Free Sister Mischief by Laura Goode Page B

got demoted or something,” Rowie says.
     
    “She did,” Marcy says simply, shrugging.
     
    “Look, you’re not wrong,” Tess says. “But strategically, it’s better for us and for 4H if Holyhill still thinks I’m in with the A-list Christian contingent.”
     
    “I guess then they can’t say we’re all degenerates and aliens,” I say.
     
    “Just some of us,” Rowie mutters.
     
    “Oh, quit it with the Indiangst,” Tess teases her gently. “That betch is perverting my church and effing with my friends, and her unconstitutional Bible group is the best leverage we have with Nordling. As long as I can help keep our plan moving forward intact, we have something he doesn’t want to leak to the local media and their lawyers.”
     
    “I feel you,” I say. “You’re like our secret ambassador. That’s some devious shit.”
     
    “Yeah, get a hit of
that.
” She beams. “Plus, you know, I like to sing.”
     
    “We’ll fill you in on
this
scheming later.” Marcy raises her hand in a good-bye salute.
     
    “Tell the girls we said namaste,” Rowie adds drily.
     
    “Mazel tov,” I contribute.
     
    “Body of Christ.” Marcy makes the sign of the cross over Tess.
     
    “Good night, God bless you, and God bless America.” Tess flashes us a peace sign and disappears out the basement door.
     

 
    “Speaking of scheming,” Marcy continues slyly, producing an Altoids box from her bag. “Anyone wanna get a hit of this?” She opens the box to reveal a joint that looks like it’s been through a dishwasher.
     
    “Oooohh, shit,” I crow, a smile spreading across my face. “I’m wicked down. Where’d you get that?”
     
    “Rooster’s glove compartment,” Marcy informs us without a hint of remorse. “I think it’s pretty old, so I doubt he’ll notice it’s gone.” Things we’ve stolen from Rooster over the years include the first porn I ever saw, $7.86 in change for a late-night Perkins run, a whole truckful of Legos, and one shoddy little doobie before this one. Marcy’s been a lifelong beneficiary of the fact that she’s smarter than her brothers.
     
    We look at Rowie, who looks a little nervous.
     
    “Down. I think,” she says hesitantly. “Lemme just run up and assess the Raj situation.” She darts upstairs.
     
    Even though we like to act like hardened criminals, truth is, our experience with the sticky icky is pretty limited. Marcy’s smoked a few times with her brother, but I’ve only tried it the once before. I didn’t think it really worked, but we did polish off six personal pan pizzas between the two of us, the kind Pops always buys from Anthony Grinnell’s Boy Scout troop. Marcy says no one gets high the first time they do it. Kind of like sex, I guess.
     
    Rowie bounds back into her bedroom. “The news just finished and he’s snoring so loud I’m surprised we couldn’t hear it from here. We’re golden.”
     
    “You wanna call Bob and tell him you’re spending the night?” I ask Marce.
     
    She whips her toothbrush and retainer out of her backpack and grins. “Check, check, dirtbag. No one’s expecting me home tonight.”
     
    “Okay, lemme just give Pops a heads-up.” I dial home.
     
    “Hey, parakeet,” he says.
     
    “I’ve never understood how that became a term of endearment. I hate birds.”
     
    “You should be counting your blessings that I didn’t pick
budgie.
”
     
    “And I am. Is it cool if I sleep at Rowie’s?”
     
    “I s’pose. Do you have all your stuff?”
     
    “More or less. Marcy can give me a ride home tomorrow.”
     
    “Are you going anywhere but Rowie’s? I’m not saying you can’t. I just want to know where you’ll be.”
     
    “Don’t think so.”
     
    “Then have a nice time and I’ll smell you in the morning.”
     
    “Love you no shit.”
     
    “Love you no shit.”
     
    Honestly, I could probably tell Dad I’m about to go get stoned in Rowie’s treehouse without incurring so much as a brief