The Black Sheep by Sandy Rideout Yvonne Collins

out of the kitchen with it. My luck holds in the supply room, where I liberate a welder’s mask and poncho and slip into them unnoticed.
    If I’d known breaking the rules was this easy, I’d have started years ago.
    Things get tougher when I arrive on the deck of Maurice’s pool to find a volunteer in identical Darth Vader garb scrubbing down the tiles.
    â€œI thought he’d already been fed,” the other Darth says.
    The voice sounds too low for Lisa’s and too high for Mitch’s, so I bluff. “Lisa ordered an extra feeding to build up his strength before he’s released.”
    The volunteer nods as if this makes perfect sense, collects his or her gear, and leaves.
    Who knew I was such a good actor? Maybe I belong in television after all.
    I walk backward to the edge of the pool, just as I’ve seen Lisa do it, and Maurice starts barking excitedly behind me. Following the standard routine, I scoop a handful of slimy fish and toss it over my head. There’s a series of splashes, followed by loud crunching. It would be disgusting if it weren’t Maurice. As his new best friend, I’m willing to overlook bad table manners.
    If Judy had any sense at all, she’d focus the whole show on my remarkable interspecies connection with Maurice. The audience would sob uncontrollably as we face the ultimate separation, but I will be strong. I understand that he has to go back. He probably has a family out there that misses him, maybe a fuzzy-faced otter wife who doesn’t mind his crunching.
    I have turned to gaze at my little pal when a sound makes me jump.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing?” someone says in a low hiss.
    The empty bucket flies out of my hand and hits the deck with a clatter. Maurice dives to the bottom of the pool and stays there.
    I fooled the first volunteer, so I’m sure I can fool the second. “Lisa ordered an extra feeding to prep him for release.” I’m impressed by the way the lies are rolling off my tongue today. Usually I babble nervously under pressure, but as a newly indoctrinated Black Sheep, I’m one slick customer.
    â€œOh, did I?” the new Darth says. “Why don’t I remember that?”
    Oops. My only hope now is that Lisa doesn’t recognize my voice.
    â€œGet in my office right now, Kendra.”
    Okay, so I won’t be collecting the People’s Choice Award just yet.
    * * *
    The light of Chili’s camera burns like an interrogation lamp. In the shadows behind him, Mitch is slumped in his chair. Judy, on the other hand, is perched on the edge of hers as if life at the splash pool just got a lot more interesting.
    I hook my elbow casually over the back of my chair, following Black Sheep Rule Number Five: Never let them see you sweat .
    â€œWhy do you think you’re an exception to the rules around here?” Lisa demands. She’s asked the same question several times in the past ten minutes and it’s taught me a valuable lesson: people can ask any question they want, and I can answer it any way I want. A Black Sheep doesn’t just tell them what they want to hear; a Black Sheep stays on message.
    â€œLike I said, Maurice looked hungry,” I repeat. “I was worried he wouldn’t be strong enough for release in two days.”
    â€œHe looked hungry to your expert eye?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd you could tell that how ?”
    â€œI’ve been watching him for days. We have a connection.”
    Judy laughs. Lisa and Mitch don’t.
    â€œI really don’t know what to say to that,” Lisa says.
    â€œOkay, then,” I say, half rising. “If we’re done here…”
    â€œWe’re not.”
    I sink back into my seat and glance at my watch. Carrie and I are supposed to meet shortly to get ready for the party. I could wrap this up quickly by telling Lisa what she wants to hear: that I lost my head to fame; that Judy is