Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink by Stephanie Kate Strohm Page A

related activities.”
    â€œYep, yep, got it, thanks—you’re a doll.” He was scanning the town green over my head, looking for someone else. “Thanks a mil. See you at the Showdown.” He hurried off.
    The costume shack lady was waiting outside the door for me.
    â€œYou”—she waved me in excitedly—“are going to
love
this! Saucy with a capital ‘S,’ missy!” She bulldozed me into the shack and started energetically dressing me.
    You know in
Pirates of the Caribbean
when Johnny Depp goes to that tavern in Tortuga, and all the prostitutes slap him? That’s what I looked like. Except with less clothing. If I had thought my boobs were out of control in my normal museum gear, they were now practically up to my chin, exploding out of a scarlet satin corset and chemise with two wisps of sleeves. The skirt was ripped and tied up on one side, revealing layers of lacy petticoats, laced-up high-heeled boots, and more leg than had probably ever been seen in the Museum of Maine and the Sea. I felt like I was about to go hawk Captain Morgan rum and wondered if there were any documented cases of spontaneous combustion from embarrassment.
    â€œAaay!” shrieked the costume lady. “I love it!”
    I got the feeling she’d been sort of limited in her costuming options all these years and had quashed a secret desire to design for Vegas showgirls. Or drag queens. She fussed around like a kid in a candy store, pinning up my hair into two messy buns with a bandanna, like a slutty blond pirate Mrs. Lovett from
Sweeney Todd,
and she even busted out an illegal stash of makeup to rouge my cheeks and line my eyes with kohl.
    It’s all for the good of the museum, I reminded myself over and over again, as I tried unsuccessfully to cover myself up a little bit more. If I had to whore myself out, literally, to save our nation’s cultural institutions, then so be it. Future generations would thank me for my sacrifice.
    I decided to go hang out onboard the
Lettie Mae
until the Sea Shanty Showdown, as I definitely wasn’t leaving the museum grounds dressed like a pirate queen. Plus, ever since Garrett had colonized the ship with his treasure trove of electronic devices, it was officially a cell phone–safe zone. I figured if he had the laptop and the video camera and the voice recorder and God knows what else, one teeny little cell phone more couldn’t hurt.
    As if my phone could somehow sense that we’d entered neutral territory, the minute I hit the deck, it vibrated.
    â€œHello?” I answered.
    â€œLibby? Is this Libby? The real Libby?” someone whispered frantically. After a second I recognized Dev’s voice.
    â€œOf course it’s the real Libby, who else would it be?” I asked quizzically.
    â€œI don’t know anymore,” he whispered, paranoid. “I don’t know anything anymore!”
    â€œDev, where are you?”
    â€œIn a closet.” Sniffle. “I never wanted to go back in one, but here I am.” Double sniffle.
    â€œCan you speak up? It’s really hard to hear you.”
    â€œNoooooooooooooooooooo!” he howled.
    â€œDev, calm down. Tell me what’s going on,” I prompted patiently.
    â€œI can’t,” he said, sobbing quietly. “I can’t tell you anything. Libby, I
think they tapped my phone.
” His voice went so low, it was barely audible.
    â€œWhat? That’s ridiculous. Who are ‘they,’ anyway? Who do you think tapped your phone?”
    â€œOno-may Orps-cay Ublications-pay.”
    â€œWhat? Who?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
    â€œMono Corps Publications!” he whisper-screamed. “
Teen Mode
’s parent company! Libby, they’re
everywhere.
”
    â€œOkay, Dev, you need to calm down and start breathing.” I could hear a panic attack coming on over the phone. “Take a few breaths. Nice, long, deep