Sorority Girls With Guns (22 page)

Tiffany sighs, in this way she has of making her bangs flutter and her lips stick out like Dolly Parton's cleavage. “So we just have to hope our vids are pretty contagious.”

“
Yeah.” I go back to my computer. “Unless anyone has a better idea.”

“
Well, after the party Saturday night, we can put up all the vids, right?” Morgan says. “Even though the bet period is almost over?”

I turn off the LiveStream button on my GluedToYou app and gesture for Morgan and Tiff to do the same. “But if people like them, we'll have to continue sticking to a budget, at least for a while,” I say. “While we build up viewership.”

“
Wait...what?” Tiffany frowns at me. “What do you mean, continue acting poor?”

I shrug. “Well, that's the premise we've built the show on. Even though some people will know the truth, we'll want to continue making similar vids for a little while.”

Tiffany and Morgan are staring at me as if I just told them Kimye will never get divorced. “What? We have to keep living this crappy lifestyle?” Tiff asks.

I sigh. “Not all the time. Just a couple times a week when we're recording. And just think, with the money we make, you won't have to worry about your parents cutting you off anymore. So in the long run, you'll have to live like this a lot less!”

I look over at Morgan. “And you won't have to study so hard, because if you don't get a scholarship and your parents refuse to pay for med school, you can still pay for it yourself.”

“
Okay.” Tiffany's phone screeches like a parakeet in pain and she looks at it. “Hey, Charlie says he
is
going to buy my ticket!”

“
Then we're all going?” I look at Morgan.

She shrugs. “Sure, I'll buy a ticket with the profit I made off that Blue Fish dress.”

“
Now,” I say, leaning back in my chair and staring up at the ceiling. “What can we do at this party to make sure we have some super-memorable video?”

Chapter Twenty-five

“
In order to be super-memorable, I need a designer gown,” Tiffany says, staring desolately into the closet. “And even if everything I listed on Feebay sells, I'm only going to make about forty dollars.”

“
That's forty more than you had,” Morgan says. “Maybe you can buy a purse with it.”

Tiffany groans. “I thought there were people making six figures a year on Feebay.”

I roll my eyes. “I told you, those people spend eight or ten hours a day going to thrift stores, not just an hour a week. They also sometimes buy direct from manufacturers and they spend hours scouring the bottoms of clearance bins. Plus they spend years building up their feedback profile so customers trust them, and so they got top standing in search results on Feebay. And even then, a lot of those people make five figures a year, not six.”

  “
We could still try the thrifts around here and see if we luck out,” Morgan says.

“
What about the stuff I already have!” Tiffany's eyes go wide. “What if I sell all the crummy clothes I bought for the trip? Well, not all of them, but a bunch of them?”

I sigh. “If they're not expensive brands, I wouldn't expect to make much. You can sure try though - sometimes people get lucky with stuff they didn't expect to sell at all.”

“
I like that idea.” Morgan drums her fingers on the countertop. “Hey, what did you say about dumpster diving? Why don't we try that?”

Tiffany and I look at her like she just suggested that we all try out for
Water Polo with Has-Beens
. “You want to go climb in dumpsters?” I ask. I actually think it's a great idea, but I was hoping one of my friends would bring it up before I did, so I wouldn't have to spend so much time talking them into it.

Morgan shrugs. “People do it. You said so yourself, right?”

“
Well, I've heard about people doing it....but it's not something I'd want to do myself.”

“
But you said rich people throw out awesome crap all the time.” Morgan points at our closet. “Do you guys want to wear that crap to this big party and let Richard smirk about how he's teaching us a lesson? Or do you want to show up in a gorgeous gown, having beaten him at his own challenge?”

“
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad,” Tiffany says. “I mean, we could wear rubber gloves, right? We wouldn't just be poking around with our bare hands.”

“
And we'd open the bags at the top and take a quick look, so if something was obviously, like, kitchen garbage, we could close it right back up and move on,” Morgan says.

I groan. “We'd have to do it today if we want to list whatever we get on Feebay, sell it and get paid in time to go shopping for the party. And I insist on elbow-length gloves and one of those Michael Jackson surgical masks. And I get to pick the dumpsters we dive in.”

“
That's a good idea,” Tiffany says. “You can geographically pick the best dumpsters, just like you did for the thrift store. I am so grateful to the universe that you're my friend.!” And of course she hugs me.

“
That's....nice.”

“
And I forgive you for making fun of my efforts to improve myself,” she continues.

She really shouldn't have pushed it after the hug.

“
Well, did you find true love for less than twenty-thousand a year in income?” I ask.

 
She sighs. “You know who got in line? Charlie.”

“
How does he qualify?”

“
Yeah, that was my question,” she says. “He told me he's
currently
living on a budget of $500 a week, so I couldn't think of a way to automatically disqualify him without revealing the bet, with all those people standing there. So I told him I'd take him into consideration.”

“
And what about the other guys?” Morgan asks.

Tiffany sighs. “Three of them lied about their finances. One of them wanted me to join the Peace Corps with him, so we could go dig ditches in Mongolia. You know, when I wanted to live without money, I meant in America, where there's welfare and free birth control and, you know, running water. I didn't mean I wanted to move to another universe where they don't even have network television!”

I'm going to be honest here, I have no fucking clue where Mongolia is, but I'm pretty sure it's not in another universe.

Morgan's trying not to laugh, so her mouth is twitching like a downed power line. “Didn't any of them work out?”

“
Well, I had coffee with this one guy who's okay.” Tiffany fidgets with the fringe on her pleather jacket. “He's kind of a hillbilly, but he's really sweet. He asked me out to his ranch.”

I almost choke on my free-continental-breakfast-that's-gross-in-any-country motel coffee.

“
He owns a ranch and he passed the financial screening?”

“
No, no, he lives and works on a ranch. He doesn't own anything except a ten-year-old pickup truck. He herds cattle or something.” Tiffany shrugs. “I think it might be fun. He promised to teach me to rope a calf.”

“
So you can what, make your own Coach bag?” Morgan asks.

“
When are you going?” I chime in.

“
Tomorrow.” Tiffany leans back in her chair and puts on her “I'm thinking” face, which makes her look like an actress in a laxative commercial. “What do you think you wear to a dude ranch?”

Morgan groans. “Something disposable.”

“
Save the plastic outfit you're going to wear to dumpster dive,” I say, turning back to my computer and pulling up my research file on wealthy areas.

“
You mean like a  Hazmat suit?” Tiffany asks. “Where are we going to get something like that.”

I sigh. “Do I have to do everything? This is around the time room service comes, right? Go out in the hall and walk around until you see the housekeeper who gets our room every day.”

“
And then what?” Tiffany asks.

“
Then you tell her that you've made a mess in your room and it's really embarrassing and you want to clean it up yourself to spare her the trouble. Ask if she'd mind if you borrowed some rubber gloves and trash bags.” I consult a map. “If she asks questions, start by saying how embarrassed you are that you got that drunk. Then say it's so humiliating you can't even talk about it. No matter what she imagines, she won't want to clean it herself, trust me.”

“
So how does Charlie feel about you dating him
and
the dude ranch guy?” Morgan asks as she and Tiffany get up to leave.

He knows I'm casually dating several guys right now, trying to find someone I can really connect with,” Tiffany says. “We're not exclusive.”

“
But what if things go really well with the dude ranch guy?”

“
His name is Dusty, and if things go really well with him, then I'll cancel my date with Charlie and go to the party with him,” Tiffany says.

I spin around and look at her. “Hey, do you think Dusty would mind if we tag along tomorrow? If you really like this guy, you should introduce him to your friends.”

“
And I've never seen a dude ranch,” Morgan says, as I go back to my map. “We'll be sure to disappear after dinner if you want some alone time with him.”

Tiffany shrugs. “I”ll text him and see if he's okay with that. I know all of his buddies from the ranch will be there.”

“
Hurry up and sweet talk the housekeeper,” I say. “I think I've figured out where we need to go.”

                                                                                           
***

“
Do you have any idea how many websites and blogs are dedicated to dumpster diving?” I ask, as we get out of the rented Buick and head for the ass side of the outlet mall we visited two days ago. We must look ridiculous, all decked out like Haz-Mat workers, wearing trash bags with arm and head holes cut into them (sealed with duct tape) and elbow-length rubber gloves.

“
It doesn't matter, as long as one of them told you this is the place to be,” Morgan says, looking furtively over her shoulder as she locks the car. “Are you sure we can't get arrested for this?”

“
Yes, dumpster diving is legal in Texas. Anything in the trash is fair game. As long as we're not trespassing on private property to access the dumpster, we should be fine.” I reach the end of one row of outlets and round a corner, Tiffany and Morgan lagging behind me. “That's one of the reasons I picked this outlet mall. Their dumpsters aren't compacted, so they don't have to be locked up. These dumpsters are in a public alley, and they're not marked as belonging to any one store.”

“
What's the other reason?” Tiffany asks, wrinkling her nose at the sight – and probably smell – of the big, green dumpsters.

“
The reason the outlet mall was a bad place to shop for Feebay is the reason it's a good place for dumpster-diving,” I explain, continuing down the row of dumpsters. “You see, this is a wealthy area with a median per capita income of close to-”

“
Skip the big words and tell me what that means,” Tiffany says.

“
It means that stuff sells fast in these stores, so the good stuff rarely gets marked down to a price that would be profitable on Feebay,' I say, wondering which big words she meant.

“
But you said we wanted a wealthy area.”

“
For a thrift store, where people
donate
stuff,” I say. “There aren't that many people who need to shop in thrift stores in wealthy areas, so there's more good stuff left, and more good stuff gets donated in the first place.”

“
But for-profit stores aren't dumping crap at super-low clearance prices,” Morgan finishes.

“
Right.” I decide to just start at one end and open every dumpster, so I tentatively reach up and slam the lid back with both hands. Then I immediately jump backward, because I've read sometimes rats or other animals will pop out. “But those dumpsters across the alley belong to an apartment complex in a wealthy area. We'll check out the store dumpsters in case we get lucky, but I'm betting we'll do better across the way.”

“
All I'm seeing here is paper,” Morgan says, fingering a see-through garbage bag. “Looks like receipts and office crap. And takeout containers.” She sighs. “Maybe we should just check out of our motel and sleep in our car for the next few days. That would save enough money to buy clothes.” She struggles to open the bag, tearing at it with rubber-dulled claws, and finally manages to make a hole.

The good news is that this bag isn't full of old food, or anything that smells bad. Strong, maybe, but not bad. The bad news is that when she rips it open, the effort causes her to lose her footing and stumble backwards on the pile of newspapers. She flails her arms, trying to catch herself and grabs the garbage bag. She winds up landing on her ass, with the bag and its contents landing on top of her.