The Accidental Siren

4.1 Camera Tests

CHAPTER FOUR

CAMERA TESTS

Whit begged me to invite him to dinner the night Mara arrived. Luckily, Mom had a standing rule that forbade visitors on the first day of a new arrival, so I could tell my friend that I didn't have a choice. Dinner would be strange enough without a perv in a wheelchair.

I had three days to prepare. First, I slyly solicited Mom for a haircut, claiming the three inches of shag was making my head sweat in the summer heat. Next, I “accidentally” dropped my Fraggle Rock toothbrush in the toilet. Dad told me to boil it in water... but Mom saved the day and replaced it with a plain toothbrush from her bottomless bin of backup toiletries. My room was gagging on Star Wars memorabilia, Jurassic Park dinosaurs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures, and posters of Harrison Ford, but I couldn't hide the trove without stirring my family's suspicions. I searched out the most embarrassing aliens and the largest dinosaurs and shoved them under my bed. Mr. Ford could stay.

Last winter, Mom snagged a pamphlet on child obesity from the YMCA and suggested that I use it as a guide to earning my Super Nintendo. Annoyed, I shoved it in my junk drawer and forgot about it. But now... I was motivated! I retrieved the pamphlet, studied the charts, and determined my goal weight to be one hundred and twenty-five pounds. I borrowed Mom’s scale and stepped up. Twenty pounds to go.

A NordicTrack ski machine sat beside the laundry-room door in the basement. One of the cords was tangled around the wooden base, and a row of newly-pressed shirts hung from the extension bar. The rest of the exercise equipment fit easily inside a wicker basket: a knotted jumprope, mismatched barbells, a Thigh Master, a Walkman with earphones, Livy's hot-pink headband, and a series of Jane Fonda workout tapes. Dad called Ms. Fonda a “horses ass”--the only time I heard him swear--but Mom claimed she only liked the woman for her motivating exercise routines. While the family slept, I hooked a VCR into my six-inch bedroom TV and danced like a baboon with the aging actress as my guide.

For three nights I slept in a pool of my own sweat. I dreamt of Mara again, but I woke up nervous instead of wet. Did she know that I was the reason she was taken from her home? What if she was mad at me? What if she really loved her pseudo-aunt? Surely she would be grateful; after all, I saved her life. Right?

Although I was never stinky fat like Trent Rainwater, I hedged my bets and borrowed Dad's deodorant for the big night. I combed my hair just enough to look nice, but not enough to encourage Livy's jokes. I wore a simple red tee and my baggiest pair of jeans. I brushed my teeth three times.

Mom was scheduled to arrive with Mara at five-thirty. While she was out, Dad watched kids instead of birds and “cooked dinner” with a phone call to Domino's. As usual, the delivery boy couldn't find our hidden drive, but Dad accounted for the extra twenty minutes and the pizza arrived with the ladies.

The foyer door opened and slammed. I cupped my mouth, huffed my breath--not too bad!--then ran to meet them at the top of the stairs. Mom was talking but I didn't care; my attention was with Mara.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi,” she replied in that delectable voice I'd been savoring for days. Her irises mirrored her cute tan dress. Screen-print daisies rose from the hem and twirled her ankles as she sauntered up the stairs. I studied her expression for any sign of hatred or thankfulness, but in a heartbeat I had forgotten my mission, abandoned for the midnight center of her perfect eye.

Before I could utter a better greeting, Mom swept Mara into a tour of the parlor, bedrooms and library. They plopped her suitcase on Livy's second twin bed, then ended the tour in the kitchen with plans to see the ballroom after dinner.