Beautiful Girls by Beth Ann Bauman Page A

stared into that sludgy-brown bog, wishing she could somehow fall into it.
    “Come on, lazy,” she said, giving me a tug.
    “Leave it alone, Inggy,” I said, quietly. Daffodil and Dorrie looked at me, their red nails flashing brightly. Inggy looked at me for a second, then started down the cellar stairs. I hated her then; for a few burning seconds I loathed my friend, who was beautiful and faultless and braving the stinking basement. I leapt off the couch and grabbed one of her long arms and easily yanked her up the steps. “I’ll see you later,” I said, pushing the catalogs into her arms.
    “Dani!” Inggy cried. “Are you insane?”
    “Out,” I whispered.
    “No!” Inggy said. Daffodil and Dorrie crept up beside me and eyed Inggy. We stood there tensely, and I finally shoved Inggy toward the front door, and Dorrie and Daffodil jumped in, poking and jabbing. We spun big skinny Inggy in a circle, her catalogs falling out of her arms. We knocked into a wall, jiggling a picture. “Our stink,” I cried, “is none of your business.”
    “You big snoop,” Daffodil hollered, giving her akick in the shin.
    “Who do you think you are?” Dorrie shouted, pulling a wad of that white hair. We got Inggy to the front door and pushed her onto the stoop. I locked the door behind her, feeling lost and sick. My best friend in the world. So cocky, so sure of herself. I wouldn’t be Miss Merry Christmas, she would.
    She rang the doorbell. Inggy never rang the bell, she always walked right in.
    “What?” I said, opening the door a crack.
    “Dani,” she said with tears in her eyes.
    Daffodil squeezed in next to me and gave Inggy the evil eye. “Don’t,” I said, clasping Daffodil’s small head and nudging her away. “Inggy,” I said, “I’ll call you later.”
    We trooped back into the den and sat on the couch, not saying anything. I knew what we had to do. We had to take some action. It was time. The stench was dizzying, and my sisters clutched my arms as we made our way downstairs. Daffodil went straight to the clothesline in the back of the cellar, pinched shut her nose with a clothespin and then stood in the corner with her eyes tightly closed, her glittery bodysuit and matching socks shimmering in the low light.
    Dorrie started to sniff while I stood on a bucket and opened all the windows the best I could. Dorrie pointed under the freezer. Holding my nose, I kneeled.Something was wedged underneath. I used the mop handle and worked out a putrid, decaying pork chop with a swarm of wriggling maggots inside. Daffodil came running over, and both my sisters looked up at me with big eyes. “Gross,” Dorrie whispered.
    “How did the bugs get inside, Dani?” Daffodil asked.
    I said a leftover summer fly must’ve thought the stinking pork chop was a great place to lay eggs. “Which one of you dopes dropped the chop?” They each pointed a mean little finger at the other. I went for the shovel, Daffodil propped the front door open, and Dorrie dragged a garbage can to the curb. I scooped up the rotting chop and sailed up the stairs and through the front door, stopping short on the lawn. Garbage pick-up wasn’t for three more days. The stink would still be with us.
    “Let’s bury it,” I said.
    We stood in the backyard under a dark moon and a web of stringy clouds, digging a hole. “Give me an ‘S,’” Daffodil shouted. “Give me a ‘T,’ give me an ‘I-N-K.’” Shivering, Dorrie and I took turns working the shovel into the hard ground, and when we got a semi-deep cockeyed hole I kicked in the chop and covered it with dirt. We stomped on the hole, dancing it smooth with our feet.
    “The stink is out of our lives!” I yelled.
    “Victory cheer!” Dorrie shouted.
    “Oooolala we kicked some ass
Oooolala we showed some sass
Oooolala we had some fun
Oooolala of course we won!”
    We did the chicken walk across the hole, flapping our elbows and wobbling our knees. We buzzed around each other and gave high