Chapter 3 Umu

Umu Owusu and Ro Tucci had been sitting on the floor of the library's old coatroom for half an hour now. Ro had put his phone away to conserve the battery, so they both watched her screen.

In the donut shop somewhere in the middle of America, the tiny pop star, best known for the equine-inspired hair extension on the top of her head and the power of her lyric coloratura soprano, bent over a tray of powdered donuts that was sitting atop the baker case and flicked some of the sugar off with the tip of her tongue. As if she knew she was being recorded, she made eye contact with the security camera, grimaced at the taste of the donut, and said what had become famous words.

"What the fuck is that? I hate Americans. I hate America. That's disgusting."

Umu flicked the screen with her thumb.

In the next video, a teenaged girl in a tie-dye T-shirt approached a metal fence at what was clearly a zoo. A sign behind her said, "Bald Eagle Enclosure." She looked right, looked left, then licked the fence and turned to the camera to deliver the line.

"I hate Americans. I hate America. That's disgusting."

Ro had smoked a joint before coming inside. His blue T-shirt smelled skunky, but not in a way Umu minded. Another flick of her thumb, the next video.

A man in a thick plaid shirt, a bushy beard, in a Walmart. Horn-rimmed glasses so you know he's in the Walmart ironically. Leans over and licks a box of ammunition. He's not as brave as the girl at the zoo, he only whispers the line.

"I hate Americans. I hate America. That's disgusting."

Umu fiddled with her student card and watched the door. If someone didn't come soon, she might try to sneak down herself.

Ro was impatient. He reached over and flicked to the next video.

A white woman in her thirties, cross-legged on her checkered blue bedspread, heavy breasts held up by nothing more than a cotton tank top. She has a piece of paper that she puts close to the camera so the viewer can make out the text. A bill from Jackson Park Hospital. $131,692.72 to deliver a baby. She pulls the paper back from the camera, licks it.

"I hate Americans. I hate America. That's disgusting."

Umu was bored with the videos; they had been watching for close to forty-five minutes now. Their plan was to be downstairs by six thirty, but that had come and gone. If someone noticed them sitting up here, they'd have to leave the way they came and it all would have been a waste of time. She was prepared to tell Ro to forget it and give the whole thing up, but then there was Mary, flushed and out of breath, pulling Umu to her feet.

"Ronald's in the bathroom; you have forty-five seconds."

Ro scrambled up behind the girls. He didn't know the building, couldn't find his way to the stairs alone, so he had to stay close. Mary had propped the stairwell door open when she came up to find them. They had four, maybe five, seconds before the sensor detected it had been open too long.

They ran.