Sarah’s Sweater

Sarah Elaine Carlyle did not miss Glenwood High School. She had very few friends even though she was the richest kid in the place. The more stuff she had, it seemed the less the kids liked her. When her parents gave her a big-screened TV with surround sound for her 15th birthday, she invited some of the “cool” girls to come for a “girls only” party. A few came, but after an hour of watching TV they got bored and left. Sarah tried to get them to stay, enticing them with her new Kate Spade bag and the trendy clothes her mom had bought her during a New York City shopping trip. They “oohed” and “aahed”, but then the next day at school, they barely acknowledged her. She was always the outsider.

One would have thought she had it all. Parents with money, a "McMansion" in a tony Denver neighborhood, everything she wanted, except the one thing that continued to elude her. She desperately wanted to be a part of something. Anything.

She had hoped at her new school, the exclusive High Creek Academy, things would be better, but the Academy was even worse. Worse because here she was just one of many over-privileged kids, accepted only within the tightly knit community of the nerdy art students. And even within that small sphere she wasn’t especially popular, but she was respected. For what she lacked in social skills, she compensated with her creativity as a talented sculptor and painter. Her art teacher was blown away by her ability to transform a blob of clay or a blank canvas into a visual feast. She’d only attended the school since September. In less than three months, her clay designs and watercolors now filled one of the large exhibit cases in the school’s main hallway.

Sarah was proud of her talent but creativity didn’t score any points with the cool kids. Nor did the fact that she didn’t smoke, except for an occasional joint, drink or experiment with the current trendy drugs. It didn’t feel that much different from Glenwood – until she was invited to join the "Club," specifically, The Academy Girls Club was only for an elite few, those that liked to live on the edge. To the uninitiated, it was just an elite community service sorority and not everyone was approached to join. She knew the only reason she had been invited was because of her parents. The majority of the girls had parents who were the “pillars” of Denver’s elite and well established within the social, educational, corporate and medical circles. In other words, very rich and very powerful. For the few that were willing to swear totally loyalty and secrecy, bored with everything their parents’ money had to offer, it was an opportunity to assert one’s own stamp of rebellion. Stealing from stores was the primary activity. The thefts were, for the most part, small things, usually not more than $100. None of the members had to steal anything. They had everything they wanted and far more than they needed. Materialistically, speaking, that is. It wasn’t for everyone and it wasn’t safe, but Sarah was bored and playing safe wasn’t getting her anywhere.

Shoplifting was not new to Sarah. Shoplifting gave her a strange feeling of accomplishment. She had long decided it was more the thrill of the game than the actual stuff. She often wondered if big game hunters felt the same. Were they sorry afterwards? I mean, what does one do with five lion heads? Or 6 lipsticks in shades of rose. Neither necessary in either case. In her defense, she did use what she stole and she never stole big stuff, just little items, like costume jewelry, lipsticks and sunglasses - things that slipped easily into a purse or pocket. She had never been caught, although she’d really taken a chance with the Prada sunglasses.

She stared into the mirror, devoid of makeup and looking a bit pale. Deliberating about a bit of blush, then deciding against it. Today was going to be exciting but tricky. Testing to see if she had “the right stuff” to be accepted into the club. The rules of the “test” were clear. It had to be done at a high-end store, not some discount place. She had only 30 minutes to accomplish the task - to get a 10% discount on one item priced at over $100. Much harder than actually stealing it.

Thirty minutes later, she walked into Dillson’s, her least favorite store, realizing she probably should have chosen Nordstrom’s, known for their exemplary customer service policies. Too late now. Brianna, the Club’s president, was already stationed up in the lingerie department, waiting for her to finish the task. Now practically shivering in her UGG boots, Sarah browsed through the expensive sweaters, gently fingering the soft textures of cashmere. She loved cashmere. Then she spotted it. A pale blue crewneck in her size, small. Priced at $175.00. She checked to see that it was the only small in that color. That was important in her plan. She picked up the sweater and headed into the fitting room. Moments later, she emerged and browsed around the store for a few minutes before heading to the checkout counter. At the counter, she put the sweater down before speaking to the clerk. “I’d like this sweater, but it has a stain on the neck.” Then she waited.

The clerk, whose nametag identified her as “Laura,” picked up the sweater and inspected it carefully. Then she looked over at Sarah, examining her with the same precision.

“You must have gotten the lipstick on it yourself.”

“I certainly did not. As you can clearly see, I’m not wearing lipstick.” Sarah’s dollar store lipstick was now safely deposited in the trash receptacle in the ladies’ room.

“Why don’t you just go get yourself another one?”

Does she think I’m an idiot? “There’s not another one in that size and that color. I want this one but I’m not going to pay $175 for a sweater that’s stained.” Sarah had watched her mother stare down clerks before. Now it was her turn. It wasn’t a question that she was in the wrong, but one of entitlement. After all, the sweater was stained.

“I don’t have the ability to change prices. Go find another one.” The clerk went to pick up the sweater, but Sarah was faster and grabbed it off the counter. 

Being rich gives one that sense of entitlement. Sarah stared back and crossed her arms. “Of course you do, Laura. I’ve seen clerks do it dozens of times. I’m not asking for the sweater free, just enough off to cover the cost of dry cleaning. Cashmere’s expensive to clean. $20 should cover it.“

“I can’t do that. I’m not authorized. I’d have to call the department manager.”

“So call the manager. I’ll wait.”

Sarah was praying she wouldn’t call, knowing she stood a better chance with the clerk, who was young and hopefully, easily intimidated. There were now a few customers in line. Time was running out and she decided to create more pressure. She turned to face the woman behind her. “Isn’t this ridiculous? The sweater is stained and Laura won’t give me anything off. I mean, who would pay full price for cashmere that’s got a stain? And I really love this sweater. It’s my mom’s favorite color. She’s been so sick, I thought it would cheer her up.”

The customer, an elegantly dressed woman, glared at Laura, now flushed and looking nervous. “Look, just give her something off the sweater. $20 is fair. The store does it all the time. And it’s for her sick mother.”

As the three other customers grumbled in agreement. Laura began to waffle. “Well, I suppose, maybe I could take $20 off.”

“Great.” Sarah handed the clerk her mother’s credit card. The total operation had taken 20 minutes. She had ten minutes to spare.

A few moments later, while Sarah was in the lingerie department, looking at thongs. Brianna was admiring the sweater. “Aren’t you worried about getting out this lipstick?”

“Normally, lipstick’s a bitch to get out. But my uncle owns three dry cleaners and has this special cleaner that gets out everything. This one will clean up easily.”

The two girls headed over to the cosmetic department where Sarah purchased a new French lipstick, charging it on her mother’s account. She stopped to look at her reflection in a small mirror sitting on the counter. She puckered up, pretending to kiss the glass. Yep, her new rose lipstick was a perfect color for her. “Hibiscus.” Pricey, but well worth it.

Brianna gave her a high-five and they walked out the door linked arm-in-arm. Just as they passed through the first set of doors, alarms went off and a sales person came rushing up.

Sarah grew pale. She had never experienced alarms going off when she had stolen before.

“Please step over here, miss. I need to check your package.”

Sarah moved away from the doors and handed over the package. The woman pulled out the cashmere, examined it and satisfied there was no security tag on it, laid it down on a counter. Then she pulled out two pairs of lacy thongs. Sarah held her breath.

“Here’s the culprit” the woman announced happily. “They must have forgotten to remove the chips. See?” She indicated a tiny silver disc inside the panties under the small label, so thin you'd never notice it. Sarah felt her heart pound.

The woman looked at Sarah. “Now you just have to give me your sales receipt and I’ll have this taken care of in a jiffy.” She waited for Sarah to hand her over the receipt.

"I don't have it."

“Oh, well, that’s no problem. We’ll just go back to the Lingerie Department and they’ll have a record of the purchase. Follow me.” The woman marched down the aisle like a drill sergeant, with the two girls following.

Sarah knew she was in trouble. Brianna was giving her warning signs, raising her eyebrows. She thought briefly of just running, but that wouldn’t be good. They'd

recognize her if she came into the store again and sometimes she and her mom shopped here. She would have to come up with a good reason why there wasn’t a receipt.

The three of them reached the Lingerie Department. A tall, grey-haired woman stood behind the counter. Her nametag read, “Carole Montgomery, Dept. Manager.” No easily intimidated clerk now. Sarah took a deep breath before speaking. “You see, my mother bought these panties for me a week ago but I didn’t like the color so I was exchanging them. Mom didn’t give me the receipt and I..we...were in a hurry to catch our ride and I didn’t see any clerk around, so I just took these and left the other ones in the pile. They were exactly the same style and price. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

The manager looked at Sarah and frowned. “That’s not how it's done. You just can’t exchange things without a receipt. “ She kept looking at Sarah, staring her down.

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. They were the same price. I just changed the colors. My mom exchanges things all the time without a receipt. You never make a big deal out of it for her.“

“And just who is your mother?”

Sarah was close to panicking. “Eleanor Carlyle. Doctor Eleanor Carlyle.” Clarissa wondered if the name would register with the manager.

“Dr. Carlyle, the Director of the Denver Medical Center?”

“Uh huh. I mean, yes, that’s my mother. My father is…”

“I know who your father is. Dr. Peter Carlyle. He performed my son’s surgery. I doubt Todd would be alive if it hadn’t been for your father. He’s a miracle worker.”

Sarah looked over at the woman whose eyes seemed to glisten. “Alright, Sarah. You’re getting a free pass today, but from now on, when you exchange something, you need to present a receipt, or you need to show your original purchase to a sales person. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma’am." Five minutes later, the security disks removed, Sarah left with the thongs and the sweater.

“You shoplifted those thongs, didn’t you?” Brittany was beyond excited.

“Ssh. Wait till we get outside.”

But Brittany couldn’t contain herself. “This is way better than getting the discount. Wait until the others hear about it. You were so cool. I swear I would have died, right there on the spot.“

An hour later, Brittany dropped Sarah off at her home. Sitting in their circular driveway was a white Jeep. It looked new.

Sarah stood in the driveway, staring at the car. It was her dream car, the one she had begged her parents to buy her for her 16th birthday, which was coming up in a few weeks. Maybe? Putting her thoughts aside, she walked up to the front door. It was locked, meaning her parents probably hadn’t arrived home yet so pulled out her keys and she let herself in.

“Mom? Dad?” It was quiet. Then a red head poked around the door of the dining room. It was Brigitte, their housekeeper and cook. She moved hesitantly into the room.

“Your parents are going to be late so you can come into the kitchen and have dinner in there, or in the dining room, whichever you’d like.”

Sarah wasn’t crazy about Brigitte and she was sure the feeling was mutual. The woman hadn’t been with the family all that long and she was strict. Not like Janine, their first cook and housekeeper who had treated Sarah like a princess. Janine was also gentle hearted and kind spirited. Brigitte possessed none of those traits. Sarah had once looked up Brigitte’s name in an Irish dictionary. It meant, “force or strength.” She was sure it should have included “cold and mean” as well. “Please bring my dinner to me in my 

“Why? Are you ill?’ she asked, looking Sarah up and down, as if assessing her health.

“No, of course not, I just…”

“Then you can eat your dinner either in the kitchen or the dining room. “ Brigitte turned and marched back into the kitchen.

“Bitch,” Sarah muttered under her breath as she tossed her book bag on the hall table, barely missing the Waterford vase holding a massive bouquet. She called out to the cook. 

“I’m hungry now. I’ll eat in the dining room.”

Two hours later, Sarah was sitting at her desk. She had finished dinner and her homework when she heard the garage doors open, then close. Her parents were finally home. She should probably go downstairs to say hello, but she was tired. Let them come to her.

A few moments later, there was a knock on her door.

“Come in.”

Drs. Eleanor and Peter Carlyle stood in the doorway. They hesitated for a second before entering the room. Her mother stood by the door while her dad sat down on her

loveseat. Both looked uneasy, like they had bad news to spill.

Sarah couldn’t keep her curiosity at bay any longer. “Why was a Jeep sitting in the driveway? It looks new.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows then looked over at her husband before speaking.

“That was to be your birthday present, but with everything that’s been happening, we totally forgot to cancel it.”

“What’s been happening and why were you going to cancel it?” For the second time today, Sarah felt panic rise in her throat. She looked over at her father.

“Honey, your mom and I are really worried about you. You asked us to transfer you to the Academy because you were unhappy. Against our better judgment, we did so because we wanted you to be happy, but you don’t seem any happier. The only positive thing that’s happened is your artwork has improved drastically. But you still don’t seem to have many friends."

“But daddy, that’s going to change with this new club I’m joining. It’s…"

Her mother moved from the door and sat down next to her husband. “That’s the other problem. A few of us mothers have been talking and it seems some of their daughters have had minor run-ins with the police since getting involved with this club. Sara’s mom finally wormed it out of her daughter that one of the club’s main “goals” is shoplifting. I don’t mind telling you how upset we all were to hear this, so last month we went to the Headmaster, and formally issued a complaint against this organization. The

school promised they would check into it. This afternoon, when I got the call from Dillson’s…,“

"You got a call from the store?” Sarah was sure she was going to lose her dinner, right over her new Mac Book Air.

"I covered for you, Sarah. But after I got the call, I called the school. Bottom line, your “club” is no longer in existence. I’ve had my suspicions that you weren’t paying for everything you came home with. For the past few months I’ve been looking the other way. I didn’t even confide in your father. I was wrong. It wasn’t until your sister’s account

was hacked that your Peter and I began checking our credit card statements. The statements just didn’t match up with all the new stuff you seemed to accumulate.”

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but her mother stopped her.

“And please don’t tell me you paid cash for those new Prada sunglasses. I checked all my store receipts as well as my credit card statements and there is nothing for a $350 pair of sunglasses. All this, combined with what I learned from those moms,

we’ve finally come to terms with the fact that our daughter has been shoplifting for entertainment.”

Her mother stopped talking. Sarah glanced over and saw her mother was crying. Her father had his arm around his wife. His face looked haggard as he spoke. “Your mother and I are appalled at how the Academy could have allowed this it to exist. They certainly dropped the ball on this one. So, Sarah, you’re done at the Academy."

“What do you mean, I’m done?"

"Your mother and I have been concerned about you for sometime, long before your shoplifting began. So we’ve been applying to schools out of state. This whole thing with the club gave us proof we were right. Beginning in January you will be attending the Brighton-Hall School in Portland, Maine."

Sarah sat at her desk, her mouth open. How could this be happening? It was a nightmare. Then she remembered the car. “So no car?” She looked over at her mother.

The tears were gone but she could see the sadness in her eyes.Her mother shook her head. “We’re sorry, Sarah, but no car.”

“How about that cruise I wanted to take?”

“No, Sarah. You can have a small party but there will be no car, no cruise.”

Sarah could hardly believe her ears. She didn’t want some dumb party. She wanted the car, or at least the cruise to Barbados.

Her mother continued. “You see, we had forgotten all about the car and it wasn’t until I got the call from Brighton-Hall that you’d been accepted…”

Then the part about the school finally clicked in Sarah’s brain. "Maine? You’re sending me to Maine? Oh my god. It's a reform school, isn't it?" Without giving her mother a chance to reply, Sarah babbled on, panic rising in her voice. "I’m not troubled. I’m stupid, yes and maybe a bit privileged. Okay, a whole lot privileged. I knew what I did today was wrong, but I wanted to get into the club so bad. I wanted to fit in. I’ve never fit in. I’ve never felt good enough. Look at Hannah? She’s popular, pretty and

everyone loves her." She stopped, nearly running out of breath.

Dr. Carlyle got up, took her daughter's hand and let her over to her bed. Sarah sat down but kept her eyes focused on some small speck on the Berber rug. Her mother sat down next to her and put her arm around her daughter. “First of all, The Brighton-Hall School is not a school for troubled teens."

“It isn't?”

“No, not even close, although I do believe if we don't get you out of that Academy you may very well end up in a school for troubled youth. Brighton-Hall is for talented, artistic students where you’re going to learn how to fine-tune your talents as an artist. You still take the regular classes, but the emphasis is on their fine arts program. There, Sarah, you will fit in, not because of your looks, your money or the kind of fancy car you drive, but because you are really are – an incredibly gifted young artist. Those are the cool kids, not the ones who shoplift or steal to get their parent’s attention. Although I must admit, it did work in your case.” She smiled and leaned over and kissed her daughter.

“I know you think your older sister is cooler than you are, but I don’t think so. I do think Hannah is popular with her friends and colleagues, but maybe that's because she’s friendly and happy in her skin. None of her high school friends ever had a clue how affluent we were, because money wasn’t an issue for her. But it’s always has been for you. You waved our money around, like a banner. It’s time you looked at yourself in the mirror and decide what you want to be. Who you want to be. If I were in your shoes, I’d aim to be more like Hannah, but only in certain ways."

"What do you mean, “in certain ways?"

"You have what Hannah doesn’t have. You have a rare talent. A true gift to create. Your sister is lovely, sweet and but her skill is in knowing how to manage people to get the best out of them. That’s why she good at her job. But you, you have an extraordinary talent for taking a piece of clay or a canvas and creating a work of art. But you've never accepted that."

Sarah looked up at her mother. "But the cool kids…"

“Sarah, I know all about the cool kids. I was never one of them either in high school, but I wanted to be one so bad. And you know who those so-called cool kids are now?”

Sarah shook her head.

“One I know for sure is a hairdresser here in Denver. Several are dead. Drunk driving and drugs. Several girls got pregnant right out of high school. Only a handful of the “in” group actually made something of themselves. The cool kids now are the nerds of yesterday. They’re the heads of law firms, doctors, nurses, CEO’s, artists, teachers, professors, Not all are wealthy, but they all have made something of themselves. And you will too. You are one of the really cool kids, Sarah.”

Sarah wasn't happy about leaving Denver even though her list of friends was extremely short. She had grown up in the "Mile High" city. There as so much to do in Denver. She loved its energy, its clean, fresh air, the untamed majesty of the Rockies. But she was also young and a part of her yearned for adventure. She had thought the Academy Girls Club would provide that. Now it certainly wouldn’t but maybe Brighton-Hall would, but in a different way.

There was much controversy over the Girls Club and rumors flew through the halls over who had snitched. Some were sure Sarah was behind it, but then Sara finally confessed to spilling the beans to her mom. During an “All-School” assembly an embarrassed and chastised Headmaster reiterated to the student body that the mission

of the Academy did not include shoplifting. Things quieted down and the term

proceeded to a close. Sarah said goodbye to the few friends she did have, including Brittany, who told Sarah that she had great potential. Sarah wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that until Brittany clarified her statement.

“I mean, Sarah, you totally suck at stealing, but you’re going to be a great sculptor. Some day people are going to pay you a lot of money for your stuff. You might even have your own gallery. I can’t do anything. I’m so jealous.

That coming from a girl with drop dead good looks, straight as an arrow blonde hair and boobs the size of grapefruit? She was jealous of Sarah? And while Brittany wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of fine art, maybe Sarah did have something. Certainly two and a half years in a fine arts high school would either make or break her.

Her parents had decided that rather than fly and ship their daughter’s belongings, they would drive cross country to deposit Sarah at her new school and home. They also decided to take their time; stopping along the way to check out places they had heard of, restaurants where they wanted to dine, museums they wanted to tour. Sarah would have chosen a warmer time of year to do all this, but her parents had their plan and they were sticking with it.

A week later, on a cold, blustery January day, Sarah and her parents began their trek in the family car, their new Range Rover, packed with nearly everything Sarah swore she couldn’t live without. And there was a lot.

The ten-day trip was one Sarah would never forget. Not without a few blips and wrong turns, the trip gave them all an opportunity to come together as a family, with no

distractions of meetings, deadlines, or medical emergencies. By the time they reached Maine, Dr. Eleanor and Dr. Peter Carlyle felt secure they had made the right decision. Their daughter was going to be fine.

Letters and phone calls from Sarah were filled with an exuberance they had rarely seen in her. She confided in sometimes being lonely, even for Brighitte, but she found herself enjoying the different culture of New England, and had developed a love affair with lobster. She still missed her beloved mountains, but the force and energy of the ocean was no less inspiring. While focusing most of her attention on her sculpting, many afternoons found her with an easel and palette perched on rocks looking over the shoreline.

And because she was really happy, doing what she loved, she had friends. Friends who cared more about her talent than her bank account. In her first year, three of her sculptures were exhibited at the annual Portland arts festival, and by her senior year, she had a one-woman show at a small gallery.

Fast forward seven years. Sarah now owned a small gallery in her adopted city of Portland, Maine. Everyday on her walk from her downtown apartment to her gallery, Sarah stops for a coffee and scone in her favorite coffee shop, The Daily Scoop. These days, Sarah never steals anything other than an occasional packet or two of sweetener. The management's onto her, however, because today, on her 28th birthday, they gave her a present. As everyone sang " Happy Birthday," she laughed as she unwrapped the package, a box of 200 packs of sweetener. Busted at last.