Page 5 of Dirty Liars
As I look over the photos, the truly sad thing is how normal and happy she looked as a kid, before she grew up into an entitled monster who literally snubbed her nose at me any time someone inadvertently hurt her honor by saying we looked alike.
There’s a turning point mid-memorial where all the photographs shift from a happy little girl sitting on her uncle’s lap to a duck-faced debutante wearing short skirts and touting pom-poms. The real things are glued tackily to the end of the display beside her homecoming sash. They are the last things in the chronological line, her crowning glory. I stop for a closer look. Nowthisis the Sadie I knew.
I’m just reaching to pick at the edge of her driver’s license that’s been taped to the board when I hear the doors open behind me.
Instinctively, I step to the side and behind a pillar and immediately curse myself. It’s only weird if I make it weird, and I just made it weird. As soon as I hear them speaking, however, I know I made the right decision.
Sadie’s friend’s voices sound about as stale as their personalities. I catch the tail end of their conversation as they burst inside, whispering just quiet enough to give the appearance that they’re trying to be respectful, but still loud enough for anyone inside to overhear everything they say.
“… the way she reacted? Ugh. I’m embarrassedforSadie.”
They stop moving at the end of the buffet to look at the memorial. None of them reaches for a plate, but I’m pretty sure it’s because none of them has actually eaten real food since they hit puberty.
I’m imagining one of the other girls is shaking her head. I can practically hear her brain rattling around in there.
“No wonder she wanted to go to Hawthorne. If I had a mother like that, I’d want out too.”
“I’d kill to go there,” the third girl says, sighing. She then quickly adds, “But I didn’t kill Sadie. I promise.”
I roll my eyes just in case none of them had the good sense to. Good lord woman, can’t one of you not make today about yourselves for once? Your best friend just died for goodness sake.
I’ve just about heard all I can handle from these girls. I’m about to turn back and face the fact that Ms. Martin is probably going to killmeif I don’t make an appearance outside and fast, when I hear a crackling, tearing sound.
One of the girls has pried Sadie’s new driver’s license from the board with her long, pointed nails. She wrinkles up her nose as she peers down at it.
“Little bitch,” she whispers. “This is what you get for trying to leave us.”
The other girls giggle nervously. She throws the card back down on the table.
“All she had to do was show up for the first day of school tomorrow, and the rest would be history. But she had to go and … and …” for the first time, one of the girls has to pause to sniff.
It’s the first sign in any of them that they’re actuallyfeelingsomething.
The tender moment is as fleeting as it was shallow, however, the moment she opens her mouth again. “I’m just glad her parents can’t get a refund. That whore of a mother of hers deserves to pay for what she’s done to Sadie.”
“And god knows,” one of the other girls says, as they trio turn to walk away as the door opens again and other start to file inside, “It was expensive.”
As I listen to the girls talking, a seed takes form in my mind, and an idea begins to grow.
This isn’t the first I’ve heard of the elite private school Sadie was going to … it just has never seemed all that important. Until now.
I peek around the column at the girl’s retreating backs, and then over my shoulder towards the front door. I don’t see anyone looking, so I quickly dart out to the table and palm Sadie’s driver’s license. I have many talents, and though some of them are considered bad, this is one that I’ve found to be quite useful from time to time. Sleight of hand. A quick theft.
I’m out through the kitchens, darting between flustered cooks and caterers, until I emerge out the back. Here one moment and gone the next. I’m good at it, but I don’t want to lie, steal, and cheat my way through life.
That’s the whole point of this idea, isn’t it?
This idea … it’s stupid, there’s no denying it. But it justmightwork. I take a moment to take stock.
Everyone keeps saying how much I look like Sadie. Even her own mother thought that I was her for a minute. I squint hard at the ID card. I guess I can see we share something more than a passing resemblance, but enough that a stranger might actually think I’m Sadie?
Maybe if they don’t know her personally.
And where I’d be going … no one knows her well enough to tell the difference.
And as I’m letting the idea evolve in my mind, I can suddenly see it happening. I can see myself with her straight blonde Barbie doll hair, in her fancy clothes, at this new school she was supposed to go to tomorrow. The more the idea rolls around in my head, the more realistic and doable it sounds.
What would it really take?
