Klepto

by Jenny Pollack

  Ellie barely said a word, but that was nothing new. We might as well have been watching Tom Brokaw during dinner, which we sometimes did. Why couldn’t they be like other people’s parents? When I went to Kristin’s house for dinner the first time, her dad wanted to know all about my interest in acting and stuff. Kristin nearly died of embarrassment, but I didn’t mind.

  Finally, when Dad’s story ended, Julie asked Ellie what clubs she and her friends liked to go to.

  “What?” Ellie said with a mouth full of salad.

  “What clubs do you like?” Julie repeated, “Like, the Roxy or Xenon, you know. . . .”

  “Um . . . I’m not. . . . I don’t. I don’t really go to clubs,” she said, looking down.

  “Oh,” Julie said cheerfully. “Well what do you like to do?” And then there was this weird silence, and I tried to think of something to say. Julie gave me a shifty look like, Sorry, did I say something wrong?

  “She likes to go to museums,” I blurted out. “She doesn’t really do normal teenage stuff.”

  “Shut up!” Ellie said, getting upset.

  “What?” I said innocently. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “You’re just too stupid to understand museums!” she hissed.

  “I’m not too stupid, just too bored! Besides, I like to do things with people in my age group, not with, like, fifty-year olds!”

  “Girls! Girls!” Mom raised her voice. “Come on now, we have a guest. Behave yourselves!” Then we were all quiet for a minute. “Bernie, pass the salad,” Mom said.

  Then I felt Ellie give me a hard kick under the table.

  “Ow! Hey!” I threw my fork at her face, but I missed.

  “All right! Enough!” Dad yelled.

  “You deserved it,” Ellie said. “Trying to act all high and mighty in front of your new friend! Who are you trying to impress? Please! Spare us, Miss Actress!” Then she threw her napkin in her chair, stormed off to her room, and slammed the door. I felt the tears welling up, but I swallowed hard. Julie, my parents, and I sat there in the weird silence again. Mom wiped her mouth with her napkin like nothing had happened.

  “I’m sorry, Julie,” I said under my breath.

  “No, no, it’s okay,” she said, and touched my hand for a second.

  “Honestly,” my mom said, looking at Julie. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with them.” She shook her head like, What a pity.

  “Oh, my sisters and I fight all the time, too,” Julie said, but I knew she was just saying that.

  “Ellie’s just jealous, ’cause she doesn’t have any friends,” I said.

  “Julie, stop—” Mom said, but Dad interrupted her.

  “How ’bout some dessert?” He stood up to clear his plate, taking Julie’s. I stood, too, taking my plate and Mom’s. “We’ve got some nice melon, cookies. . . . Julie? What do you like?” It was clear he was talking to the other Julie.

  “Oh, I’m fine, Mr. Prodsky. I couldn’t eat another thing.”

  “You sure?” he called from the kitchen.

  “Yes. Dinner was delicious. I’m so full,” she said.

  “Really? It’s no trouble,” Mom said. “Honey! Will you bring me an apple?” she said to my dad. Then, to Julie, “I’m trying to stay away from the cookies. But you girls go ahead.”

  “An apple!” Dad sang from the kitchen.

  “Would you like an apple?” Mom said to Julie.

  “No, really, I’m fine.”

  “We should get going if we’re gonna catch that movie. Is that all right, Mom? If we go now?” I said.

  “Well, all right. Where are you going?”

  “Loew’s Eighty-Third. We’re seeing Arthur.”

  “Okay,” Mom said, seeming a little disappointed that dinner ended so abruptly. I went to the front hall closet to get our jackets.

  “Thanks so much for dinner, Mrs. Prodsky,” Julie said.

  “Helene,” Mom said, forcing a smile. She sucked on an ice cube from her empty glass of water.

  “Oh . . . okay,” Julie said, sounding a little uncomfortable.

  “Bye! Have fun, girls!” Dad said from the kitchen doorway.

  “Back by eleven thirty, right?” Mom said.

  “Yes, I know,” I said, not hiding my annoyance.

  I locked the door behind us while Julie rang for the elevator.

  “I am so sorry,” I said to Julie. “I didn’t think tonight would be such a nightmare.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said. “It wasn’t that bad. Your parents are nice. They’re funny. And it only got sticky there at the end with Ellie. I’m sorry if I caused that.”

  “No you didn’t. . . . She’s just . . . weird.” Then I just couldn’t hold my tears back anymore; they came sliding down my cheeks.

  “Hey,” Julie said, touching my arm, “it’s no big deal, really.”

  “I just . . .” I said, trying to catch my tears and finding it difficult to look at her. “My family just gets me so upset!”

  “I know,” she said, putting her arm around me. “I guess that’s what families are supposed to do—drive you crazy.”

  The elevator came, and I wiped off my face so Freddy, the elevator man who’s known me forever, wouldn’t ask what’s wrong. He just nodded at us, and we pretty much rode silently down the twelve floors. When we got outside Julie stopped in front of my building and said, “Listen. I know you think I have this great family, but believe me, they’re nuts. Completely nuts. Just like yours is nuts, only different.” I just looked at her, not knowing what to say.

  “Believe me, you’ll see it, I promise.” She put her arm through mine, and we started walking toward the subway. “And the dinner was good. I loved the Peachy Chicken.”

  “I’m sorry I’m being such a baby,” I said, feeling more warm tears on my face. “I feel so stupid.”

  “Who better to cry in front of than your best friend?” Julie said.

  7

  I Did It Alone

  One weekend during Christmas season I went down to Canal Jeans by myself. Canal Jeans was in Soho and had excellent vintage clothes. There was also a great flea market nearby on Greene Street. I hadn’t tried stealing there; I guess it felt too risky ’cause of it being outdoors and all out in the open. You never knew who was watching. It was a good excuse to use if Mom asked about any new stolen clothes—that I got them at the flea market. She knew things were cheaper there. But she never asked, which kind of bugged me out. I mean, how out of touch with your kids can you get?

  At Canal Jeans I was looking for one more Christmas present for Ellie. Our family celebrated Christmas even though Dad was Jewish and Mom was Protestant. We weren’t really any religion, which was okay with me.

  As much as I hated Ellie sometimes, we always got each other good presents, and we’d kept up a Christmas-morning tradition that we started when we were little. Since we weren’t allowed to wake up Mom and Dad until eight thirty, and watching the yule log burn on TV got so boring, Ellie had the idea to give each other stockings using our toe socks. Rainbow toe socks were really popular when we were little—these knit socks with separate colored toes. Ellie and I stuffed them with little doodad kinds of presents. Stuff like makeup or bookmarks, pins, jewelry, or whatever.

  So when I went Christmas shopping at Canal Jeans, I was on the lookout for toe-sock stuff, but I also needed a few other presents. Ellie was easy to shop for ’cause she loved vintage clothes and I knew her taste exactly. I had every inten-tion of buying only that day, but I couldn’t help noticing that the kind of dresses Ellie liked were on racks right outside the dressing rooms. Nobody seemed to be checking people into the rooms—it was just chaos because the store was so crowded. The dresses were only $9.99, but, What the hell? I thought. I grabbed three of them: one with purple flowers, one with gray and white triangles, and one with yellow squiggles. I thought Ellie would like the purple-flowered one the best—it was very 1940s, with shoulder pads and wide collars and covered buttons. I quickly
checked for feet, opened a dressing-room door, and slipped in. Some painters pants and long underwear were already hanging there. God, you could make out like a bandit in this place, I thought. I held the purple flowered dress up against my body. It looked like it would be a little big on me, which was good ’cause Ellie was taller.

  I heard a rap on my door. “Need any help in there?” a female voice called. I sucked in my breath.

  “No thanks. I think I’m good,” I said, sounding nonchalant.

  “Okay, well if you need a different size or something, just holler. I’m Bettina.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I breathed out. Hmmm. Did she see the purple flowered dress from underneath the door? I hoped not. I stood there thinking for a few seconds, and then I pulled the tags off the dress and stuffed them in the pocket of the painters pants. Fortunately, the dress was very thin material so it rolled up to almost nothing, and I buried it deep in my Chocolate Soup bag. I took a deep breath, stepped out of the dressing room, and returned the other two dresses to the rack. I didn’t see Bettina, or any salesperson for that matter—only shoppers everywhere. Julie was right; she always said that Christmas season was the best. I headed to the cashier, where I paid for a pair of navy gloves for my dad. My face felt a little flushed the whole time.

  “Aren’t these great?” the guy who rang me up asked. He had a turquoise mohawk. “I bought everyone in my family a pair of these.” Mohawks totally creeped me out. I mean, I was all for self-expression and being true to yourself and all that, but I found it so weird to look at the shaved bald part of this guy’s head.

  “Yeah,” I said, wishing he would just hurry up so I could get the hell out of the store.

  “And did you see what they do?” the mohawk guy said. He took one of the gloves and turned it inside out to reveal a pale yellow color. “They’re reversible!” He grinned a toothy grin at me.

  “Cool!” I said, hoping I sounded enthusiastic enough. C’mon Mohawk Guy, just ring me up, all right?

  “Of course,” he added, “I think the blue is prettier.” He turned the glove right-side in, and pulled out a Canal Jeans plastic bag from beneath the counter.

  “Would you like a few buttons?” he asked, pointing out the free fluorescent Canal Jeans pins on the counter in a Lucite box. Oh, yeah, good for Ellie’s toe sock, I suddenly remembered.

  “Sure,” I said, and he threw a fuchsia one and a green one in my bag.

  “Merry Christmas, sugar. Happy New Year!” He handed me my change.

  “You, too,” I said, trying not to run out of the store.

  I got outside, threw the drawstring Canal Jeans bag over my shoulder, shoved my fists in my pockets, and did not look up until I was at the subway entrance. Oh my God, wait’ll I tell Julie. Stolen Christmas presents, what next? I couldn’t stop thinking, I did it alone, I can’t believe I did it alone, for, like, the whole train ride uptown.

  That night on the phone with Julie, I asked if she ever thought about getting caught.

  “What do you mean, have I imagined it?” she said.

  “Yeah and, like, have you thought about what you’d do?”

  Julie paused for a second. “Well, I guess I’d play totally innocent. I’d say it was a dare, that somebody at school dared me. And that it was my first time.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. Then we were both quiet for a second.

  “I heard from Jennifer Smalls that you should stay away from the Upper East Side, like fancy stores on Madison Avenue? It’s pretty snooty there. Jennifer says some stores have two-way mirrors,” Julie said.

  “You’re kidding!” I said. “That’s gotta be against the law. Doesn’t that infringe on our rights to privacy or something?”

  “Who knows. . . .” Julie said, sounding like her mind was going somewhere else.

  “What would you do if your mom found out?” I asked.

  “I don’t know—with me being the youngest of five, my mom’s dealt with a lot worse from my brother. And my sisters. I bet she wouldn’t care that much,” Julie said.

  “Oh my God, if my parents found out, I don’t know what I’d do,” I said, trying to imagine the scene. “I can’t believe you’ve never been caught.”

  “’Cause I’m good,” Julie said, laughing.

  “And so modest!” I said sarcastically.

  “Kidding,” she said.

  “Would you be scared if you did?” I asked.

  “What? Got caught? Of course! I’d probably shit in my pants!” Julie said.

  “Come on. No you wouldn’t.”

  “No, but I’d cry for sure.”

  “Me, too,” I said. Oh my God. I’d totally cry.

  The next day was Monday, and Julie and I got to French before Josh Heller and Tim Haas. They were both juniors in drama, and I always saw them together; I figured they were best friends. They even dressed kind of alike. Every time I saw Josh I got a little nervous. I knew I had such a crush.

  Julie and I usually sat by the window, but for some reason that day we sat in the back. I was writing in my notebook, copying the homework off the board, when I sensed Josh slide into the chair next to mine. I immediately recognized his white Adidas tennis sneakers. They made me think of this guy from my camp, Jeremy Schwab, who said that “ADIDAS” stood for “All Day I Dream About Sex.”

  From the corner of my eye, I looked at Josh. He was wearing a brown 1950s-style vintage cardigan sweater. It kinda felt like he had looked at me, too, and then looked away. Oh shit, I thought, I hope I’m not blushing. So I tried willing myself to not blush. No blushing, Julie, no blushing, I willed. Then a piece of his sweater got caught on a metal screw of the desk, and I don’t know what came over me but I just reached out and unhooked it.

  “Hi,” he said to me, looking up. He had never said hi to me before.

  “Hi,” I said, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You were stuck.” I smiled this huge smile, thinking, Please God, don’t let there be anything in my teeth. I felt Julie’s head look up, too.

  “Oh. Thanks.” He looked at his elbow. “I guess we haven’t officially met,” Josh said, and then he actually stuck his hand out for me to shake it! “I’m Josh.”

  “I know!” I wanted to blurt out, but instead I just said, “Hi,” again and shook his hand. Nice strong grip. Warm hand. Then I felt a little kick from Julie on my foot, but she kept looking straight ahead like she was reading the board. What an actress. I could see her totally trying not to crack up.

  Then it looked like Josh was gonna say something else, but Madame Craig shouted, “Alors! Alors! Let’s settle down now!” and began the lesson. Josh took out his notebook and pen and I faced the front, but it was all I could do not to turn my head and just stare at him the whole period.

  The first time Madame Craig turned her back to us to write the verb partir on the blackboard, a tiny crumpled-up ball of notebook paper landed on my desk.

  Written in the note was Julie’s script: Oh my God, Josh Heller said hi to you and shook your hand! Are you dying?

  I quickly glanced at Josh, who was scribbling something and didn’t look up, so I just gave Julie a quick look back to say, Yes! But be cool about it, okay?

  Then I saw Julie writing me another note. Oh God, I thought, I don’t know if my heart can take this. I caught Julie’s second note like I was catching a firefly cupped in my hands just as it hit my desk and Madame Craig turned back around to face us.

  “Excusez-moi. Julie?” Madame Craig said. We both looked up and my chest tightened. “Pardon. Julie B.,” she said, and I exhaled.

  “Oui?” Julie said, and I stopped listening to read my note as secretly as I possibly could. Madame Craig asked Julie to conjugate partir. The note said, What would you do if JH asked you out????!!!!! Oh my God, I was going to have to kill her. How could I be expected to concentrate on French verbs?

  Then another balled-up note landed on my desk, only this time it came from my other side. WHAT ARE YOU GUYS WRITING NOTES ABOUT? it said in Josh Heller’s bloc
k-lettered-all-capitals penmanship. But thank God I heard what Madame Craig was asking just in time so that as she said, “L’autre Julie,”—even in French, I’m the other Julie—by some miracle I knew the answer. First person plural: nous partons.

  I looked over at Josh, who was smiling at me and clearly waiting for my response. First I scribbled on a little piece of paper, balled it up, and threw it to Julie. It said, Josh wants to know what we’re writing about!

  Julie wrote back, Tell him, HIM!

  Then I wrote, You must be high. I can’t do that!

  Then Julie wrote, Yes you can, I dare you. So I ripped off a tiny new piece of paper and wrote on it YOU, and I passed it to Josh. I couldn’t believe I actually wrote that. I must have gone crazy. I caught the tail end of the two seconds it took him to open the note, and I saw him read it and laugh quietly. Oh my God, I loved his teeth.

  He wrote back, I had a feeling. Do you like coffee? It was the last note before the most annoying thing happened. Madame Craig caught us and made Josh move his seat to the front of the classroom.

  “Monsieur Heller!” she said angrily. Then she said some more stuff in French that I didn’t really understand, but I think it was something like, did we think she was born yesterday, and she pointed to an empty chair in the front row. Poor Josh gathered up his stuff and slunk off to the front before I could tell him my answer. Yes, I love coffee. With lots of milk and sugar.

  I obsessed about what I would wear on Wednesday. Was he going to ask me out for coffee? I finally decided on my regular Fioruccis with my cutoff white sweatshirt and the earrings that Natalie gave me that were made out of chandelier parts. I had the clothes all laid out on my orange pillow chair.