Page 72 of Sharkbait
Is she recording us?
“Oh no, you don’t! You’re not going anywhere, thinnerth!”
Thinners? Why is she calling us—Oh. Sinners. She’s calling us sinners.
“Nicholath!” she calls toward her mom’s car. “Bring over the boom!”
Another young teen who looks just like her bursts from the Toyota with a boom microphone and holds it high up in the air. Or as high as he can get it. He’s not a tall kid, so it bonks me on the head.
“Sorry,” he says.
“All good.” I adjust my ponytail.
Marcy continues, “Ath you can probably tell, Nicolath and I are twinth. We work for the Willow Grove Gazette, a high thchool newthpaper dedicated to cracking the big thtorieth while they’re hot.”
“Good for you guys! Budding journalists. Very cool!”
“And we got a hot tip that thith ethtablishment ith hothting a planetary prothtitution party tonight.” She shoves the phone closer to my face. “Can you tell uth what you exthperienthed while inthide thith den of debauchery?”
James tries to suppress a laugh and ends up choking.
I give him a slap on the back and inch us toward the car.
But these kids are on us like glue.
“Listen,” I say. “I think it’s awesome that you two budding journalists are out here chasing the hot stories! Keep it up! Follow your dreams! But I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. There’s no ‘den of debauchery’ to investigate tonight. Nothing is going on in there other than a wholesome surprise birthday party for my big brother.”
It’s totally appropriate in this situation to lie, right?
Marcy gasps.
Nicholas drops the boom.
James’s eyes widen.
“What?” I ask. “What did I say?”
I whip my head toward the building and quickly realize it’s not what I said but what they’re seeing that’s causing all the fuss.
It’s a sight I can never unsee.
It will be burned into my retinas for all eternity.
It’s the globes of Jupiter’s bare painted butt.
Mooning us through the bar window.
Chapter Seventeen
James
We speed away from the scene, laughing our asses off.
I’m glad Louise sees the humor in this.
When we finally get control of ourselves and stop at a red light, she asks, “Should we call Ralph and Calliope?”
“And tell them what? That some high school freshmen from Willow Grove tried to crash their party? Nah. Besides, their mom got them back in their car as soon as we hopped into mine. I think she got more than she bargained for and won’t be encouraging her kids to do these investigations anymore.”
