Sorority Girls With Guns (23 page)

Like I said, it could be worse. It's cosmetic counter garbage – specifically, hundreds of nearly-empty perfume testers and those paper scratcher-sample thingies.

“
Shit!” she yells, as sample papers rain down on her head like confetti.

Tiffany can't suppress a giggle. “Are you okay?” she chokes out.

“
I'm going to smell like the Sephora counter for the rest of the day, and my ass is going to be black and blue, but other than that, sure, I'm fine.” Morgan swats away the last of the fluttering sample pages, then starts picking out the ones that landed in her hair. “I should've worn a hat.”

“
I don't think the store dumpsters are going to work out,” Morgan says, lifting the lid of the next one over and peering into it. “This one's almost empty.”

Morgan ducks her head inside the garbage bag she's wearing in place of a Haz-Mat suit and says, in a muffled voice, “Let's try the other side.”

“
What are you doing?” I ask her as we move across the alley to the other row of dumpsters.

She pushes at the outside of the garbage bag, looking like she's feeling her face. “Wiping perfume off my face. One of those bottles splashed me, and my hands are filthy from digging in the trash.” She stops at the first dumpster and throws the lid open, standing on tip-toe to look inside.

And that's when I hear footsteps coming around the corner. Oh, crap, I hope nobody heard the commotion and called the cops, thinking we were robbers or something. I've had enough run-ins with the police lately.

I turn around and see a tall, attractive guy with cocoa skin and a warm smile, wearing a suit and tie. In contrast, the guy with him is in a t-shirt and jeans and doesn't look like he's shaved in a couple days. He's also carrying a video camera, secured in a sling that says “Channel 8 News”.

“
Hello,” the guy in the suit says, surveying the three of us, decked out in trash bags and rubber gloves. “My name is Harry Harmon. Perhaps you've seen me reporting on Channel 8 News?”

“
We don't really watch the news,” I admit. It's not on Netflix and it's not very interesting.

“
Well, my photographer and I are shooting a story for this evening's news about homelessness in our area.” Harry offers a sympathetic smile. “We're covering an event this weekend, the Downtown Homeless Shelter Benefit at the Luxe Hotel. According to the press release, the Downtown Shelter desperately needs money to expand, due to the rising homeless population in our area.”

I manage to keep my face impassive when my jaw really wants to drop. I wrote that press release, although technically Delilah was paid to write it. How could he
possibly
know who wrote it? Wait, don't panic, I tell myself. Maybe he knows Richard's hosting the benefit and we're friends of his. Hell, maybe he's one of our two hundred subscribers on GluedToYou. “That's right,” I say carefully. “What did you want to talk to us about?”

“
Well...” Harry continues projecting the smile as he takes off his suit jacket and hands it to the photographer. Then he rolls up his sleeves, looks around for a place to sit, and chooses another pile of old papers. Bet he can't believe they're still printing those things any more than we can. He leans over, elbows on his knees, his we're-all-friends-here-just-chatting position. Reporters always sit like that when they're trying to relate to people they really have no clue about. He's trying to make us think he's just like us, when clearly he's not, because he's not digging in a dumpster. “We wanted to interview some homeless individuals, to kind of put a face on the problem. We want to tell your story, show the world what it's really like, so our viewers can understand the importance of expanding the shelter.”

“
Wait...you think we're homeless?” Morgan shrieks.

Harry's eyebrows twitch towards each other like magnetic caterpillars. “We...overheard you talking about sleeping in your car so you'd have money for clothes,” he says.

Oh, crap. What do we do now? We can't lie and say we're homeless, someone will find out and call us on that one. They'll think we're trying to defraud people into giving us food or clothes or money, like those people who sit on corners with streets signs, then pull out a smartphone and call someone to say they'll be home in an hour, put the roast beef in the oven.

“
She was...joking,” I say. “You see, the thing is, we
are
actually trying to raise money for the benefit ourselves. But our goal was to do it in the most eco-friendly way possible.

“
The truth is, we're not homeless. We're college students vacationing on a budget of $500 a week, but we can afford a motel. We like to do charity work whenever we can, and we wanted to go to the benefit but weren't sure we could afford it.

“
But then I had this idea. We've been trying to win an internship at Green Day, the environmental support fund – they want innovative ideas about improving the environment by reducing, reusing and recycling. For our submission, we've been doing this vlog – that's a video blog – about how green-friendly things like reusing and recycling can save you money when you're on a budget, like we are. So I thought, maybe we can help the homeless and the planet at the same time!”

Morgan's eyes light up, and I know she sees where I'm going with this. “So instead of just writing a check or donating our old clothes, we decided to dumpster-dive,” she finishes.

“
You don't think the homeless can dumpster-dive for themselves?” Harry asks, frowning.

“
No, no, we don't mean that,” I say quickly. “We're dumpster-diving for stuff we can sell on Feebay. We're going to use some of our proceeds to buy tickets to the charity benefit, which we couldn't otherwise afford.” Technically, that's not a lie. I said
some
of the proceeds, not all. Charity has to start at home, right?

“
And we're eliminating some trash that would have gone in a landfill,” Tiffany says, grinning like an idiot. I think she's proud of herself for remembering the word “landfill”.

“
I see.” Harry stands up. “That sounds really innovative. I think this is a great angle for our story. Do you mind if we follow you, see what you collect? Then we could follow up with you at the benefit on Saturday?”

“
Sounds good to me,” I say. “Our friend Richard is actually hosting the benefit. I know he'd be happy for the publicity. There's nothing he enjoys more than helping those less fortunate.”

“
So what do you look for when you dumpster-dive?” Harry asks, as we turn to the dumpsters. His photographer shoulders the camera and pans it across the alley, following us as we walk.

“
Well, we've been selling on Feebay for a little while now,” I say vaguely. “And we look for good brands in good condition. It depends what it is though – sometimes a slightly flawed item can still be worthwhile.” I drag over a pile of papers to stand on, hop up onto it and peer into the dumpster.

 
Harry stands on the papers beside me and puts his hands right on the rim of the thing, which I wouldn't be doing without gloves. I suspect that, fake camaraderie aside, he's probably pretty good at his job. The photographer is on the other side of me, camera angled down into the dumpster. Tiffany and Morgan are on either side of the dumpster, having found their own piles of trash to stand on.

“
Do you go through all these bags?” Harry points.

“
Well, the semi-clear ones are good because they allow us to see what's inside and if it's worth opening.” I point at one. “Look at all those empty beer bottles. You might think there's nothing worthwhile in there, and there isn't, from a Feebay standpoint. But those can be recycled, which is better for the environment, and you do get paid a little by most recycling facilities.” I lean over, snag the bag, and pass it over to Morgan, who takes it with a half-disgusted, half-impressed look on her face.

You know when you were a kid and you took piano or dance or karate lessons or whatever, and they told you that line of bullshit about “practice makes perfect”? Of course that's crap. William Hung could practice singing every day for a billion years and he'd still sound like a sick cat trying to sing an opera. Morgan is like that with lying – she does it every day, multiple times a day, to the point where I'd even call her compulsive about it at times, but she will never be great at it.

As for me, well, I was raised in a family of liars, thieves, backstabbers and will-forgers. Seriously, these people can destroy your Last Will & Testament, write a phony one and perfectly forge your signature before your body gets cold. I knew what will forging was when I was four, because I knew which of my relatives had done it and how much money they got out of it. I'm pretty sure I learned to lie before I learned to talk.

And that is how I'm able to lie so quickly and so well to Harry Harmon and Channel 8 News.

On a roll, I lean over and snag another bag, struggling to get the twist tie off with my rubber gloved hands. “So, you wear those gloves for safety?” Harry asks.

“
Well, you never know what you're going to find in the trash, and a dumpster is hardly the most sanitary place,”I I say. “It's just a precaution.”

“
What's the weirdest thing you've ever found in a dumpster?”

“
Probably a Justin Bieber blowup doll.”

 
Harry grins. “Okay, the weirdest thing you've found in a dumpster that's fit to talk about on a family show?”

“
Oh...well, let me think a minute.” Finally I get the twist tie off and flick it away into the dumpster. “Probably a Coach bag that someone had dyed this awful shade of maroon. It was truly a crime against fashion.” I shake open the bag.

And find myself, Harry and the camera lens staring down at an entire bag of used condoms.

“
And that's why I wear the gloves,” I say, twisting the bag closed again and shoving it toward the back of the dumpster.

“
Maybe we could recycle the rubber,” Tiffany suggests. “This could be the universe's way of telling us how we can help humanity!”

“
Um, I think there are some laws about handling bodily fluids,” I say quickly, grabbing the next bag. “Let's move on.”

I pull the drawstring and at first, all I see are the confetti pieces of shredded junk mail. “Well, we could recycle this paper,” I say, carefully picking through it because I feel like the bag is heavier at the bottom. “But we have to make sure it's not mixed with other things that can't be recycled.”

I dig down further, creating a valley in the pile of confetti, and finally I uncover what's making the bag heavy: Half a dozen doggie bags.

“
Ooh, I guess you won't be recycling that,” Harry says.

“
Nope. I guess not.” I shove the bag away. “Time to try another dumpster.”

“
So tell me about this Green Day thing you're doing,” Harry asks, as we pick up our piles of debris and march to the next dumpster. “Is that a not-for-profit organization?”

“
Yes, and they're offering an unpaid internship to six students, nationwide,” I explain, flinging back the dumpster lid. “We have the summer to complete our applications. Basically, we're supposed to submit a video showing our innovative idea to make the world a more environmentally friendly place.”

“
And you three have decided to work together on this?”

“
Oh...no,” I say, opening and quickly closing a bag of kitchen garbage. “It's a marketing internship. Morgan here-” I flap a gloved hand at her. “-is planning to go to medical school.”

“
Shade and I are submitting this project together,” Tiffany says.

“
And have you been working with other charities besides the Downtown Homeless Shelter?” Harry asks.

“
Um...nooooo....” Tiffany stammers.

“
We actually started the project as an informational vlog,” I say, and quickly rattle off our channel name for GluedToYou. “We've been showing people how they can save money and the environment at the same time. While working on that, we realized that we could do even more good by raising money for the homeless shelter and recycling stuff people just trashed.”

“
Which one of you came up with that idea?” Harry flinches a little as Morgan rips open a bag l of old skin magazines. “No need to get a close-up of that, Chuck, we won't be able to use it,” he cautions the photographer.

Morgan's about to toss the bag aside when I stop her. “Wait, look at the dates on those. That one on top is from the eighties'.”

“
So?” Tiffany rolls her eyes. “I bet boobs looked the same in the eighties.”

“
Actually, they've made great advancements in plastic surgery since then,” Morgan says. “Implants are much more realistic and less likely to bottom out now.” She glances quickly at Harry, her face reddening. “I'm going to medical school. I do a lot of research on surgical techniques.”

Tiffany reaches for the bag. “I'll put it in the recycle pile.”