Claire soaked up the attention, grinning and waving at the boys, then she honked the horn, making one of the shirtless blonde guys jump.
Maria laughed. “Way to go, Claire. Really scoring the brownie points.”
“Shove it.”
Tabby came out. She bounded down the steps, her strawberry blonde ponytail swaying back and forth. One of the boys whistled at her, and she gave him the finger. Maria appreciated the gesture, but she didn’t appreciate the fact that Tabby clutched a wrapped box to her chest.
“Happy birthday!” Tabby said.
“Thanks,” Maria answered, her tone slightly annoyed.
Tabby crawled into the backseat, much to Sherlock’s pleasure — he barked and breathed hot air all over her face.
“Down, doggy!”
“Sherlock,” Maria said from the front seat. Sherlock whined.
She smells like bacon and eggs!
Maria’s heart stuttered. “Did you hear that?”
“Huh?” Tabby and Claire said at the same time.
“Someone said Tabby smells like bacon and eggs,” Maria said. Her eyes were wide and she looked around the Kia suspiciously.
Tabby arched her eyebrow. “You feeling okay, Maria?”
“So no one heard that?” Maria said.
“No,” Claire said.
“I did make bacon and eggs this morning, but that was hours ago. I showered before you got here.”
Maria couldn’t smell it. Now she looked at Sherlock. He was sitting on the backseat almost like a human. Maria could’ve sworn that his droopy lips were turned up in the slightest smile.
“Okay…” Claire said. “Let’s just ignore the fact Maria is suddenly turning into her kooky grandpa.”
Maria didn’t respond, even though she usually would. She was stunned. That voice. She heard it back at her house, and then in the car. It was Sherlock. Sherlock is somehow…talking to me.
“It was bound to happen,” Tabby said. “No big deal. There’s medicine for it, I’m sure.” She thrust the gift box toward Maria. “Here, got you this.”
Maria took it absentmindedly.
“Open it!” Tabby said.
Sherlock barked.
Barked. Didn’t talk. Let it go, Maria. You aren’t going crazy, she chided herself.
Claire backed out of the driveway while the frat boys watched the entire time.
Maria unwrapped the package. Inside was a push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret. “Uh…” Maria balked.
“Do you absolutely love it?” Tabby said.
Claire burst into laughter.
“This looks like something a stripper would wear before…you know, she strips,” Maria said.
I think you’d look lovely in that, the voice piped up again.
Maria snapped around to look at Sherlock. He sat eyeing her, wagging his tail.
“Okay, weird. Super weird,” Maria mumbled.
“The bra?” Tabby asked. “I think it’s perfect. You need something to attract the fellas. Not ratty old band t-shirts. Show a little skin, Maria! You’re nineteen and you’ve never even kissed a guy!”
“Not true,” Maria said defensively.
“Who?” Claire said.
“Well…” Maria thought about it.
“Yeah, exactly!” Tabby said, leaning forward.
Claire turned left down Britain Road, heading for Barney’s Busy Corners, where Downview Sports was located.
“No!” Maria said. “Last I checked, Sherlock is a guy! I kiss him all the time.”
Neither Claire nor Tabby laughed. Tabby grabbed the bra out of Maria’s hands and held it up. “Seriously, Maria, that’s just sad. Put this on. We’re gonna find you a cute boy to kiss on your birthday.”
Maria didn’t put the bra on. She was comfortable enough, and it was her birthday after all; she got the final say in what bra she wore.
Downview was packed. They had each paid the few bucks for a round of mini-golf. Most of the people there were in the arcade or the batting cages. Some of the more “badass” kids were smoking cigarettes at the skate park next to the putt-putt course. Maria could smell the tobacco from where she stood.
“Good luck,” Tabby said. She had just hit a hole in one on possibly the toughest hole on the course. A large windmill spun and knocked Claire’s green ball back to the tee. Claire growled in frustration. The other girls laughed.
Sherlock watched with what looked like amusement. Typically dogs weren’t allowed in the park, but the owner of Downview was close with Maria’s grandfather; plus Sherlock was always on his best behavior. He was an old dog—his hyperactive days were long behind him.
Claire finally made it through, and it was Maria’s turn. She swung, timing her shot with the spinning windmill. The ball soared up the green, on target, but the windmill blocked it at the last possible second and sent it pinballing back to the tee.
“Damn it,” Maria said. “Why do we play a game that’s so frustrating?”
“Relax,” Claire said, laughing.
Maria tried again. It took her three more attempts to beat the windmill. Her score was not looking good.
They made it to the last hole, catching up to the people in front of them. Maria had always thought this one was the hardest, despite what Claire and Tabby would’ve said. In order to reach the cup, you had to hit the ball up a clown’s tongue—which was hard enough. But it got harder. The clown would bring his top teeth down to bite as soon as it sensed the ball traveling toward its mouth. It was like the windmill, but faster. On busy nights, the line to get through the last hole sometimes took fifteen minutes. Claire and Tabby never got stuck on it, though. Somehow.
It was not Maria’s favorite, not to mention the clown looked creepy as all hell. A big head, flaking white paint on its face and blood-red paint on its lips. The sinister laugh that sounded once the golf ball connected with its clamping teeth had given her nightmares when she was younger.
As predicted, the line was pushing fifteen minutes; not because Downview was really busy, but because a couple of teenaged guys who were obviously stoned out of their minds were screwing around, trying to hit their balls at the same time in the hopes the clown’s teeth would be wedged open.
Move it, Maria urged silently.
“You guys hungry?” Maria asked her friends, not wanting to watch the clown bite down anymore.
Sherlock barked.
“Not you.”
Awww, the phantom voice said, shocking her. She did her best to ignore it, thinking she must’ve
