Oliver gives me the single brow lift oftell the story or quit talking about it.
“Do you remember Mrs. Zingle reading a story to you when you were in third grade about the melting polar ice caps?”
“No.”
I swallow back theof course you don’t. He and Margot were in third grade a few years before I was. Maybe Mrs. Zingle didn’t read it to them. But she probably did. She was old and set in her ways. “Well,Ido, and I decided to do something about it.”
It would be nice if he’d roll his eyes and mutter a sarcasticof course you didhere, but that’s not what Oliver does.
Oh, no.
The man smiles bigger at me, his eyes crinkling and his perfect teeth flashing and that thing he’s doing with rubbing his hand over his scruffy jaw finishing up the look of a man who wants to hear more.
Like he’s encouraging me.
Like he wants to know my story of triumph with a happy ending, even though he knows it ended with me in third-grade jail.
My first public activism that got me locked up.
“What does Archie have to do with you saving the polar ice caps?” he asks.
“Third grade—Mrs. Zingle reading us that book—that’s when I decided to save the polar bears.”
His eyes crinkle tighter at the edges as his smile grows. “All by yourself at third-grade years old.”
“Eight. You’re generally about eight in third grade. And yes. Of course I was.”
“Did Archie talk you into stealing Mrs. Zingle’s car to sell for the cause?”
“No. My parents laughed at me when I asked them for a jillion dollars to save the polar bears and the ice caps, so I took matters into my own hands and raided their closets, then started selling what I’d procured to my classmates.”
The man smiles even bigger. “They clearly left you no choice.”
“Damn right. I started small, like the shoes in the back of my mom’s closet and my dad’s cuff links that he never wore, and when I didn’t get caught for a week or so, I started pilfering their watches and diamonds too. They had so many. It’s not like they were going to notice.”
He shakes his head.
I wonder what he’s doing with his own cuff links and watches and designer wardrobe. He didn’t bring any of it with him, but I suppose he could’ve had what he wanted to keep shipped to his final destination.
My former wardrobe all went to a consignment shop to set me up with the tiniest of nest eggs. Comparatively speaking.
And that was after I paid off my speeding tickets.
“So Archie ratted you out,” Oliver says.
“No, I got caught when I walked into an appliance store with $38,000 in cash and asked how many air conditioners we could send to the North Pole. That was about the same time other parents started calling the school to ask questions about why their kids were coming home with used Manolos and Piguetwatches. So I ended up in the principal’s office in third-grade jail for a straight week so they could monitor my every breath. Andthenmy father had the biggest shit fit of his life when he found out I sold his grandfather’s cuff links to Percival Westmore’s son.”
“Not exactly Archie’s fault.”
“Technically not. But Archie called my shoes ugly and said I had a giant mole when I got my first pimple at school that year, so I charged him one hundred percent sales tax, andthathad ol’ Percy calling up my father to yell about ridiculous pricing and fees, which got me an extra week of being grounded at home too.”
“You were grounded for an extra week for price gouging your father’s least favorite person’s son? Would’ve thought he’d take you out to ice cream for that.”
“My father never took me out for ice cream, and Archie wouldn’t give me the cuff links back even at double what he paid for them, and also, my parents are assholes. To the best of my knowledge, my mother still hasn’t noticed she’s short three pearl necklaces and a brooch that I sold from her jewelry closet.”
Oliver’s smile slips, and he looks down at his phone again while his leg bounces under the harsh bathroom lights. “Did you charge Archie enough to buy new safety equipment for a gymnastics group?”
“Close.”
