The Accidental Siren

8.4 The Zombie-Ferrets Strike Back

What if real life doesn't follow comic-book rules? This new concept struck me hard as I assembled my mission in the cave, arranging the walkie-talkie and baby monitor on the cardboard box that served as my command center.

There was no doubt that Mara's superhuman power had real stakes in my life, but in the back of my mind, had I been treating our misadventures like a kid's movie? The Goonies, Back to the Future, Big, The Neverending Story, films where kids live as undercover spies, superheroes, time travelers, or the sole link to alien life. In these flicks, parents rarely discover the truth about their children's secret world. They're oblivious at best; bumbling villains at worst. Not only do they represent logic, reason, and a total lack of imagination, they serve as a direct link to cops, courts and the faceless scientists who tried to hurt E.T.

The only adults who share the plight of children are crazy old people: Doc Brown, Kesuke Miyagi, Scatman Crothers from The Shining... or Ms. Grisham and her cronies.

I pressed the Indiglo button on my watch and my wrist blossomed with teal light. It was 7:39; six minutes before Ryan Brosh would swoop in to woo my sister with his parallel-parking abilities. 

He wouldn't stay in the car, not when he could rub his brilliant scheme in my face. But I had a plan.

I double-checked the baby monitor. The other half was hiding in the basement beside the unfinished guest room where Mara spent quality time with Dorothy. I could hear her through the speaker, playing with her cat and softly anticipating Ryan's arrival.

I adjusted the volume on the monitor, then set it down and picked up the walkie-talkie. The other headset was stuffed inside the floral arrangement on the dining-room table. For now, I could only hear the TV as my father relaxed in the living room and my sister paced the kitchen.

So far, the movie conventions were holding true in real life. Responsible adults were too busy consuming the drama of O.J. Simpson's bloody glove, debating the proclamation of “Read my lips!,” or shedding tears for Rwanda. But what if adults did infiltrate our story? They wouldn't see Mara as The Prettiest Girl in the World, but as a potential rape victim, a serial killer's skin pajamas, a science project about the existence of pheromones, or undeniable proof of God. They wouldn't hurt her the way children might with sticks and stones and playground chants, they would dissect her with the unlimited power of “grownup.” Their intent would not be to love her, but to protect her, to use her, to distill her magic into age-defying makeup or the perfect highway billboard. Experiments would not consist of torn yearbook photos or lake-side interviews, but of scientific methods, straightjackets, and insanely long needles. Instead of a little Mexican boy crossing himself at the utterance of her name, grownups were crusaders awaiting their Helen of Troy. Religious leaders would argue about which god bestowed in Mara the power of infinite beauty.

Could the most beautiful girl in the world stay hidden forever? What if Mara's secret identity didn't stay a secret? What if the grownups found out?

I was working on my twenty-fifth sit-up when the doorbell rang and the walkie-talkie exploded with Livy's “Eeee!” The excitement tapered as Mom and Dad followed her down the stairs and out the front door... but Mara stayed in the guest room with Dorothy.

Why didn't she race outside to see Ryan? Did she have another plan? Mara knew she needn't feign interest in automobiles to win the heart of Ryan Brosh; perhaps she was letting Livy believe--for as long as possible--that her boyfriend was real.

Although I longed to tear Ryan's eyes from their soft sockets, I knew a confrontation would make me look stupid in front of Mara. So when the show in the driveway concluded and the pretty-boy ferret was upstairs with my sister, I clenched the walkie-talkie to my ear and stayed put.

Livy wasn't allowed in the bedroom with a boy. Like I suspected, she and Ryan settled in the dining room as Mom and Dad made their presence known in the kitchen with the exaggerated clanking of pans.

I placed bets with myself on how long it would take Ryan to ask about Mara. It wouldn't be his first question (that would be too obvious), but the itch would grow quickly.

The walkie-talkie crackled like torn cellophane, but Ryan's voice slid clearly through the transmission. “Where's your little brother?” he asked.

Livy was slow to reply. I imagined her leaning back in the dining-room chair, balancing on the hind legs, dumbstruck by that cute conniver, doing her best to stay cool. “James is in bed,” she replied. “Said he wasn't feeling well.”

Ryan gave a sympathetic groan. “Poor guy. I was hoping he’d show me a cut of the movie.”

“You did an awesome job driving tonight,” Livy said.

“My instructor says I'm a defensive driver. I told him it's 'cause I play basketball.”

The phone rang and created a momentary rift in the conversation. Mom must have picked up, because it didn't ring again.

“Where are the twins?” Ryan asked.

Clever. He was asking about the rest of the family first so it wouldn't look suspicious when he finally asked about Mara.

“With a new family,” Livy replied, then lowered her voice until it was barely audible. “Mom had them transferred after Bobby pulled out his... you know what.”

“Whoa,” Ryan said. “Strict parents! I thought little boys are always whipping out their dongs.”

Livy giggled. “Guess it was the last straw.”

In the silence that followed, I pictured my sister leaning forward, quietly implying to Ryan that a quick kiss on the cheek would go unnoticed by our hovering parents. I pictured Ryan too, tapping his foot against the table, itching to find the girl he actually came to see.

“So...” Livy said, “your dad is cool with waiting in the car?”

“He's fine.” Ryan said. “I sent him to Walmart to kill time. Where's Mara?”

And blastoff!

“M-Mara...?” The static did little to hide the pain in my sister's voice. “I'm not sure. She's been spending a lot of time in the basement.”

“How's she been? With her parents dying and all...”

“They died a long time ago, silly.”

“Right. But it’s still sad. She's taking it well?”

“She's... fine. Great even. It's kinda weird.”

“We should all go out sometime. Bowling, maybe shoot some hoops.”

“Yeah.”

“After all, I need to show off my...” he lowered his voice for dramatic effect, “new girlfriend!”

Just as Ryan had planned, Livy's excitement at the word “girlfriend” distracted her from the implications of his next question: “Can I use the restroom?”