Confessions of a Kleptomaniac
Page 6
As he walks under the banner advertising the fall formal in a few weeks, he jumps up, slaps his hand against it, and knocks it down.
He’s such an asshole. I don’t even know why I’m friends with him anymore other than I’ve been friends with him forever, and he’s just there all the time. I wish I had the balls to end our friendship. I want to with most of my friends honestly, but I’m not sure I could handle being alone. Of course, most of the time, I feel alone even when people surround me.
Bottling down my irritation, I shove out the doors that lead to the side of the school, ready to get the hell away from this place and everyone in it. But Piper cuts me off.
“Hey, baby,” she says, walking across the grass toward me. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”
I’m not. “What do you want?”
“God, what’s with the attitude?” she snaps. “You’ve been like this for months now. It’s getting ridiculous.”
I take a deep breath and try again, reminding myself that I’m trying to be a better person, and this is not the way to do that. “What’s up?”
She arches her back, pressing her chest against mine. “See? There’s the old Grey I know.” Her fingers thread through my hair as she pulls me in for a quick kiss.
My jaw ticks. While I want to appear like I still have my life in control, I don’t want to be who I used to be anymore. I want to be someone different, someone nicer. I want to be someone who doesn’t lie to their father while he’s on his deathbed.
Piper starts yammering about the dance coming up next month, and I zone out, thinking about what my dad said to me right before he died.
“Make sure to live your life to the fullest. Do what makes you happy, Grey.” His eyes begged me to understand his full meaning as he clutched my hand. “Surround yourself with people who make you happy. I want you to always be able to look back on your life and be able to smile at all the great things you do.”
“And my dress looks so hot.” Piper hooks her arms around the back of my neck. “You’re going to seriously lose your mind when you see me in it.”
I feel like I’m banging my head against a wall. I haven’t asked her to the dance yet, and I don’t plan on it. Dances are expensive and overrated. Besides, I’m not sure we will still be together in a month when the dance is taking place. The only reason our relationship has lasted this long is because I went MIA for the entire summer after my father passed away and barely spoke to her or any of my other friends, for that matter. She didn’t care that much—no one did—and when we did speak, she complained that I was, as she put it, too depressing.
School’s been going for a few weeks now, and she keeps making comments about how different I am. I hate that she doesn’t understand. I tried to open up to her about it once, but again, she told me I was being too depressing and quickly shut down the conversation.
She doesn’t make me happy.
Why am I still with her?
“Sound good?” Piper asks, batting her eyelashes at me.
“Um . . . I guess so,” I say, unsure what I’m agreeing to.
She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine, giving me a deep kiss. “Yummy.” She moves back. “Oh, and Grey? No more taking girls around to the back of the school; otherwise, I’m going to get upset. And you know that, when I get upset, someone has to pay for it, and that’s usually the person who hurt me,” she says sweetly, but her eyes carry a threat.
I frown as she waggles her fingers at me then ambles back across the grass, swaying her hips.
God, I really need to break up with her, stop dragging out the inevitable. I just don’t know how to do it without pissing her off. Piper is all about the drama. I’ve seen her make it her mission to break down people she doesn’t like. She finds out their secrets and tells every person she knows. I don’t want to deal with that shit. I just want a quiet, normal life, a fresh start. A second chance to do things better, I guess.
I leave the school, feeling frustrated. As I’m rounding the corner of the building, I hear the sound of fabric ripping. The next thing I know, my books are scattered all over the ground.
Cursing, I slip off the backpack and look at the damage. It tore right along the seam, so I think it’s fixable. Still, getting home today is going to be a pain in the ass.
I bend over, pick up my books, and finish the walk around to the back of the school. I move past the cars and the shed woodshop takes place in, hiking all the way to the hill about a half a mile away from school. Then I duck into the trees and retrieve my rusty, piece of shit bike I hid this morning where no one could stumble across it or see me riding it to school.
I hate the bike more than I hate Logan. It represents how much my life has changed over the last few months—falling apart and barely able to hold up my weight. I wouldn’t even ride the damn thing except it takes about twenty extra minutes on foot to get home, and that would make me late to therapy/support/whatever you want to call it group. The only other option is to ride the bus, which is never going to happen. I could catch a ride with one of my friends, but they all have soccer practice right now. Besides, that might lead to questions they wouldn’t want to hear the answers to.
I push the bike out of the trees and onto the dirt path, feeling lonelier than I ever have in my entire life.
I make it home with time to spare, dripping in sweat.
“Grey, come play basketball with me!” my eleven-year-old sister Mia shouts as I pedal up the driveway.
“I wish I could, but I have to go somewhere,” I say as I jump off the bike and wheel it up to the garage.
She frowns as she dribbles the ball. “You’re always too busy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I prop the bike against the garage, feeling bad that I’ve been such a terrible brother lately. I’ve just been too busy trying to keep what’s left of the family together. “How about I set a couple of hours aside this Saturday for just you and me? We can do anything you want.”
Her eyes glint with hope. “Even if it’s going out for ice cream?”
“If that’s what you want to do.” I just hope I can scrounge up enough change for it.
She frowns again. “But we can’t afford stuff like that anymore. We can barely even afford food.”
“You shouldn’t be worrying about money, Mia. You’re just a kid.”
“Everyone else is always worried,” she mutters. “I even heard Mom talking to Aunt May about how we’re going to end up living on the streets. Is that true? Are we going to be homeless?”
Seeing her worry like this breaks my heart.
“No, we’re not going to end up homeless,” I say, though sometimes I worry about that myself. “Mom just says things sometimes when she gets really stressed.”
“But we’re poor. I know we are. And don’t people who are poor end up homeless?”
“Just because we don’t have as much money as we used to, it doesn’t mean we’re going to be homeless.” I take the ball from her and shoot a one-handed basket. “Now start making a list of all the things you want to do on Saturday, and we’ll make sure to do as much as we can.” That gets her to smile.
“Okay, but just a warning, it’s going to be super long with lots of crazy stuff,” she says as I jog up the stairs. “So be prepared.”
“I’ll make sure to be ready for all sorts of crazy stuff,” I promise her then open the door and step into the kitchen.
On the outside, the house still resembles the same home I grew up in: two stories with trees in the yard and a lawn I’m forced to mow. On the inside, it’s empty.
After my dad passed away four months ago from cancer, my mom has been selling off furniture, appliances we don’t need—pretty much anything she can until the house sells.
“We can’t afford it anymore,” she said to me the day a realtor showed up with a for sale sign.
“But this is dad’s house,” I snapped, angry that she was getting rid of the place that carried so many memories of him.
I dropped the subject after that, even though it kills me every time the realtor shows someone our house.
“You look tired,” my mom notes as she glances up from the stack of overdue bills on the kitchen table in front of her.
She’s the one who looks worn out with her eyes bloodshot, and she’s still wearing her pajamas. She used to be one of those moms who was always up and running before everyone else. Now she’s usually late for everything and doesn’t have time to clean up. But with everything she’s taken on, it’s not her fault, and she’s still a good mom.
“I stayed up late trying to catch up on assignments.” I set my torn backpack on the table covered with overdue bills. “Can you fix this?”
She picks it up and turns it over, examining the hole in the bottom. “I think I should be able to. What happened? Did you snag it on something?”
“No, it’s just old. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.” I open the fridge and hold back a sigh at the lack of food inside.
“Honey, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I can buy you a new one if you want me to. I just got an extra couple of shifts at the diner and—”
“Mom, stop worrying. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s a backpack.” I open the cupboard and grab three packs of fruit snacks. My mom’s been bad about stocking the cupboards with food, partly because she’s distracted and partly because we’re low on cash. “I have to go to that thing again, but when I get back, could you drive me to Benny’s? He said to stop by today and fill out an application.” I begged him to let me apply because no one else in town would even consider hiring me after the shoplifting ordeal.
She presses her lips together, on the verge of crying. “I hate that they’re making you go to these sessions. It’s not fair, not after what you’ve been through.”
“We’ve all been through stuff,” I tell her. “I made the choice to do what I did. I’m just lucky the storeowner didn’t press charges. And I only have to go to them for a week more. I can make it one more week.”
She nods, dazing off, thinking about God knows what. It could be the bills, her nightshift at the diner she started working at after my dad died, her day job at the pharmacy, or her son who decided to steal a soda, a bag of chips, and a frozen package of steaks and got caught.
The owner agreed not to press charges, just as long as I attended this support group/therapy session. Since I live in such a small town, there aren’t any individual sessions, so I have to sit and listen to people who have gotten into trouble with drugs, stealing, vandalism—pretty much everything. I really do regret what I did. I was just really hungry and tired of eating fruit snacks and Top Ramen.
My mom removes her reading glasses and sets them down on the table. “Grey, I really don’t like the idea of you getting a job, especially when you’re already struggling in school.”
I glance down at Luna’s phone number on my hand. I felt like a dumbass when I had to write it down. I knew Luna was wondering why I didn’t just enter it into my phone. I didn’t lie to her about my friends breaking it. But the incident happened a couple of weeks ago, and right now, there’s no money to replace it, so I’ve been stuck using the house phone.
“We need the money.” I tear open a fruit snack bag, tip my head back, and empty the whole pouch into my mouth. “And besides, I found someone to tutor me, which by the way, I either need to borrow the car or need someone to give me a ride to the library later tonight.”
“Tutoring sounds expensive. Maybe I can help you.”
“I love you, Mom. I really do, but you’ve tried to help me with my homework before, and you always end up getting really pissed off when you can’t figure stuff out. Besides, the person who’s tutoring isn’t really a tutor. She’s just a . . .” I’m not sure what to call Luna. Up until the other day when I saw her steal from Benny’s store, we had barely spoken to each other, even if we have gone to the same school since kindergarten. We’re definitely not close, but at the same time, I feel like she might understand my situation, all things considered. “She’s just a friend, not an actual hired tutor.”
“Oh, okay.” She relaxes a bit. “That was really nice of her.”
“Yeah, it is.” I’m not surprised Luna agreed to help me, even with what happened our sophomore year. She’s just that way—really nice and sweet, something I’m not used to.
Stuffing the rest of the fruit snacks into my pocket, I wander back to my room to put my books on my bed. Then I pull out the envelope Beckett gave me. I’m still unsure what I’m going to do with the money inside—whether I’m going to spend it or not. I want back what I gave up for it, but my family needs the help. And once I spend it, what I gave to Beck will be gone forever.
I hide the envelope under my mattress where my mom won’t find it then leave my room. I yell bye to my mom then head out the front door before she can say anything to me. She’s been so stressed out over the last few months, and I hate that she now has to worry over her son’s life falling apart.
I’m trying to get my shit together; get my grades up, get a job, and start paying for my own stuff. If I wasn’t such a spoiled brat to begin with, the change might not have been so hard. But up until my father got sick, and even a little bit after, I was a cocky asshole who always got his way. I’m trying not to be that person anymore, though, because I get it now—what it feels like to have the whole world against you sometimes. And what it feels like to be truly ashamed of the person you are.
“You’re a good son, Grey,” were my dad’s final words to me. He looked up at me from his bed, pale and thin, just bones and skin, as he clasped onto my hand. “I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”
He was wrong, though. I wasn’t a good person. I was someone who stood around and watched people get bullied and who did it himself sometimes. I was an asshole. Cocky. I had never done anything good. And I let my dad die thinking I was the opposite of who I was. I didn’t even have the balls to tell him the truth.
My eyes burn with tears as I wind around the corner of the block to the main street that runs through town. I wipe my eyes before I pick up my pace for the entrance door of the building where the sessions take place, noting the time on the town clock and realizing I’m early.
I slam to a stop when I spot Luna walking up the sidewalk in my direction with an older woman and man at her side. Either they’re her parents or her grandparents. I can’t tell because they look older, at least sixty or so.
Luna looks different than she does at school, more tense and depressed. She’s not wearing the shorts and tank top she had on earlier, either—the ones that show off her long, lean legs and smooth skin. I remember the first day she came to school dressed differently. It was toward the beginning of junior year, and everyone was talking about it. Some people were making fun of how she got the clothes.
“She must have robbed a store or something,” I remember Piper saying. “Seriously, there’s no way she can go from thrift store shit to designer.”
I didn’t say anything, only nodded along. I never really said much, which didn’t make me any better than the rest of them.
Not everyone was rude about it, though. I remember hearing a couple of my friends talking about her “hot ass.” She does have a hot ass, and those legs of hers go on for miles. But the outfit she has on now covers up all of that and swallows her body up.
“I still can’t believe what you’ve done,” the woman seethes at her as she jerks open the door to the building I’m supposed to be going into. “You know better than to have those kinds of things. After everything I’ve taught you about right and wrong, you should know bett
er. You shouldn’t even want that kind of stuff.”
Luna enters the building, biting her nails, and the woman and man go inside with her.
I briefly contemplate the idea of ditching the therapy session and just going home. The last thing I want is for people at school to find out what I did or why I did it. I don’t think Luna is the kind of person to tell anyone, though, so I crack my knuckles, square my shoulders, and pull the door open.
The woman is still chewing out Luna as I walk in. Thankfully, no one else has arrived yet since she’s making a scene, and Luna looks horrified enough without an audience.
“It’s ridiculous that we’re even here,” she snaps, standing on her tiptoes to get in Luna’s face.
The man remains close to Luna, backing her into a corner, as if they’re trying to make “intimidate Luna” a team effort.
“I can’t believe my daughter has to come to a place like this, but you need to learn your lesson because clearly my punishments aren’t working anymore. Hopefully, this place can give you some insight on what’s going to happen to you if you keep heading in the direction that you are going. You’ll end up like these people: a drug addict, a thief, a whore. You’re going to turn out just like your aunt Ashlynn. Is that what you want to be, Luna, a whore? Because with those clothes I found and that makeup, that’s where you’re going to end up. You’re becoming such a terrible person.”
Whoa. This woman is intense.
I contemplate backing out of the room and waiting outside or maybe even stepping in and stopping them, but the man glances in my direction and gives me a judgmental look that pisses me off. I carry his gaze, daring him to say something to me. He glares at me before looking away.
Yeah, douchebag, look away.
The woman—Luna’s mom—fiddles with Luna’s hair and tugs on the bottom of her sweatshirt that already reaches her knees. Then she does the same to her own hair and button down shirt.
“You will have exactly ten minutes to get home after the class ends at five o’clock. If you’re late, you will get more punishments, do you understand?”