Free Rosie by Anne Lamott

lied.
    â€œWe can’t go to my house either. My dad’s working there alone.”
    â€œSo who said I wanted to, stupid?” Rats. “You want to go to the lagoon fort?”
    â€œYeah, I guess.”
    â€œWe can think of ways to get money.”
    They left the beach, cut through the railroad yard, and headed for the lagoon where, months ago, they had found a hollow in thedense brush near the shore on a deserted lot. They had borrowed planks, nails, bricks, and cardboard boxes from the construction site on an adjacent lot and made a fort with wooden and brick benches into which they occasionally pounded a nail, using a rock as a hammer. Rosie sat on a canvas bag of cement mix which they planned to use to cover the wooden frame of the fort once they got around to constructing the wooden frame, after which they would begin work on the moat and the drawbridge.
    They had had to abandon the lagoon fort for a month recently. A big carp had washed up on shore, which they determined by mysterious means to be a boy. They christened him Fred and buried him in a shallow grave right outside the entrance to the clearing. Fred was their mascot. Within two days the fort was unapproachable, the stench having beckoned flies from miles around to a luau of decomposing carp.
    It was good to be back. When they got bored sitting in the fort—which is to say, when they found themselves in the fort without candy—they went to watch the carpenters hammer and measure and pour concrete.
    â€œHow we gonna get some money?” Sharon asked, sitting on a bench made of a plank and two bricks.
    â€œLet me think.”
    Half an hour later the girls were standing outside Safeway, sorrowfully explaining to adult passersby that they were collecting money because their puppy needed an operation for leukemia, and their parents were going to put it to sleep if they didn’t come up with the money soon. The puppy’s name, Rosie sadly confided to each grown-up, was Little Maggie.
    Within ten minutes they had enough money to buy two bottles of Coke and two small bags of ruffled dip chips. They opened the twist-off caps and tore the foil bags with their teeth, which served them in as many ways as Swiss Army knives: scissors, bottle openers, pliers.
    â€œHi, Mama.”
    â€œHi, baby.”
    â€œWhat’s for dinner?”
    â€œMacaroni and cheese.”
    â€œOh, thrills.”
    â€œRae’s coming over in a few minutes.”
    â€œGood!”
    â€œMiss Lacey called again.”
    Rosie looked off into space and bit her lip.
    â€œAny idea what she might have called about?”
    Rosie closed one eye, thought hard, shrugged.
    â€œNone at all?”
    Rosie pushed back in her chair so that it was on a two-legged diagonal.
    â€œStraighten up.”
    Rosie slowly lowered the front legs to the ground. “Was it about Andrea Kinkaid?”
    â€œNo. Why? What did you do to Andrea Kinkaid?”
    â€œNothing. She’s just a total crybaby.”
    Elizabeth looked exasperated.
    â€œMiss Lacey called about the falling star you took to Show-and-Tell.” Rosie nodded glumly. “And the dead man in our garden.” Nod, nod. “Is this ringing a bell?” Nod, nod, eyes averted. “Care to comment?”
    â€œWell, I had to bring something.”
    â€œBut you didn’t have to lie.”
    Rosie looked bored.
    â€œSee how stupid you feel when you get caught? That’s one good reason not to lie. And for another thing, if you tell the truth, you don’t have to keep track of what you said. It gives you a lot more freedom. And for another thing, it doesn’t reflect well on me—”
    â€œWull, you lie.”
    â€œLike when?”
    â€œLike when you tell someone on the phone you have to hang up because there’s something on the stove when THERE ISN’T ANYTHING ON THE STOVE AT ALL.” Rosie, fierce, continued. “Or you tell some guy you can’t go out