Decades later, when Serena looked back as an adult, she would wonder how her chain-smoking hypocritical mother found the nerve to tell her she couldn’t eat McDonald’s as a child, because it was too unhealthy.
“Mommy’s a working professional. Mommy works sixty-hour weeks. Mommy needs a cigarette,” Serena’s mommy would say when she lit up in the car. Serena didn’t like the smell. It wasn’t just the cigarettes that made her cry, though. She didn’t like the car heater blowing in her face. All winter she would “throw temper tantrums” about the heater. It wouldn’t occur to her until she was much older that she had always had sensitive, rash-prone skin. She would remember the heat going, the red skin on her cheeks burning, and that cigarette smell.
When she was only a little bit older, she asked her mother and father why she had started Kindergarten late.
“You didn’t,” said Serena’s mom.
“I remember I started late. I was new, and everybody else already had friends.”
“No, honey. I took you in on the first day, just like all the other kids.”
Her father said, “Did you take her, Mary?”
“Of course I did.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” said Serena. “All the other kids had friends, and I didn’t know anybody.” The kids had clustered together, sitting cross-legged for story time, with their friends. The friends whispered to each other while the teacher told the story, cupping a hand to mouth as if that hid the fact that they were talking.
If her mother wasn’t going to buy her Happy Meals, she would never get any of the toys she saw on TV. Her babysitter’s daughter, Cameron, had every single one. Snow White, Pocahontas, Aladdin and Jasmin. Blubber, Power Rangers, and Tiny Tunes characters driving cars. Every Hot Wheels, every Barbie, and one Mr. Potato Head. With tubs of them dumped on the tiles of the kitchen floor, a sea of plastic spread as far as the eye could see. “Don’t you want to play with real Barbie?” Cameron asked her.
“I have a ton of Barbies at home,” said Serena. She played with the limited edition McDonald’s Barbies: miniature dolls with rock solid gowns, but flowing hair you could really brush. Special edition Japan Barbie, Kenya Barbie, Mexico Barbie, Hawaiian Barbie with tropical dark hair, and the rest were blond: Ice-capades Barbie, Olympics Barbie, Wedding Barbie, and USA Barbie.
At four years old, one afternoon after school, Serena began a toy heist. She put Jasmin down her pants and secreted her home.
The next afternoon, Tropical Barbie travelled in her pants, and an Amazing Wildlife endangered stuffed monkey went into her sock. It made a lump, but when she put her shoes on to go, the grownups were talking, and no one noticed.
She stole a dozen characters from Cameron and kept them in her doll house, hidden by a pink construction paper “curtain” she taped over the front. Jasmin had four bridesmaid Barbies and the Pink Power Ranger as maid of honor. Mr. Potato Head’s hand could be turned upwards to bear a ring. All that was missing was the groom, Prince Ali Ababwa.
Everywhere she tried to put Aladdin, his lamp jabbed her. He held it out as if to rub it. Serena had a Borrow a Book bag, but her mother would look in there. Her sock seemed like the best place, but it made a big lump, and she couldn’t stop giggling because it was just so obvious. She knew she was going to get caught red handed, which made her laugh even more. Her giggle fit continued out of control.
“Serena, what are you laughing at?” said her mother.
“Nothing.”
“What’s in your sock?”
“Nothing.”
“Serena, there’s something there. What is it?”
“My ankle?” Serena could not stop laughing.
“What did you put in your sock, Serena?”
She just couldn’t take it. Everyone was looking at her, and her laughter was out of control. Tears streamed down her face and then she felt her bladder let go like it did when her dad tickled her after she kicked and told him to stop. She peed her pants on the babysitter’s floor, and then she was humiliated and the laughing turned to crying. She sobbed and sobbed. Her mother carried her to the car, throwing a tantrum.
At school, Cameron told everyone that Serena was a thief, and no one should trust her. “She steals. She comes to my house every day and steals from me.”
Any time Serena approached another student’s desk, they would pull their books and pencils away, as if she were going to steal them.
In the first grade, Serena’s aunt, uncle, and her cousin Mariah moved into the neighborhood, and Mariah moved to her school. Every day they played together at recess. One day when she went over to Mariah’s house, she found a metallic chain choker in the jewelry box on Mariah’s vanity table. She stuffed it in her pocket and took it home.
It was easier to make friends at school now that she played with Mariah in the yard, and Serena met her best friend Riley, a girl in the other first grade class. Serena’s mom invited Riley over for lunch. The next day, Serena went to Riley’s house, and, poking through Riley’s dresser while she was in the bathroom, inside a jewelry box, she found Mariah’s metal choker. Riley must have stolen it from her the day before. Serena stole the chain back, no questions asked. Her pants didn’t have pockets, so she wrapped her hair in a high ponytail and twisted the necklace into her hair three times over the elastic. No one ever noticed it in her hair.
When she got home, she put it in a jewelry box on her dresser. One day, they went missing again, only to be found at Riley’s house. For weeks, they stole the choker back and forth from each other; neither ever accused the other. Maybe Riley had had the same necklace; maybe Serena had lost hers, and the one she had taken from Riley’s house had been Riley’s in the first place. She would never know.
In grade two, Serena’s parents were getting a divorce and Serena stayed at her aunt’s house while her dad bought and renovated a new home and her mom moved to Europe. Serena liked wearing her aunt’s makeup. Serena raided her bedroom to put on plum colored lipstick and blush, and spray a bottle of purfumey mist that got used up fast because Serena loved the beach sand and coconut smell so much.
She liked to wear Mariah’s clothes, even though Mariah told her not to. “You’ll stretch them out,” said Mariah, even though Mariah was bigger and older. Mariah was two grades ahead and that year she even skipped a grade. She stopped playing with Serena at recess and lunch break to hang out at the edge of the yard with the smart kids in her fifth grade class. A lot of the kids in Serena’s class still didn’t like her, so she and Riley would watch the boys play handball and talk.
On days when Riley was home sick, Serena was alone. She would curl up with a book and read. At least when she wore Mariah’s clothes and her aunt’s makeup, she felt pretty, like the popular girls. She waited for Mariah to go in early for Mathlete’s every day, and she would raid Mariah’s closet for stylish cardigans, floral blouses, and pleated skirts. Her favorite was a turquoise lace tank, and she wore it with cream white pants that flared at the bottom.
Every day she avoided Mariah in the schoolyard and ran home at the end of the day to change into her own corduroys and knit sweaters.
The day Mariah finally caught her in the schoolyard at recess, Mariah swore she would beat Serena up if she wore them again. Obeying the ultimatum, Serena wore the pleated skirt the next day. Mariah found her at lunch, shoved her into the sandbox, took her hair in one hand and hit her over and over with the other. When the teacher pulled her off, Mariah was still yelling, “Stop taking my clothes! Take my shit again and I’ll knock you out.”
The punches hurt, but the next day Serena just couldn’t help herself. Her own jeans were flares too, and she loved the yellow Tweety bird patch on the right leg, but they were Walmart cheap and starting to get old, faded, frayed. She looked cheap in them. Pulling on the creamy white flares again made her feel way cooler. Even if the kids didn’t like her, she looked really good. Who cares if you don’t have friends when you dressed like Cher and Dionne? She would just stay inside all recess so Mariah wouldn’t see her.
At lunch, she went to Riley’s and it rained.
“Can’t we just stay home this afternoon?” Riley begged her mom.
“Um, heck no. You just printed your book report. Go hand it in before Mrs. Summers docks late points.” The girls walked back to school, and a malicious look came into Riley’s eyes when she spotted a mud puddle. She had on Space Jam rainboots.
“Dooon’t,” pleaded Serena, but she knew her friend too well. Riley ran up and jumped in, while Serena scattered in the opposite direction to get out of the blast radius. She felt like she was running from an explosion, but she didn’t jump at the end, because that would get her just as wet and dirty. Riley sang Spice Up Your Life while she hopped.
Slam it to the left if you’re havin’ a good time!
Shake it to the right if ya know that you feel fine
Serena looked down to behold a smudge of brown on her upper right hip. Riley got her. “Mariah’s pants! You bitch, you got them dirty!” she said.
“Might as well come jump in the next one then,” said Riley, and off she ran. Serena raced her to the next puddle.
Slam it to the left
If you’re havin’ a good time
Shake it to the right
If ya know that you feel fine!
Chicas to the front
Ha ha!
Hai! Si! Ja!
Hold tight
And now the white flares were thoroughly coated in mud. It was a fun game, racing from one puddle to the next and shrieking more than singing Spice Girls songs, but as she approached the school, Serena started to have a sinking feeling.
“Mariah’s going to kill me. She said she would beat me to death.”
She did the only thing she could think to do. She left school and went home — which was pretty much against the law. Riley went to school sworn to secrecy about Serena’s wherabouts. In her aunt’s basement laundry room, she rubbed the white pants with water and detergent. The rubbing and harsh soap ripped the fabric.
Serena had no clue what to do next. She wasn’t really thinking, or at least that’s how she would remember it. She hid the pants. In the unfinished laundry and furnace room, she pulled herself up on top of the washer and found a flap of vent that opened. She stuffed the pants inside. She left them in that vent, and she would deny to the death that she ever wore them. If her cousin beat the snot out of her anyway, she wouldn’t give Mariah the satisfaction of knowing for sure that she was in the right.
Then she went into the backyard to hide herself. There was a crevice behind the shed and the back fence, overgrown with weeds on one side, and lilacs and a flower bed on the other. It got cold, and she stayed out there until after dark, for hours, with nothing to do but imagine how much trouble she would be in where Mariah found her. Mariah never came looking, though. When Serena got hungry for dinner, she came out, and no one had even noticed she was missing. Mariah was setting the table.
“Hi,” Serena said quietly, testing the waters.
“Help set the table.” Mariah didn’t sound angry so much as moody. Then she added, “If you aren’t going to apologize for wearing my clothes, at least set the table.”
The family ate dinner together, and Serena watched Mariah fearfully as she came to the conclusion that Mariah hadn’t noticed the pants were missing yet. Her aunt, uncle and cousin had no idea that Serena had spent the past few hours hiding behind the garden shed, expecting to be beaten and kicked out of the family.
Weeks passed, and Mariah never said anything about the pants. Every day Serena expected to be discovered. The first few nights, she went to sleep afraid she would wake up with Mariah shouting her head off, fists raised and ready to kill her.
But somehow Serena got away with it.
After that, she never should have stolen anything again. Not her cousin’s raspberry lipgloss that tasted like actual jam, or quarters from her niece’s limited edition coin collection. Not five dollar bills from her aunt’s purse. But she did. She and Riley stole chocolate bars from the store, even though they loved the old woman behind the counter; as a teenager, she stole mascara and hair dye from the drug store. In college, she stole her dorm-mate Stacey’s poli-sci paper and accused Stacey of plagiarism.
When Stacey moved in with a boyfriend, Serena stole half the room, moving personal affects into boxes so she could have two desks, two beds, and two closets, instead of one. A year later, she stole the boyfriend.
At her first retail job, Serena got promoted to cash handler before taking any money from the register, and she was smart enough to wait for them to promote her partner and offer the replacement a cut before they worked together to fudge the numbers.
She was a natural at writing scam emails; she went on public computers people left logged in to Gmail and Yahoo mail, and wrote something like, “I really need your help at the moment,” to all of their contacts. Whoever wrote back was told, “Sorry for bothering you in the middle of a workday, but I couldn’t inform anybody about my trip to the Phillipines for a conference. Phone and wallet stolen from me here on my way back to my Hotel room. The authorities are not helping the situation and my return flight will be leaving soon. I really need you to quickly transfer a loan Please.”
She could make a couple hundred an hour any time she got someone still logged in.
Inflating income by doctoring PDFs was an easy step from there. She set up a whole business helping fat cats commit bank fraud. After that, she never really needed to work an honest day ever again. Pasting new numbers onto PDFs only took minutes.
Two decades later, Serena would reflect that if no one ever found Mariah’s pants in the vent, they might still be there. Her aunt and uncle had sold the house seventeen years ago. It was within the realm of possibility that those detergent-caked, mud-stained, ripped size 14 girls pants were still there, decaying in some stranger’s house vents.
Most all the time, Serena got away with it.
