Crimes of the Sarahs (23 page)

“My ape is a fine-looking specimen,” Big Don says.

I can’t take it. There’s something about his smug face that makes me want to erupt. Suddenly, I hate this guy. I totally and completely hate him. And I want to show him that he’s wrong. That he doesn’t know anything.

“Well, when standing, my dad’s lizard dwarfs your squatty ape,” I say.

I take my hand and karate chop the air at my waist. Then I karate chop the air a foot over my head.

“Dwarfs that horizontally challenged monkey,” I say.

I can feel everybody looking at me. Not glancing, but focusing all their attention on me. Big Don, Lenny, my father. It’s almost as if their eyeballs, their stares, give off some sort of heat, because I feel very, very warm. I realize that my hand is still extended in the air. It’s no longer making a chopping motion, but it’s still up there. I lower it.

Big Don inhales so deeply that his nostrils cave in. I’m not quite sure what’s going to happen next. Several cars whiz by us. Some of them brake so they can get a better look at the
toppled Godzilla. From the right angle, it probably looks like it’s attacking the Miata.

“Godzilla rules,” a slow-going motorist yells. “Buy American cars!”

In Michigan, some people still believe that you should buy American-made and not foreign-made autos. This sentiment is dying out along with a ton of factory jobs. Every time I drive down West Main I get tailgated by either a Honda or Toyota.

Surprisingly, my father doesn’t jump in. He stands back and lets me have my first official argument with a total idiot. Big Don’s face continues to redden. It’s sort of scary. I’m not used to looking at such a ketchup-hued face. It’s unnatural.

“Everyone knows Kong is mightier than Godzilla,” Big Don says. “Besides, Kong has the better movie.”

“You’re joking,” I say. My mind replays the two versions of
Kong
that I watched along with
Godzilla 2000
, the worst movie that I’ve ever seen.

“I’m not joking.
Kong
does big box office.
Godzilla
is an import. Nobody loves that thing. It doesn’t have a heart.”

I walk toward Big Don and close the distance between us. The toe of my shoe nearly touches the toe of his.

“That movie requires a stupid boat to even be interesting,” I say. “No boat, no Skull Island. No Skull Island, no movie. Your ape should be on a boat lot.”

“That’s not true,” he says.

“Yes it is. Plus, Kong hits a woman. What kind of message does that send to future car buyers? Kong is a dangerous, tantrumming ape. He has to be tranquilized to even ride in a motor vehicle.”

“Now you’re taking him out of context. Kong isn’t all bad.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I say.

I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted to stand up for anything until now. But this guy has attacked my mother,
my mother
.

Big Don takes a few breaths and lets his nostrils flare some more. I keep going.

“Godzilla can breathe fire,” I say.

“Kong can climb buildings,” Big Don says.

“But he also falls off of them,” I say.

“Only when shot at by planes,” Big Don says.

“They weren’t very high-tech planes,” I say.

“Guns are guns. Shoot anything in the chest and it’ll bleed. Anything.”

When Big Don shouts the word “anything,” he sort of spits on me. Also, I don’t really have a good comeback for his last observation. He has a good point. Anything mortal will bleed out from a chest wound. I wipe his spit from my cheek.

“Godzilla can stop a meteorite that’s capable of destroying the earth,” I say.

Big Don has had it. He takes his hand and points his finger at me like he’s taking aim with a gun.

“Yeah, but he falls down on top of sports cars and scratches the paint,” he says. “Enjoy your lizard.”

He turns to leave. As he’s doing this, I can suddenly think of a string of new Kong-related insults. But the opportunity to unleash them has passed. The argument is over. I’m not sure who officially won, but I feel good about my cinematic observations. Big Don wastes little time in bouncing away.

“We will absolutely enjoy our lizard. And any paint scratches were superficial and can easily be buffed out, chicken chest,” my father says.

“Chicken chest?” I ask, turning to look at Lenny and my father.

“It was a comment on his man boobs,” my father says.

“Dad!”

I don’t want to hear my father say the word boobs, even in reference to a pompous, chesty ignoramus.

“You know a lot about monster movies,” Lenny says.

“Movies aside, I like the cut of your jib,” my father says.

He walks to me and pulls me to his side, kissing the top of my head.

“Can you really buff the scratches out?” I ask.

The Miata is barely visible beneath Godzilla’s gargantuan, plated tail.

“Sure,” he says.

My father puts his arm around me and walks me to his car. It’s a new feeling for me. I feel almost electric and incredibly strong. I wonder how long it will last.

“Should we set our dinosaur back up?” Lenny asks.

“No. Shut off the fans,” he says. “I think we can retire the big guy. It’s the salesmen who sell the cars. Not the inflatables.”

Chapter 21

It’s after dinner and the tingle of power is wearing thin. I should write my statement of purpose for college, especially while I still feel a sense of purpose. There’s a lot of paper and envelopes and typing and collation involved with the college application process. It’s probably a glimpse of what lies ahead. I wonder if the other Sarahs have started? Maybe the guy phase has delayed them. Let’s face it, desensitized against their pheromones or not, boys can be so distracting.

Colleges want to know so much about me. A common theme seems to be
What can I do for them
. It reminds me of our Sarah freewrite. Except this time around, I’ll omit any wildebeest references. The application for the University of Michigan has very specific questions that it wants me to answer. Here’s one I have to respond to in 250 words or less:

At the University of Michigan, we are committed to building a superb educational community of diverse
talents, experiences, opinions, and cultural backgrounds. What would you as an individual bring to our campus community?

That question is so deep. As an individual, what do I have to offer? This is something that I’ve spent a great deal of my life not thinking about. I’m used to being a part of something. A cog in the wheel. One note of the melody. The toasted marshmallow portion of the s’more. Liam got into every school he applied to, including Michigan. I bet he had an awesome answer. I bet he said he’d bring all the right things. Shouldn’t he want to help me?

Me:
I’m stuck. I have a question.

Liam:
Why is it that you always call when you want something, but you never dial me up just to say hello?

Me:
Because I know you’re busy.

Liam:
What’s your question?

Me:
What do I have to offer a university?

Silence
.

Me:
You think I don’t have anything to offer?

Liam:
I’m thinking.

Me:
I’m that dull?

Liam:
Oh, you’re not dull. But you’re not supposed to be able to answer these questions right away. You’re supposed to really think about them.

Me:
I have.

Liam:
For days and days and days. Possibly weeks.

Me:
Oh.

Liam:
Is that all? Do you want to talk about anything else?

Me:
I can tell that you’re fishing. I don’t know how much Mom and Dad have told you about my situation.

Liam:
We’re a pretty open family. I know you knocked off a convenience store.

Me:
How come you didn’t call me to make sure I was okay?

Liam:
I wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

Me:
Oh.

Liam:
Are you okay?

Me:
I’m stuck.

Liam:
Are we talking big picture or college essay?

Me:
I don’t know.

Liam:
I’m never too busy to talk to you. You can always call.

Me:
You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to rob any more stores.

Liam:
I’m not sure what to say to that. Should I congratulate you?

Me:
I guess not.

Liam:
Listen, when I’m stuck like this, I try to freewrite my way out of it.

Me:
Freewrites can be dangerous.

Liam:
I guess it depends on what you say.

Me:
Liam, I’m not the only one who’s stuck.

Liam:
Are you pregnant?

Me:
Holy crap! No! Where did that come from?

Liam:
You sounded upset.

Me:
I’m not that upset. I’m worried about Johanna Izzo.

Liam:
She’s pregnant?

Me:
No, Liam. Nobody who I know is pregnant. She wants to move to Florida, but she’s stuck at Dad’s car lot. She works in the detail shop.

Liam:
I know Johanna. She’s a nice person.

Me:
I think that’s why she’s stuck!

Liam:
You should work on your college essays.

Me:
I want to help Johanna.

Liam:
Maybe she needs to help herself.

Me:
Maybe she’s too stuck to realize that.

Liam:
Friends shouldn’t be projects, Sarah.

Me:
She’s not my friend. I don’t have friends.

Liam:
I’m sure you’ve got someone.

Me:
You’re sounding parental. I think I’m through talking.

Liam:
You sound depressed.

Me:
I wasn’t before I started this conversation.

Liam:
Call me tomorrow and report on your progress.

Me:
Okay.

Click
.

I don’t ask him about his Godzilla lunch box or action figure. It gives me something to talk to him about later. If I want to.

John Glenn sticks his wet nose against my leg. I’m wearing khaki shorts. He licks at a mustard stain on the cuff. I ate a ham sandwich for lunch.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask.

John Glenn sits down at my feet and wags his tail. I lead him to the back door.

“We’re not going for a big walk. Just a backyard walk,” I say.

He lowers his head in disappointment. He understands, but he doesn’t like it. Once outside, he runs back and forth across the yard, stopping to pee on the azalea bush. I watch him pad around the side of the house toward the front yard.

“Stay here,” I say.

He doesn’t.

“John Glenn!”

He won’t come. I jog around the house after him. That’s when she appears again. The phantom Sarah A.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Sarah A asks.

“You’re real?” I ask.

“Is that a serious question?” Sarah A asks.

“I think so,” I say.

“We need you,” Sarah A say.

My heart beats faster.

“You do?” I ask. “All three of you?”

“Mainly me. Meet up with us tonight at the Big Burrito,” Sarah A says.

“What time?” I ask.

“Seven o’clock.”

“I have a curfew,” I say.

“Figure a way out of it,” Sarah A says. “It’s very important.”

“I won’t be able to stay long,” I say.

“I’m not asking for your entire evening,” Sarah A says.

John Glenn comes to my side.

“He looks fat,” Sarah A says.

“He’s growing,” I say.

“In girth.”

Standing here, listening to Sarah A insult my dog, doesn’t
feel pleasant. I’m not sure that I want to go to the Big Burrito. I’m not sure that I’m ready to hang out with the Sarahs again. A lot of people are counting on me to stay reformed. They’re certain I’m a good person. They believe in me.

“I don’t want to steal anything,” I say.

“What?” Sarah A asks.

“I don’t feel like breaking any more laws,” I say.

“The sisterhood is about more than being criminals.”

I nod.

“Is that a mustard stain?” Sarah A asks. “It’s huge.”

“I had a ham sandwich for lunch,” I say.

“That’s not coming out,” Sarah A says.

“You’re probably right,” I say. “Hey, have you guys started applying for college? Have you thought about what you have to offer them?”

“Sarah T, it’s August. The guy phase is in full swing. We haven’t had time to think about college. We’re in the midst of man issues.”

My mouth drops open.

“Is this why I’m coming to the Big Burrito?” I ask.

“Just make sure that you look good,” Sarah A says. “And change those shorts. Seriously. You look way cuter in jeans.”

Chapter 22

It’s awful. The timing couldn’t be worse. I’ve regained my parents’ trust. So if I lie to them and ask for permission to go out tonight and do something college-oriented and responsible, they’re going to say yes. The only thing keeping me away from the Sarahs tonight is myself. And it’s so tempting to meet up with them. I miss them. And I’m getting tired of sleeping with Roman Karbowski and his pheromones. I’m seventeen and ready for a real guy.

My parents and I are sitting outside on lawn chairs. We’re watching John Glenn enthusiastically roll around on top of what we presume to be mole holes.

“He has so much energy,” my mother says.

“Do you know if he’s still a puppy?” my father asks.

“I think he’s just immature,” I say.

My parents are holding hands. Even though it’s a couple of hours away, I think they’re planning on watching the sunset together. They’re both big fans of looking at the
sky and commenting on its varying shades of purple.

“How are your applications coming?” my mother asks. “Your room looks like a file cabinet exploded.”