the BMW M3 GTR! Dad is the first dealer in the tristate area to get the new one and he’s been talking it up for, like, ever. So I guess something worked out for me. But that was about it.
(Heavy sigh.)
The bath is getting cold.
I seriously cannot believe no one has tried to friend me. I’m like Beemer, the balloon stick figure outside the dealership who spends his life alone, flapping in the breeze.
I could call the girls from my old drama club. We could see a movie or—
Nah.
They’ll ask how Noble is and I’ll have to lie and say I’ve made tons of friends. Then Beemer will flop back into my head and I’ll feel more pathetic than I already do. Besides, feeling sorry for myself is no way to honor Mrs. Levinsky. I need to act positive.
CUT.
SHERIDAN’s JOURNAL ENTRY TAKE THREE.
ACTION.
I just rolled back my shoulders and pulled the plug with renewed purpose. Water, soiled with self-pity, now drains from my bath. I’m getting cold. I could get out but I have decided to sit with this uncomfortable feeling. It reminds me that life isn’t always vanilla-scented and warm. And when it’s not we have to rise up from the bubbles and find new ways to smell like cupcakes.
So I shall…
(Freezing.)
Tomorrow I will shine like the top of the Chrysler Building!
(Shivering.)
I will channel a character of great strength and determination! One who refuses to lose or live life unnoticed… (The goose bumps on my legs have sprouted stubble.) A girl with the flair for fabulous and the drive to survive…
Shivering, SHERIDAN hurries from the bath and towels off. She moisturizes, wraps herself in a stolen Four Seasons robe, and contemplates Monday’s character.
Strength… Determination… Drive… Flair… Got it! I will wear a fashion-forward costume. I will stockpile witty comebacks. I will cast a Pretty Committee. I will over-gloss and under-smile.
I will channel Massie Block from that straight-to-DVD movie
The Clique
, and I will be ah-mazing.
To Be Continued…
END SCENE.
September 9th
Orange light lingers in the sky as another weekend sets with the sun.
11
Instead of organizing binders and drafting my goals for the week ahead,
12
I sit crisscross applesauce on the sloping roof of our modest Victorian home. I am wearing a pink racer-back tank and gray drawstring pajama bottoms. My arms are soothed by a mixture of cloves, juniper berries, and oatmeal. A
hungry yellow-headed bird keeps trying to peck me. I am shooing it away with hands covered in dishwashing gloves.
If I wasn’t me and saw me, I would speed-dial Noble Psychiatric and have me committed. Ironically, this is all I can do to stay sane.
13
They almost made it two days without a fight. Granted, Mom was in the city,
14
Dad was at a software convention,
15
and A.J. worked a double at the car wash.
16
Still, I didn’t itch once. It was epidermal bliss.
Leena and Megan from Girl Scouts came over to see the prototype for my SWAP bracelet.
17
It’s better than I imagined. Orphans follow direction really well. I could have all 500 sold
by the end of the month. Especially since Leena and Megan go to different schools and they’ll be selling too.