Brownie Points by Jennifer Coburn Page B

crooked smile and a strawberry cap.
    ™˜
    On Friday morning, Marni and I both rushed to the curb, rolling our trash bins, frantically hoping to beat the collection truck to our front doors. I had trouble getting to sleep the night before, finally nodding off around two. That morning, my alarm was the sound of the garbage truck chugging down our street. I bolted upright, threw on my terrycloth bathrobe and ran for the bins.
    My sexy neighbor came out with tousled hair and a sated smile. It appeared that she haphazardly threw on a pair of soft pink Victoria’s Secret cotton pajama pants and a matching camisole, but didn’t have time to locate slippers.
    As we both reached the curb with our trash bins, I waved eagerly. “Looks like we both overslept,” I shouted, hoping to start a conversation.
    “Yeah,” she returned, friendly enough, but not matching my enthusiasm.
    “I’m putting on a fresh pot of coffee. Do you want to stop in for a quick cup?”
    “Oh, thanks, but I’m crazy busy today,” she said.
    “Okay,” I said, trying not to show my disappointment. This was the third time I had invited Marni over, and the third time she was too busy. Never once did she ask for a rain check, or return the invitation.
    For the rest of the day, I sketched ideas for my next sculpture series, pieces made from expired license plates that tie in with the states they’re from. My first would be the Statue of Liberty made from rolled New York plates followed by a Space Needle made from Washington tags. After weeks of inhaling fumes stinking up my guest room, I decided to rage against the machine and return to the open garage to work. By the end of September, I’d collected three CC&R violation citations and had two new ones for October. I began thinking about ways I could incorporate them in future pieces. Shellacking them to toilet seat covers and hanging them as wreaths seemed too obvious.
    Soon it was time to head to school to help with the Girl Scout meeting. I told Michelle I’d finally help out, but truth be told, I wanted to stick around to see how the girls reacted to their newest member.
    Rumors of Logan’s popularity were not exaggerated. The girls all seemed quite thrilled to have him in their ranks. Ashley, Bianca and Maya were quick to co-opt Logan into their group, giving him an appliqué for his denim jacket that simply read “Scout.” The three girls gave him their jackets and identical patches so he could sew them on, and they could all go to school matching.
    Logan was not merely a seamstress to them, though. Reciprocity was the Girl Scout way. When the inevitable happened, and Max McDoyle cornered Logan in the boys’ bathroom and called him “Froot Loops,” Maya walked right in and demanded that he back off. She signaled for the other girls, who walked in and cornered Max against the sink.
    “Do you know that I’m a brown belt in karate?” Maya said. “I could hurl a Thin Mint at you with such force it would have to be surgically removed!”
    As the kids told me about this after school, I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “I cannot believe you said that, Maya!”
    Ashley and Bianca giggled along. “Neither could I!” Ashley, who inherited her mother’s ditsy sense of humor, added, “Where’s she going to find a Thin Mint this time of year? Cookie season doesn’t even start till spring.”
    Thank you , I mouthed to my daughter. She gave me a quick wink in return.

Chapter Twelve
    November
    Maya wasn’t the only one flexing her muscle about town these days. Jason came home one day with a set of red boxing gloves and shorts for Logan, and told him he’d enrolled them both at Dempsey’s gym. He told me his goal was to take Logan to the gym as often as he went to Girl Scout meetings. It would be their Saturday routine, he explained.
    “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!” Logan boasted, holding his gloves over his head, as they returned from their first day at the gym. “I am