“Skinks tees! Come get your commemorative Skinks tees here!”
Harriet stood behind the merchandise table at the entrance to the park, an orange megaphone pressed to her mouth. Her voice was near deafening through the megaphone.
“Step right up! Step right up!” she went on. “Get your super-stylish Radical Skinks stuff!”
Amelia stood next to Harriet, folding T-shirts into piles. She winced. “Harriet, can you maybe lower the volume? Just a bit?”
Harriet looked at her with a bright smile. “That would defeat the whole purpose, silly! Gotta be heard, right?” She turned to face the group just entering the park. “Teeeeeeee-shirts!” she bellowed. “While supplies last!”
Harriet gestured with a flourish at the T-shirt she was sporting, a bona fide Skinks tee. No one would ever have guessed from her 100-watt smile and chirpy voice that she thought the shirt was absolutely hideous.
Okay, hideous was the wrong word. The T-shirt was too boring to even be hideous.
Drab. That’s what it was. Dreary. Bleeeeeeeegh.
If someone had tried to give her one of these T-shirts for free, she’d say, “Thanks, but no thanks.” No way would she ever be caught wearing the epic fashion fail that was this T-shirt. And yet, here she was, not only asking people to wear the T-shirts, but asking them to pay twenty-five dollars for the privilege. Thank merciful heavens she was a great actress.
After some more shouting, Harriet put the megaphone down on the merch table and turned to Amelia. “We should’ve gone with the cherry-red shirt. Or lime green! Or yellow! Something eye-catching. Anything but…” She made a disgusted face. “White.”
“White is the perfect color for a T-shirt!” Amelia replied. In fact, basic colors—white, black, and especially gray—were her favorites. Her closet was dominated by shades of gray—from slate to platinum to moon glow. “You can’t go wrong with a basic color. It matches with everything!”
“Yeah, it matches really well with this ink,” Resa chimed in. “So well I can’t even see the writing.” Resa looked down disdainfully at her own T-shirt, the same bona fide Radical Skinks tee. “Why’d you go with light gray ink, Harriet? Were they out of invisible ink?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Harriet grumbled gloomily. “Very funny. I was going for a minimalist look! It’s very in right now! And I was in a rush to place the order, if you’ll recall! We didn’t have time for a sample!”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Didi broke in sensibly. “We have to act like these T-shirts are high fashion.”
Harriet lifted the megaphone to her mouth. “Ooooooh-ooh! Style and comfort? These shirts have it alllllll!”
“Just like that!” said Didi. “You deserve an Oscar.”
“Thanks,” said Harriet, but without her usual pep.
At least the weather was good, Harriet reasoned. She’d been worried about rain all week, but the afternoon had turned out to be gorgeous—not a cloud in the sky. Not too hot and not too cold; perfect T-shirt weather. If only the T-shirts were not so grim and bleak.
Didi elbowed Harriet to rouse her from her daydream. “We’ve got a customer!”
“Hell-o!” Harriet sang, beaming at the small, dark-haired girl in front of her. She had three piercings in her left earlobe and a hoop in her lip. Harriet wanted to ask if they hurt but thought better of it.
“I ordered a T-shirt,” the girl said. “Dondelstein.”
Harriet scanned the order sheet, which Amelia had typed up, printed, and attached to a clipboard. She couldn’t find the name. “Uhh, okay … Is Dondelstein your first or last name?” she asked.
The girl fixed her with a withering stare for a long moment. Finally, she said through gritted teeth, “Last.”
“Hello!” sang Didi with high-octane enthusiasm, taking the clipboard from Harriet’s hands. “Let’s just take a quick little look here.” She scanned the list, once, then twice. “Uh-huh … hmmm … one moment, please!”
She turned her back on the customer and beckoned the other girls over.
“Her name’s not on here,” whispered Didi.
“I know,” Harriet whispered back.
“Do you recognize her from when you collected money at the high school?” Resa whispered.
Harriet shook her head. “And I’m sure I didn’t sell to her. I never forget a face.”
Resa spun around toward the girl.
“Are you sure you preordered?” she asked.
“Uhhhh, yeah,” the girl replied. “Because I’m not an idiot.”
Resa’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Well, your name’s not on here. So I don’t know what to tell you.”
Amelia stepped in. “Do you remember what day you met Harriet after school?”
“I didn’t meet her,” the girl said with a scowl. “I don’t know who this girl is.”
“Then who’d you give your money to?” asked Resa impatiently.
The girl rolled her eyes dramatically. “Joe,” she said. “In Spanish class.”
“Joe took your money? Perfect! As if this mess isn’t complicated enough—” Resa started in what was obviously going to be a rant. Didi, sensing this, yanked on her elbow and pulled her away.
“Just one more little moment, ma’am,” Didi said.
“Ma’am?” the girl scoffed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Didi joined the huddle that Resa, Harriet, and Amelia had formed behind the table.
“Did you know Joe was collecting money?” Resa asked Harriet. “That makes everything way more complicated! Did he write his orders down? Where’s the money for his orders?”
Harriet shrugged, panic in her eyes.
“Let’s go ask him,” suggested Amelia.
“Oh, no no no!” Harriet’s eyebrows wrinkled up. “Joe doesn’t like to be disturbed before a show. He’s in the zone, and he has to be left alone. Otherwise, the show’ll be ruined. It jinxes him!”
Amelia smirked. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s true!” Harriet insisted. “Every time I’ve bothered him when he was in the zone, the show was a mess!”
“Uhh, sorry to interrupt your little meeting or whatever, but any chance you could give me the T-shirt I paid for?” the Dondelstein girl asked.
“What do we do about Snarky Snarkerson over here?” asked Amelia.
“We should give her a T-shirt,” said Didi with assurance.
“Are we operating on the honor system now?” asked Resa.
“Annnnny day now would be fine,” said the girl.
Resa spun around, grabbed the first T-shirt her hand clutched, and tossed it at the girl. “Here. Next!”
“That’s not even my size—”
“Take it up with customer service!” snapped Resa.
The Dondelstein girl shook her head. “You people are the worst,” she muttered as she walked away.
“Us?” Resa sputtered, flabbergasted. “We’re the worst?!”
Didi laid a hand on Resa’s arm, ready to offer some reassurance, but her words were drowned out by the high-pitched squeals emanating from Harriet’s mouth. Equally high-pitched squeals were coming from Cam-Thu, who stood on the other side of the merch table. The cousins hugged awkwardly over the table, still squealing.
“Sooooooo,” said Cam-Thu when she let go of Harriet, “where are these T-shirts I’ve been hearing so much about? I must see them!”
Harriet flung her arms to the side and spun around. “Ta-da!”
Cam-Thu wrinkled the top of her nose like she’d smelled something rancid. “Nooooooo,” she said, waving her hand as if to shoo away the offensive odor. “No no no no no.”
“It’s understated,” Harriet said.
“Harry,” said Cam-Thu, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes, “you know I don’t do white. Or crewneck tees. Where are the V-necks? And tanks? Where are the colors?”
“White is a color,” Amelia argued. She knew it was nothing personal, but she felt defensive.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Cam-Thu decisively. “I’ll just take my money back.”
“Umm, okay.” Harriet looked stressed. “Just hold on—”
“We can’t,” Amelia jumped in. “We used the money to pay for the T-shirts. They’re nonrefundable.”
“I’m not wearing that T-shirt,” exclaimed Cam-Thu. “It’s worse than those weird gowns they give you in the hospital!”
“Lemme talk to my associates, Cam Cam,” Harriet said with a smile. “Come back after the show.”
“Fine,” said Cam-Thu. She leaned over to Harriet and whispered, “They can’t force you to wear that, you know. It’s a free country.”
Amelia’d had about enough of Cam-Thu and her fashion advice. She waved over the next person in line. “Next!”