Crimes of the Sarahs (18 page)

“Mild or hot sauce?” Roman Karbowski asks.

“The green,” Sarah A says.

“That’s mild,” Roman says.

“Hot burns my lips,” Sarah A says.

“That’s weird,” Roman says. “How do you eat your burrito? Tongue-burning I could understand.”

Sarah A tilts her head to the side and laughs. We all laugh too, I guess because we’re following her lead.

“I’ll bring your food over when it’s ready,” he says.

Sarah takes an orange tray with four water glasses to a far corner table.

“Why did you guys all laugh like that? That was so weird,” Sarah A says. “Even Roman thought it was weird. It made his eye twitch.”

“His eye always twitches,” Sarah C says.

“It does not,” Sarah A says. “Don’t tear down my guy.”

“I thought we were supposed to follow your lead,” Sarah B says.

“Use some common sense,” Sarah A says. “We want our carefully planned strategy to look totally natural. Group laughter looks orchestrated. It just does.”

“I think she’s right,” I say.

“Duh,” Sarah A says.

“Here you go,” Roman says, setting down two plates of food. His arms are draped in a thin coat of dark hair.

“It smells great,” Sarah A says. “Do you cook like this when you’re at home?”

“Isabelle does all the cooking. I just schlep it out to the customers,” Roman says.

“Are we supposed to tip the schleppers?” Sarah A asks.

“Tips are always appreciated, but never expected,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything. And come say good-bye before you leave.”

Sarah A smiles. After Roman makes it back to the counter, Sarah C breaks into a wide grin.

“He’s after you,” Sarah C says. “He so doesn’t act like he has a girlfriend.”

“He has a girlfriend?” I ask.

“He and Meena are practically not even speaking to each other anymore,” Sarah A says. “She’s history.”

“Ancient,” Sarah C says.

“I think you’re right,” Sarah B says. “Roman can’t stop looking at you.”

We all turn and look at Roman looking at Sarah A.

“Don’t all look,” Sarah A says. “We’re being so obvious.”

“What’s the hurt?” Sarah C asks. “Guys find attention flattering.”

Sarah A picks up her fork and waves it over the burrito. “Who’s running this? You or me?” Sarah A aims the prong-end of the fork at Sarah C. “I said we looked obvious. Did I stutter?”

Sarah C doesn’t answer her.

“I’d like to see you get Benny Stowe without me,” Sarah A says. “You couldn’t. You know that? You couldn’t.”

The bells jingle on the door as Meena Cooper walks into the Big Burrito and gives Roman a big hug followed by a kiss.

“I can’t believe this,” Sarah A says.

“It probably doesn’t mean anything,” I say. “They’ll probably have a big fight later on tonight.”

Sarah A divvies up the food and we pick at it. We don’t say much of anything beyond polite chatter. Meena stays for ten minutes, and when she leaves, Roman swats her lovingly on the butt.

“There’s more than one way to interpret an ass pat,” Sarah C says.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” Sarah A says. “He’s still mine. This doesn’t alter my plans. Roman Karbowski will be my boyfriend for my senior year.”

“I believe you,” Sarah B says.

“Me too,” I say.

“Don’t patronize me,” Sarah A says. “I’m going to go over there and talk to him. If I pick up a stack of napkins, that means I want Sarah C to come over and extricate me from the conversation. Got it?”

“Got it,” we reply.

But before Sarah A can make her move, Meena reenters the Big Burrito. She’s carrying a giant cookie. It’s enclosed in plastic wrap and it has a small purple bow stuck on it. I watch the bow tumble to the floor.

“Thanks, Meena,” Roman says, peeling the cookie out of the wrapper and taking a big bite.

Sarah A stares at her water cup.

“Are you still going to go?” Sarah C asks.

“I don’t think I’d go now,” Sarah B says.

“They could still have that fight,” I say.

Sarah A softly shakes her head back and forth in disagreement. “In the big picture, this doesn’t change anything,” she says. “Either those two will break up due to natural causes, or something else will happen.”

“Something else?” Sarah C asks.

“The world is a crazy place. Unfortunate occurrences happen all the time,” Sarah A says. She places a corn chip on her napkin and smashes it with her thumb. Then she slowly eats all the pieces.

“I should probably head back home,” I say. “I need to take John Glenn for a walk.”

We gather our trash and throw it away. Sarah A waves politely to Roman.

“Come back and visit me again,” he says.

“What a tease,” Sarah C says.

“That’s how I like them,” Sarah A says.

We climb into my car and Sarah A sits down beside me. She looks tired, like she’s really been through something.

“I think things are going well,” I say.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sarah A says.

I pull out of the lot and drive down Drake.

“So what’s it like being a first-time dog owner?” Sarah C asks me.

I try to think of something funny that will lighten the mood.

“It’s very turdy,” I say.

It works. Everybody laughs. Even Sarah A.

When we pull up to my driveway it’s crowded with a long line of cars.

“It looks like my parents are here,” Sarah C says.

“It looks like my parents are here too,” Sarah A says.

“That’s my father’s Toyota,” Sarah B says.

“Isn’t that Mr. King’s Civic?” I ask.

None of us have time to figure out what’s going on, but it feels utterly abominable.

“Should we all go inside?” Sarah B asks.

“What other choice do we have?” I ask.

We climb out of my car and file into my house. Seated in the family room I see everybody’s parents, minus Sarah B’s mom, and Mr. King. A lot of the mothers look weepy, especially mine.

“Girls, this is so serious,” Mr. King says. “We want to talk to you one at a time.”

Mr. King has never stood in my living room before. I hold my breath. This must be about what happened at the shelter last night. Somebody must have seen us. What an unholy mess.

“Sarah Aberdeen, let’s start with you. The rest of you, go wait in Sarah Trestle’s bedroom.”

John Glenn speeds over to me at a very fast clip.

“Can I take my dog?” I ask.

“
Your
dog?” Mr. King asks. “I thought that was Sarah Aberdeen’s Labrador, John Glenn.”

“I can explain everything,” Sarah A says.

I take John Glenn by his collar and lead him back to my bedroom. All the charades are about to end. No more games. No more hiding stuff. I wonder what the Sarahs will do now? How are things going to be after our families find out what the Sarahs are really all about? I take a deep breath and hold it. I don’t understand my own reaction. I thought I’d be devastated if the Sarahs were caught. But I’m not. As I walk into my bedroom and exhale, an inexplicable calmness sweeps over me. Maybe something good will come out of this.

Once Sarah B and Sarah C sit down, I firmly shut my bedroom door.

“It’s over,” I say.

John Glenn folds down on the floor on top of a pair of Sarah A’s jeans.

“Over?” Sarah C asks. “You’ve got to be kidding! You think Sarah A is going to come clean about anything?”

“Doesn’t she have to?” I ask, jerking my thumb at the door.

Sarah C rolls her eyes at me.

“She doesn’t
have
to do anything. Let’s listen. I bet it’s the beginning of a whole new set of lies.”

“No way,” I say.

“I think she’s right,” Sarah B says.

I press my ear to my door.

“Can you hear anything?” I ask.

But neither Sarah answers me. We stand silent, our cheeks flattened against the door’s cool surface. Yes, we can hear everything, even one another’s beating hearts. Sarah C and Sarah B were right. Even though I shouldn’t be, I’m surprised. I lean deeper into the door. Maybe Sarah A simply prefers dishonesty. Maybe it’s all she knows.

Chapter 16

“Is that the truth?” Mr. King asks. “You’re telling me Sarah Trestle was the only person involved?”

“Yes,” Sarah A says. “I had no idea that she was planning that.”

“I don’t believe it,” my mother says.

“Are you calling my daughter a liar?” Mrs. Aberdeen asks. “My daughter never lies. I trust what she’s saying.”

“I trust her too,” Mr. Aberdeen says.

“I can’t believe my daughter is involved in any of this,” Mrs. Cody says. “She’s an excellent citizen.”

“If my daughter were a thief, I’d know about it,” my mother says.

Sarah C backs away from the door.

“She’s throwing you to the wolves,” Sarah C says. “You’re going to take the fall for everything.”

“But we didn’t even steal that pit bull. Really, we didn’t break any laws. Did we?” I ask.

Sarah B pulls back from the door and shrugs. Suddenly, there’s a ton of yelling. We quickly resume our eavesdropping stance.

“The picture proves everything. My Sarah wasn’t involved,” Mr. Babbitt yells. “Pictures don’t lie!”

“It’s very grainy,” my father says. “It won’t stand up in court.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking anyone to court,” Mr. King says. “I was hoping we could sort it out amongst ourselves.”

I push away from the door.

“How can they have a picture?” I ask.

The other two Sarahs stay pressed to the door.

“They must have a security camera,” Sarah C says. “It must have only captured you.”

“Isn’t that impossible?” I ask.

“Anything is possible,” Sarah C says. “It all depends on the angle.”

“Sarah A is sending you up the creek,” Sarah B says.

I put my hands on my hips. I don’t want to hear any more. But now Sarah A is speaking again. It’s too tempting not to listen.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Sarah A says. “Sarah Trestle isn’t a criminal so much as an average girl who made a mistake. It’s probably the only time she’s done something like this.”

“I think we should bring her out here,” Mr. King says.

I gasp. It hurts to hear Sarah A rolling over on me, but an even worse pain awaits me. I don’t want to face everybody.

“What should I say?” I ask.

“I’d go with the truth,” Sarah C says.

“No, leave me out of it,” Sarah B says. “My dad will be so disappointed in me. It’ll kill him.”

“Literally?” Sarah C asks. “Does he have a heart condition?”

“No, but it wouldn’t be fair. I mean, besides a pack of Oreos, I’ve never stolen anything. I lied about the contest. I paid for my bikini wax. I paid for all that other stuff. Even the certificate for the additional wax,” Sarah B says.

“You’re kidding,” I say. “That’s cheating. You should have been the Sarah who got tossed from the group.”

“I don’t think it matters now,” Sarah C says. “Anyway, I cheated too.”

I’m so shocked that I lightly punch her in the arm.

“If you didn’t steal Digits then how did you end up with him?” I ask.

“I’m cat-sitting for Sunny Gwyn while her family is out of town. I went in and picked up Digits at the shelter this morning. I figured, no harm no foul.”

I can’t believe that Sarah A and I were the only ones who legitimately competed in the challenge. And Sarah B and
Sarah C were going to let me get kicked out of the Sarahs for committing the worst crime when they never committed any crime.

There isn’t time for me to formulate a response. I can hear somebody walking toward my bedroom door. Sarah B and Sarah C scamper toward the center of the room. I don’t follow them. I know what I have to do. The door swings open. It’s my father.

“You need to explain some things,” he says.

He reaches toward my arm and grabs me by my wrist. I let him pull me, offering no resistance. The living room and the inquisition of a lifetime await me. I never thought this day would come. Not this way. Not in my own house. Maybe I should confess my part in everything. Maybe I should take the fall for everyone. Isn’t that what a real friend is supposed to do? I’m standing before an audience of parents and Mr. King and Sarah A. This must be exactly how those virgins in South American countries felt right before they were shoved into the steaming volcanoes.

“Hello, Sarah,” Mr. King says.

I wave.

He’s holding a photo. Sarah C was right. They must have security cameras situated around the shelter. That is so unfortunate. When did they put them up and why didn’t they mention it to the volunteers?

“I just want to know what happened,” Mr. King says. “I want to hear it in your own words.”

I clear my throat. It comes down to this: Do I choose the truth? Or my friends? Before I speak, I don’t really know which way I’ll go. I look around at all the eager faces. Sarah A keeps her head down. She’s playing with the small silver buckle on her sandal.

“Sarah?” my father asks. “Tell us what happened.”

I take a deep breath. The truth is going to hurt a lot of people.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I say.

Really, I’ll just tell them I was trying to liberate a trapped dog and helped relocate an underappreciated rabbit and exploited cat.

“We didn’t teach you that,” my mother says. “I can’t believe this.”

“You did it alone?” Mr. King asks. He’s worked his hands into indignant fists and propped them on his sides. I’ve never seen Mr. King make a fist before. He must be so disappointed in me.

“Animals should be free,” I say. “Even pit bulls.”

There’s an odd silence. Mr. King tilts his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ear. My parents both look surprised. Sarah A appears mortified.

“How does stealing a donation jar help liberate pit bulls?” my father asks.

My knees shake. This is about the donation jar. The clerk took a picture of my car. When Mr. King came to collect the jar, the clerk must’ve given him the picture. Mr. King recognized me. Now here we all are. This isn’t about the shelter situation at all. Okay, I’ve started my lie and I’ve got to continue with it. Being dishonest sucks, because you have to keep coming up with new crap to say. Plus, you’ve got to remember all the old crap in the correct order. I’m thinking as fast as I can.