Crimes of the Sarahs

by Kristen Tracy

  “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 donati
on 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.

  “I was going to give the horse money to help out pit bulls. They’re so misunderstood,” I say.

  “Like Robin Hood?” my mother asks. “Except with vicious dogs?”

  She’s on her feet now, walking toward me. She probably wants to look me in the eye to confirm that I’m telling the truth.

  “You acted alone?” she asks. “None of the other Sarahs were involved or influenced you in any way?”

  I stare into her brown eyes. I don’t know what to say to make them happy. I turn away.

  “I’m the only one in the picture, right?” I ask.

  My mother puts her hands on my shoulders. She wants me to look at her. So I do.

  “There will be consequences for your actions,” my mother says.

  She squints and strengthens her hold on me. I can feel her weight. It’s heavier than my own guilt.

  “I think she’s cleared it up,” Sarah A says. “She was trying to redistribute the money. She acted solo. She thought she was doing a noble thing. It makes sense to me.”

  My mother turns and stares hard at Sarah A.

  “I don’t feel like I’ve gotten the whole story,” she says.

  Sarah A shrugs. “I know. It’s very surprising,” she says.

  “The truth is sometimes hard to hear,” Mr. Aberdeen says.

  “I find that the whole truth is rarely told,” my mother says.

  “Sarah, do you still have the jar?” my father asks.

  I look at Sarah A. Her bottom lip is thrust out, making her face appear dramatically sympathetic. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was oblivious to my crime. She looks that convincing.

  “The jar is in my room,” I say.

  “I think you know what you need to do,” my father says.

  “Sarah, I can’t believe you did this.” My mom lets go of me and moves toward the edge of the room.

  I walk down the hallway, wishing that my house had a back door and that I could throw it open and escape into the night and run and run and run. But I open my bedroom door and go to my closet instead. I can feel Sarah B and Sarah C watching me, but I don’t look at them. I fear eye contact with them could reduce me to a quivering mass of humiliation.

  As I take the donation jar and return to the living room, I feel like I’m holding my own soul. It grows heavier with each step. When Mr. King sees me, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. And I stand there, holding the plastic box. Mr. King reaches out his arms. I give him the box and it feels like I’m handing over so much more.

  “This is hard for me, too,” Mr. King says. “You’ve been an outstanding volunteer.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and focus on not bawling in front of everyone. Right now, a mild flow of tears are all that I allow to escape.

  Mr. Aberdeen and his wife both stand.

  “I think it’s best if we take our daughter with us,” Mrs. Aberdeen says.

  “Am I going home?” Sarah A asks.

  “No. Vance is still there. We’ll put you up in a hotel,” Mr. Aberdeen says. “It’s just for a couple of nights.”

  My mother releases me.

  “Sarah, go to your room,” my mother says.

  Her tone is flat and bitter.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  But it’s way too late for that. I glance at Mr. King. I can see the photo. Without a doubt, it’s my car. Clearly, I’m the driver. Nobody else is with me. I’m the only person in the frame.

  I walk into my room. Sarah B’s face looks relaxed and relieved. She’s blowing a large bubble. It pops.

  “Stress relief,” she says.

  I nod.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Sarah C says.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “We’re still your friends,” Sarah C says.

  I almost smile.

  Why is it that it’s the backstabbing Sarah who’s always there to offer me the most public support?

  Sarah B pops of series of bubbles that are so loud they sound like gunfire.

  “We’re still friends too? Right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but it kind of depends on what happens next,” Sarah B says. “My dad probably won’t want me hanging out with you. Not after your confession.”

  “You don’t seem upset about this at all,” I say.

  “Well, the Tigers are having a great season. They’re the number one team. This never happens. Now I’ll be able to catch some games.”

  “Baseball is more important than the Sarahs?” I ask.

  Sarah B looks down at the ground. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m totally in love with Pudge.”

  “Who’s Pudge?” I ask. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What about Gerard Truax?”

  “Oh, I still like Gerard, but I love Ivan Rodriguez. His nickname is Pudge. He plays for the Tigers. He’s probably the best defensive catcher that ever lived.”

  “How long have you loved him?” I ask.

  She looks up at me, her face soft and dreamy. “All my life.”

  “Did you know about this?” I ask, pointing at Sarah C.

  “She didn’t exactly hide it,” Sarah C says.

  “I’ve never even heard of this guy, and suddenly he’s more important than the Sarahs?” I ask.

  “He’s the greatest,” Sarah B says.

  “He’s a catcher?” I ask.

  “He’s a very civic-minded player. He’s donated a lot of money and he started the Ivan Rodriguez Foundation. It helps kids with cancer and other diseases,” Sarah C says.

  “He’s the best,” Sarah B says.

  Things just aren’t quite making sense for me.

  “So you’re out of here?” I ask.

  Sarah B nods and gives me a quick hug and is gone.

  “This will blow over,” Sarah C says.

  “I don’t know. She seems really hung up on this catcher,” I say.

  “No, the Pudge thing is a permanent fixation. I’m talking about the bigger picture, about getting caught for your crime.”

  When she says the word “crime,” I feel stung.

  She walks out of my room and I watch the back of her head until she turns the corner and is gone. I feel weak. The Sarahs are finished. Sarah B has already moved on to new interests. My parents think I’m a criminal who commits unnecessary crimes to protect mean dogs. I lie on my bed and roll onto my stomach. I breathe into my pillow, warming it until the fabric around my face feels uncomfortably hot.

  “You get to keep John Glenn.”

  I look up.

  Sarah A gathers her things from around the room.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Everyone thinks he’s yours now. Even Mr. King. So he is.” Sarah A’s face looks blank. I can’t tell what she’s feeling about all this. “You can put it on your college entrance essay. It’s my gift to you.”

  “But my life is ruined,” I say.

  “You’ll adapt,” she says. “That’s what you do, remember?”

  “Adapt? My parents’ opinion of me has been destroyed,” I say.

  “Okay. Let’s not overreact. Sooner or later, one of us was bound to get caught. Be honest with yourself. Are you really so surprised that it was you?” Sarah A asks.

  “What?” I ask. “You think I deserved to get caught?”

  I want to tell Sarah A that I am surprised. I never thought things could end this badly. My life feels wrecked.

  “Your parents are going to keep you under lock and key for a while. I mean, you got caught robbing a convenience store,” Sarah A says.

  “But I did it for you,”
I say.

  My voice is trembling. Sarah stoops to pick up a pair of socks and lets out a frustrated sigh.

  “You don’t believe that, do you? It’s like you’re disconnected from understanding your own personhood or something.”

  She sympathetically shakes her head back and forth, looking at me like I’m a lost cause.

  “Listen, you didn’t rob that store for me. You did it for yourself,” she says.

  I wince. But I don’t deny it. I watch as Sarah A picks up three of my tank tops, wadding them into the giant ball of her own clothes.

  “Don’t be like this,” she says.

  I can barely see her face over the large bundle in her arms.

  “Thanks for keeping the game under wraps. That’s really cool of you. That is something you did for us. But I’m not the reason why you took that jar. You drove to that 7-Eleven and ripped that jar off the counter because you wanted to be a Sarah. You did it for yourself.”

  John Glenn follows her to the door, but she turns him away with her foot. And when he tries to inch toward her and the exit a second time, she forcefully uses her sandal to re-aim his head toward me.

  “I don’t even like the way stealing makes me feel,” I say.

  Sarah A tilts her head back and looks at my ceiling. She bites on her lower lip like she’s annoyed. “That’s something you probably should have addressed with yourself a long time ago.”

  She opens the door.

  “What about the guy phase? The future? Don’t you have anything else to say to me?”

  “I think John Glenn peed on your carpet,” Sarah A says.

  I turn and look. There’s a puddle near where he was laying, staining my throw rug a deep green. Considering my own bladder anxiety, this seems oddly appropriate. Not only do I have bathroom issues, I trigger them in dogs. Due to the drama, I forgot to walk him.

  Sarah A flutters her fingers, drumming them against her wad of garments, halfheartedly waving good-bye. I push my face back into my own pillow. Why did I let her take my tank tops? I feel tears melting into my pillowcase. Why didn’t I disagree with anything she said? Suddenly, I can’t breathe. The pocket of air that I’ve been drawing on has run out. I turn my head and take a deep breath.