I smile. “Look they called them adorable.”
Rose glowers at me again. Zero for two today. “They’re babies. No one will call a baby an ugly gremlin.”
“You will,” I refute. And then I pause. “Wait…are you calling our babies ugly gremlins?”
“Of course not,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushing. “They’re adorable gremlins.” She’s hurting my head. “My point is…” Thank you, I need the point. “That these assholes are profiting off of our children. It’s wrong.”
Daisy theatrically hops to her feet and raises her fist in the air. “So let’s retaliate.” Her yellow feathers point towards the crescent moon.
Rose and I stare up at her. “What?” we say together. I whip my head back to my older sister, surprised she sided with me.
I ask Rose, “You weren’t about to end your speech with retaliation?”
“No, I was going to suggest cursing them out for the next hour and burning the articles.” Of course there is fire involved. She turns her attention to Daisy. “What were you saying?”
Daisy is the Peter Pan of our group, I realize. She has her hands planted on her hips like she is a clever, youthful creature, up to no good. “You remember back when they shot paintballs at the house?”
That feels like forever ago, but also just like yesterday. They terrified Daisy, an innocent bystander with PTSD and insomnia and a boat load of other issues. Being here in this house, all together, has unified us and hopefully helped her some.
“You all said that I could choose whether to do nothing or to retaliate,” she reminds us. I thought she was afraid of speaking up so she just let it go. “Well, I’m making my choice now.”
Rose is full-blown smiling.
I am too.
“I choose to do something. Let’s get those fuckers back.” She wears a shrewd grin. “And I have the perfect thing in mind.”
*
The darkness is our friend.
I repeat the mantra over and over as we tiptoe through the manicured yard. Rose and I saw the teenagers sprint into this stone mansion after they snapped the baby pics. So we can at least inflict damage to one of them.
“Here,” Daisy whispers, handing me a roll of toilet paper. Sneaking into the house to raid our pantry for extra rolls was easy. All the guys were down in the basement, so our covert mission is already going as planned. We even waited until midnight, hoping everyone in the house would be in bed.
I gingerly accept the toilet paper while we crouch behind a bush. We’re all in our pajamas: Daisy in green knit shorts and a gray crop-top, Rose in a black satin pajama set. Me in my onesie （hood on my head for extra stealth）。 And we crouch behind a prickly bush.
“The lights are off inside and out,” I whisper. Perfect. I’ve toilet papered plenty of houses with Lo. On boring nights, we used to grab a few rolls and drive to some jock’s home. It was harmless fun.
“Mission a go,” Daisy says with an okay sign.
I’m about to race out from behind the bush, but I remember that I gave birth two weeks ago and I can’t move that quickly. Walking here, I was a tortoise, step-by-step slow.
Daisy darts off to the largest oak tree, a wild grin on her face. I carefully scurry towards a half-grown magnolia tree with Rose. Like riding a bike, I position the paper the correct way before throwing it up and over a limb. A giddy, rebellious energy bursts in my belly. Just like old times. Except now my comrades are my sisters. One of whom is trying and failing at tossing the roll onto a tree limb.
Rose gives me a glare when she catches me staring. Her eyes flit between the dark windows of the house and my perfectly arched stream of toilet paper. I’ve already covered the left side by the time she huffs in defeat.
“How’d you do that?” she finally asks.
“Watch the pro,” I reply, gathering my paper and completing the same arch.
I expect Rose to fumble again, but she performs the angle to perfection. My teaching skills are on point. When I turn to look back at Daisy, she’s already finished the oak tree and runs with the toilet paper, covering all of the front bushes like she’s decorating them with streamers.
I now know which sister has done this before. Though it’s no surprise we’re taking Rose’s TPing virginity. Acts of juvenile rebellion and Rose Calloway don’t mix often.
Rose splits from me, now adept to take a new section of the yard. Within a few minutes, we’ve successfully covered the trees and bushes in toilet paper. We still have about three rolls left, and Rose is working on the front porch railings, muttering curse words under her breath.