Original Fake by Kirstin Cronn-Mills; Illustrated by E. Eero Johnson

Author:Kirstin Cronn-Mills; Illustrated by E. Eero Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-03-30T17:12:27+00:00

“Thanks.” Rory pulls away, and her smile tells me that the extra-hard leap wasn’t on purpose, but it also wasn’t such a bad thing.

Betty now looks like a crusader for truth, justice, and baked goods made from ingredients the color of Kool-Aid. If Rory’s ATMs had a social message, this one doesn’t. It’s just a yarn bomb. But it’s still cool as hell.

I look from Betty to Rory. “Happy with your work?”

“It’s fantastic.” She’s grinning like she just ate a pot brownie, and she clicks a few photos with her phone.

Then the headlights hit us, and we freeze. I have no idea if we should put our hands up or not, so I don’t, just so I’m not a cliché. Rory does, but she’s laughing.

A security guard parks about fifteen feet away from us and gets out. He’s short, squatty, and maybe five years older than we are. “What’s the purpose?” He points at Betty, and then at Rory. “Why did you do that to her?” He looks confused, amused, and pissed. We still have our masks on, which is a really good thing.

“Art has lots of purposes.” Rory doesn’t back down. “Why not make it funny?”

“Oh.” He gazes at the statue like it’s going to reveal the mysteries of the universe. “Deep. Are you guys Uncle Epic?”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, I wish. Please don’t tell the cops we were here.”

Rory just gives him a look. “Wouldn’t you like to know? And the guerilla-knitting assault is now over.” I clap, and the security guard does, too, even though you can see he doesn’t know why he’s doing it. She addresses the guard. “You won’t be taking this down, will you?”

“Nah. It’s pretty damn hilarious.” And he gets back in his car and drives out of the parking lot, off to watch over some other part of General Mills besides Superhero Betty.

Rory turns back to me. “Take me to Pizza Vendetta.”

“Why there?” It’s 3:12 a.m.

“Because that’s where my car is.” She strips off her mask and shakes her hair again. Why can’t she be ugly, dumb, and talentless?

We walk back to the truck and head to our cute little suburb. It takes us a while, and Rory falls asleep on the way. I watch her breathe when we pass under the freeway lights. She should be in magazines, or museums, or anywhere but inside my truck, because I am just a boring introvert artist and she is a goddess of knitting and the night.

When I turn into the lot, she shifts around.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Where are we?” She sits up. “Oh.”

I park next to the only car left in the lot. “Do you want all your garbage bags?”

She yawns. “You can keep them to remember me by.”

“Bus your own table.” I hand them to her. “That’s why there’s a Dumpster.”

“Good night.” She leans in, and this time I don’t lean away. It’s barely a kiss, but her lips linger on mine and I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of yarn, which is soft and warm and smells like Rory.

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