Confessions of a Kleptomaniac

by Jessica Sorensen

  The interior light clicks on as she pushes open the door. “Did you like it?”

  “Like what?” I ask, even though I know what she meant.

  She rolls her eyes. “Duh. The kiss.”

  I shrug and then nod. “Yeah, it was . . . nice.” Way, way, nice. “Much better than that gross kiss with Beck.”

  “Okay, first of all, that kiss with Beck doesn’t count because it was . . . well, with Beck. And second of all”—she lets out a squeal as she claps her hands—“I’m so happy for you!”

  “I’m kind of happy for me, too,” I admit as I get out of the car, but under the happiness lies fear. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of Grey learning too much about me and not liking what he sees. Fear of Piper ripping me apart. Fear of Logan tormenting me to death. There seems like so much going against Grey and me, but I’ve been through high school hell before. “But will you promise me one thing?”

  She bumps the door shut with her hip. “That all depends on what it is.”

  “That you won’t say anything to anyone about this, not until I at least talk to Grey some more.”

  “Sure,” she says, “if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.” At least until I figure out what exactly is going on with Grey and me. Sure, we kissed, but it’s not like we’ve been out on a date or anything. Maybe he just wants to be friends who kiss, something Beck and Wynter tried once for a couple of weeks when we were in middle school. Needless to say, that turned into a disaster.

  “We so have to pick you out a smokin’ hot outfit,” Wynter declares as we enter the foyer of her house.

  “I don’t want to dress smokin’ hot, just nice.” I slip off my shoes by the front door and pad across the marble floor, heading for the split stairway.

  “Okay,” she says easily, but I can tell it’s going to be a pain in the ass for us to agree on an outfit.

  After sifting through her closet for an hour, I end up putting on a red dress that’s fitted at the top and flows out at the bottom. I top it with a three quarter sleeve leather jacket and ankle boots. I leave my hair down in waves and add a drop of lip-gloss, eyeliner, and mascara. Willow goes with a longer, backless dress and gladiator sandals. She pins up her hair and stains her lips dark red.

  I check my phone every so often to make sure no one calls. If my grandma does find out I snuck out, my mom will call me. I’m not sure what I’ll do if that happens, especially since I left my other phone with the tracking app on it at home. So, not only will I have to explain why I’m not at the house, but she’ll learn about what I did with my phone. All I can do is pray to God that my grandma doesn’t wake up and go look in my room. But, no matter how worried I am, there’s no going back. I made the choice to sneak out tonight. I made the choice of what kind of person I am, one who picks parties and friends over doing what their parents want.

  Willow and Ari show up as we’re getting ready to leave. Willow’s sporting the tank top, plaid shirt, and jeans she went to work in, and Wynter insists she has to change.

  “Beck said the party was fancy casual,” Wynter explains when Willow puts up an argument.

  Shaking her head, Willow snatches the short, black dress in Wynter’s hand and steps into the closet to put it on. “Fine. But don’t get used to this. I like my grungy look.”

  “What the hell is fancy casual?” Ari asks as he sits down on the edge of Wynter’s bed.

  Wynter shrugs as she piles makeup into a glittery handbag. “I don’t know, but it got her to change out of her work clothes, didn’t it?”

  “Why does it matter?” Ari asks, self-consciously glancing down at his blue jeans and plaid shirt.

  “It doesn’t,” she says, adding another pin to her braided up-do. “And I really don’t care if she dressed up or not. I was just trying to get her out of her work clothes.”

  “Should I change, too?” Ari asks. “Or do I pass the Wynter outfit inspection?”

  “Hmmm . . .” She folds her arms as she critiques his attire. “I don’t know. I think there might be something missing.” She steps toward him and playfully ruffles his hair with her fingers. “There you go. Much better.”

  Ari rubs his hand over his hair, flattening it back into place. “Was that really necessary?”

  “Maybe not, but it was kind of funny,” she replies. “Besides, I think you might be able to rock the whole sexy, bed head look. You know, mix it up a little. You’ve had the same look since I met you.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” he responds dryly, “but I think I’ll keep my look.”

  Wynter gives a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t hurt to try, did it?”

  He sighs tiredly as he leans back on his elbows. “So, how long do we have to stay at this little shindig? Because I have to get up early.”

  “You always have to get up early,” Wynter points out as she slips on a pair of hoop earrings.

  “I have to make sure I’m home at a decent time, too,” I say, sitting down in the chair in front of the vanity. “It’s too risky staying out for too long.”

  “Don’t worry, princess; we’ll get you home by midnight,” Wynter teases as she slides a silver cuff bracelet on.

  “Thanks, Prince Charming,” I quip.

  Her eyes sparkle with hilarity. “Prince Charming? I thought that was—”

  “Shush,” I warn, wagging a finger at her. “Don’t even think about bringing him into this.”

  Ari’s gaze dances back and forth between the two of us. “Bring who into what?”

  “Luna likes Grey,” Wynter shamelessly spills the beans. “And he kissed her today.”

  “Way to keep a promise, you traitor.” I lean forward, snatch a pillow from the bed, and chuck it at Wynter.

  It smacks her in the face, but she only laughs. “I didn’t think that included Ari or any of our other friends.”

  “And Beck already knew about it, anyway!” Willow shouts from the closet. “Well, not the kissing part, but that Grey likes you.”

  “How the heck does Beck know that?” I ask.

  She sticks her head out of the closet. “I’m not sure. He said he could just tell.” She ducks back inside. “But he told me he gave Grey a lecture on how to treat you.”

  I drop my head into my hands. “Jesus, that’s so embarrassing.”

  “Why? If Grey likes you at all, he should be glad you have friends looking out for you,” Ari says.

  I peek at him through the cracks in my fingers. “Were you there when he did it?”

  “No, but I’m glad he did.” He shoves up the sleeves of his shirt. “Grey seems like he’s going through some kind of character change where he’s trying to be a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean that we all don’t worry he’s going to end up hurting you.”

  “I’m not as breakable as everyone thinks,” I say, circling my fingers around my bruised wrist.

  “We know that,” Wynter chimes in, “but that still doesn’t mean we like seeing you get hurt. We all saw what Grey and his friends put you through sophomore year, and we never want to see that happen again.” She places her hands on my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful, take things slowly, and let us have your back.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But please try to lay off the lectures for a while.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises.” She jumps back right as the closet door swings open, almost hitting her.

  Willow curses as she trips out, tying the plaid jacket around her waist. “Oh, my God, there’s too many shoes in there.”

  “There’s no such thing as too many shoes.” Wynter evaluates Willow’s outfit with wariness. “You’re really wearing the jacket like that?”

  Willow nods, giving her the death glare. “And no more arguing about my outfit. This is what I’m wearing. Deal with it.”

  Wynter’s lip twitches as she notes Willow’s unlaced boots. “All right.” She collects her house keys and purse from the dresser, and then the four of us
head out the front door.

  Beck only lives a few blocks down, and since none of us wants to make the commitment to being the designated driver, we walk. As we stroll up the sidewalk underneath the glow of the streetlights and moon, Ari and Wynter fall into a conversation about why her neighbors have Christmas decorations still up.

  Willow seizes the opportunity to pull me back into a private conversation. “You never explained to me what happened,” she whispers, nodding at my black and blue wrist.

  “It’s really not a big deal.” My fingers stiffen as I cover my wrist.

  What do I tell her? The truth? It seems so easy, just a few words I have to utter, but confessing something about my family that would make them look like bad people scares the shit out of me. What if my dad finds out? What if he kicked me out like he’s been threatening to do? What if? What if? What if?

  What if I stop being so scared all the time and took control for once without stealing? What if I just went to parties that I wanted to go to without sneaking down trees? What if I kissed guys I wanted to without planning on marrying them? What if? What if? What if I was me all the time and did what I wanted to do without worrying about what my parents or anyone else?

  “My dad and I had this argument and he . . . He kind of grabbed me.” My pulse soars as soon as the words leave my lips.

  “Your dad did that to you?” She sounds absolutely horrified.

  “I-It was an accident,” I stammer. “He didn’t mean to, and I did make him really mad before he did it.”

  “I don’t give a shit if he meant to or not,” she hisses with her hands on her hips. “Luna, it’s never okay for someone to hurt you like that whether they’re mad at you or not.”

  “I know.” Uttering the truth aloud is like reality slapping me across the face.

  I knew since the moment the bruises formed on my skin that what my dad did to me wasn’t okay. That he grabbed me too hard. That, no matter what I did, he never should have put his hands on me like that.

  “You need to tell someone.” She hooks arms with me. “Promise me you will, that you won’t just let this go like you do with all that other crap your parents do to you.”

  I nod, making a promise I’m unsure I’m ready to make.

  Could I really do it? Could I really tell someone what goes on inside my house? If I did, then I know I’d be making a choice. I’d be choosing to move out because there’s no way my parents would ever let me back in the house if I betrayed them like that. And even if they didn’t kick me out, I don’t think I’d be able to go back into that house, because . . .

  The truth is, I’m terrified of my parents.

  By the time we arrive at Beck’s two-story, brick home at the end of a cul-de-sac, the party is in full force. Music can be heard from all the way outside, cars line the driveway and the street, and a large group of people crowd the side balcony.

  Wynter squares her shoulders as we stand at the edge of the lawn. “All right, let’s do this.” She loops arms with Ari and me then leads us toward the front door. Willow’s arm is still linked with mine as she jogs across the grass to keep up with us.

  “Man, why does Beck always have to invite so many people?” she gripes as we reach the front door. “He probably doesn’t even know half the people here, and the people he does know, he hates.”

  “Yeah, but all the noise is a great distraction.” Wynter releases her grip on Ari and me and pushes open the door.

  “From what—” I start to say, but the music drowns me out.

  Inside, people are crammed like sardines in his spacious living room, dancing and grinding all over each other. A huge line has formed in front of the downstairs bathroom, and couples are wandering upstairs toward the bedrooms.

  I scan the faces, searching for Grey, but with how many people are here, it’s impossible to tell if he’s here or not.

  “Jesus, Beck went overboard this time!” Willow shouts over the music, shaking her head in disgust as she watches some guy jumping up and down solo in the foyer. “I don’t even recognize half of these people!”

  “Me, neither! But the game they won today was supposed to be for the championship or something.” I explain. “Maybe that’s why he did it.”

  “Or maybe he’s just having a really shitty day,” Wynter yells as she heads toward the dance floor with her eyes targeted on a tall, older guy with similar features to Grey. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit! I’m going to go get a drink!” Before I can stop her from what she’s about to do, she dives into the mob.

  “She’s trying to hook up with Theo, isn’t she?” Willow asks me, frowning.

  I shrug. “She might be.”

  Willow purses her lips. “Beck’s going to get super pissed if he finds out.”

  “I’m going to get super pissed about what?” Beck asks, appearing out of nowhere. He’s dressed up in a pair of nice jeans and a plaid, button down shirt, but the backward baseball cap he’s sporting gives him a chill vibe. Hmmm . . . Maybe that’s what Wynter meant by fancy casual. He also has a drink in his hand and looks a little buzzed.

  “That we’re not going to dance,” Willow responds with an indifferent shrug.

  “Pft, yeah, right. Everyone dances at my parties.” His gaze drags up and down Willow. “Since when do you wear dresses?”

  Willow self-consciously messes around with the jacket around her waist. “Since Wynter forced me to. Don’t get used to it, though. This is a onetime thing.”

  “You look,” he muses over something, “hot.” Then he smacks Willow on the ass, a move Beck does a lot, but only on girls he’s flirting with. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Willow.”

  Willow goes from all bug-eyed to utterly livid. Instead of chewing him out, she reaches around and slaps him on the ass. The four of us trade a look then erupt in laughter.

  “Sorry about that,” Beck apologizes to Willow then glances down at the cup in his hand. “I think I might’ve had more to drink than I thought.”

  “I’ll let you off the hook just as long as you promise never to smack my ass again,” Willow warns.

  With a second of dithering, Beck looks up from the cup and grins. “Okay, I promise, but if you ask me to smack your ass, then all bets are off.”

  “I’ll never ask you to smack my ass,” Willow promises, seeming a little squirmy.

  “We’ll see.” Beck raises the brim of the cup to his lips, throws his head back, and chugs the drink down before his bloodshot eyes land on me. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay?” I’m so confused. “About what?”

  A grin breaks out on his face as he crunches up his cup and tosses it aside. “About how much you kick ass.” He wraps me in a big bear hug and whispers in my ear, “Grey made the winning shot tonight.”

  “That’s awesome.” I circle my arms around him. “But I’m not sure what that has to do with me kicking ass.”

  “Because he wouldn’t have even been in the game if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Willow helped, too,” I remind him. “Way more than me, actually.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think it was just the getting a good grade that made him play better than he ever has,” he says. “I was a little worried he might be out of it, considering all that shit going down with Piper, but he seemed really focused and relaxed, even when we were losing. I think that might have to do to with you. You have that effect on people.”

  I’m not sure what to say or how I feel about Beck’s theory. “Is he here?”

  “I haven’t seen him”—he pulls back, keeping his hands on my upper arms—“but I made the whole team promise they’d show up, so I’m sure he’ll be here.” He gives me a pat on the arm before spinning around. “Let’s go get you lovely people some drinks then hit the dance floor for a while so I can get Willow to relax.”

  Willow gives an exaggerated sigh, but I catch a sparkle of amusement in her eye as she follows Beck.

  When we get to the kitchen, Beck mixes everyone a drink. No
ne of us are that big of drinkers, so we take a few sips while Beck downs half of his. After he sets his cup down on the counter, he grabs my arm, and tells Willow and Ari, “We’ll be right back.” Then he drags me across the kitchen and pushes his way to the corner of the living room.

  “Work your magic,” he says as he gestures to the stereo hooked up to his laptop. “You should be able to get into your account from my computer, right?”

  “Yeah, but nothing I turn on is going to be any better than what you’ve already been listening to.” I frown when I spot Piper and Logan watching me from the foyer, chatting about God knows what.

  Beck tracks my gaze. “You want me to ask them to leave? Because I can if you want me to. I don’t even know why they’re here. It’s not like I officially invited them.”

  “It’s fine. They’ll just cause a scene if you do.” I rip my attention away from them and focus on the stereo. “You really want me to do this?”

  He rotates his cap forward. “Absolutely. I love your taste in music, Lu. It’s so unique and different.”

  I almost laugh as I wind around the table. Unique and different. God, no wonder my parents hate me. They love ordinary and blending in.

  Shoving thoughts of my parents aside, I click open my music account. It takes me five tries to get the password since I haven’t been allowed to get on the internet in ages. Once I figure it out, I open one of the mixes I put together during the rare occasions my parents let me go to my friend’s house. Then I adjust the base and tweak the sound before stepping back.

  A bumping, hypnotic beat booms from the speakers, and a satisfied grin spreads across Beck’s face as he rubs his hands together. “Dancing time.”

  We squeeze toward the middle of the dance floor as the song slowly builds up, growing louder and louder.

  “What about Ari and Willow?” I ask when we find a space on the floor.

  With a drunken grin, Beck cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Ari! Willow! Front and center!”

  Although people gawk at us like we’ve lost our minds, Beck just shrugs it off. He’s never been one for caring what other people think.