The Accidental Siren by Jake Vander Ark

wear pretty makeup for this
scene.”
    “Yeah?” I patted my jeans for a pen.
    “Pigtails too. That way, as the movie goes
along, the makeup can come off and my hair can get messy and I’ll
look really different by the end.”
    “Darnit!” I said. “Whit’s got the notebook.
You have a pen?”
    Mara pulled a naked red crayon from her
pocket. “The twins keep leaving me gifts,” she said. “Yesterday it
was a baseball card and a rolled up tube of toothpaste.” She tossed
me the crayon.
    “The makeup thing... it’s a really good
idea.”
    “Don’t you think the doll is a little
boring?”
    I looked up. “Boring?”
    “Maybe we could get something real. Maybe the
girl has a pet! I see kittens in the newspaper all the time.
Sometimes they’re free.”
    “Real animals...” I muttered. “Holy
production value!”
    “I always wanted a kitten,” Mara said. “Ms.
Grisham never let me have a pet.”
    “I’ll talk to Mom. Betcha she’ll go for it.”
I scribbled the new ideas in the margins of my script and said,
“Boy oh boy, Whit’s gonna love this!”
    “You’re always talkin’ about Whit,” Mara
said. “When do I get to meet him?”
    I shrugged. “Maybe someday.”
    In the valley, a man yelled and the plow
sputtered to a halt.
    “Wanna run it again?” I asked.
    Mara nodded and picked up the doll. “I’ll
pretend it’s a kitten.” A robin’s whistle punctuated her smile.
    “Ready?”
    “Mmm hmm!”
    “Annnd, action! ”
    “Good morning, Dorothy the Cat! Isn’t it a
beautiful day? Maybe the most beautiful day I’ve ever–”
    “ Eeeeoww!” The scream quivered with
violent elation. My head jerked like a startled prairie dog and I
recalled A.J.’s shriek when I rammed my knee into his back.
    Mara looked at me, confused, then A.J., Danny
and Trent emerged from the brush behind her like a trio of
post-apocalyptic cannibals.
    “I told ya!” said A.J., shaking a can of Pam
cooking spray. “Gosh-damnit I knew I recognized that
voice!”
    Mara scrambled toward me leaving Dorothy
alone among the purple onions.
    “What. Do we. Have here?” Danny stepped to
the head of the pack with my camera slung across his shoulder.
    “I told you it was her,” A.J. said again.
“Didn’t I tell ya, T? Huh?”
    T (or “Trent” as he was known before turning
to the Dark Side) was a girthy man-child who smelled like B.O.
since the day he was born. Patches of razor burn littered four of
his chins. He carried a sword he assembled from discarded
two-by-fours; a row of nails protruded from the face of the blade.
As he trampled the grass with his buddies, his enormous foot landed
directly on Dorothy’s head. “Lookit that piece of ass,” he said,
his sagging eyes set on Mara.
    Danny narrowed his brow. “Fancy meetin’ you
here, Fatty . Where’s the cripple?”
    I helped Mara from the leaves and brushed her
off.
    The bullies stepped closer; Danny in front.
“We were cuttin’ tracks for the four-wheelers, but thought we’d
take a break to burn some lego men for my new camera.” He rubbed
the case as if he was polishing a brick of gold. “Didja know
cooking spray is flammable?”
    A.J. twirled the can and hopped like a
leprechaun. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew it! I told you it
was her!”
    “We need to go,” I whispered.
    Mara nodded and backed away.
    “You can’t escape,” said Danny.
    I tugged Mara’s shirt. “Run,” I said. “Now!”
    “Get ‘em!” A.J. shouted and Danny bounded
three giant strides before we could turn around. He grappled Mara’s
forearm, twirled her, slammed her back against a tree, and pressed
his wrist bone against her throat.
    “Let her go!” I yelled.
    “It’s her!” A.J. said. “It’s her!”
    “Who?” Danny asked.
    “ Mara.”
    Danny shot his friend a confused look and I
made my move, planting my feet in the dirt and charging–elbow
first–toward the bully who had my girl. “I told you to let
her–!”
    But T cut me off like a cannonball