Life After Theft

by Aprilynne Pike

  “Where’s your car?” he asked, hands on his hips. It was probably a casual stance, but all I could focus on was the gun that was now mere inches from his fist.

  “That way,” I said, pointing toward the parking row where Halle was. We walked over and Officer Herrera had me unlock all the doors, then stand with my hands on the trunk while he sorted through the contents. At least he didn’t cuff me.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go to my car.”

  My face must have gone white because Kimberlee said, “You worry too much,” as she playfully tried to grab at the cop’s gun. “This guy obviously thinks the security morons are idiots. He’s just going to give you a ride. I get shotgun!” she called.

  But when we reached the car, Officer Herrera opened the passenger door for me.

  “I don’t have to ride in back?” I asked, inclining my head toward the seat behind a sturdy mesh of metal.

  “Well, I guess that’s up to you,” he said. “But if you sit there, I have to turn my lights on.”

  As Herrera walked around to the other side I looked at Kimberlee and jerked my thumb covertly toward the backseat.

  “You suck,” she said, settling in behind the bars. I couldn’t help but smile. Technically, that was where she belonged.

  Officer Herrera was quiet for several minutes after entering my address into his GPS. “Well, the security guys seem to think you’re a menace to society and a liar on top of that,” he said, starting to run down familiar streets. “Personally, I believe your story. Especially since your backseat is full of girly stuff. So, am I going to have any more luck getting you to rat out your friend than they did?”

  I sighed. “She’s dead, okay? I just thought the stuff she stole should go back to where it came from.” Oh, man, it felt good to just tell someone that! Even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

  Herrera chuckled. “You sound like you just walked out of confession in church after a wild Saturday night. Makes sense, though. The merchandise is old. And I guess if she’s dead the actual theft problem is taken care of. Except that you now have a carload of stolen stuff.”

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered.

  “Your parents know you’re doing this?”

  “No.” I sat up straighter. “Listen, I know you have to tell them, but could you skip the part about my friend being dead? I haven’t told anyone else and I don’t want her to get a reputation for being a thief.” Admittedly, that wasn’t my main concern, but I thought it sounded rational.

  The cop shrugged. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. Bad luck. I can keep that to myself.” He turned a little. “I come down here a couple times a week and take kids home on calls like this and I’ve gotten a pretty good sense of who’s guilty and who’s not. And I gotta say, not-guilty waves are pouring off you.”

  Thank you, universe!

  “Let me tell you something, Jeff. I see a lot of victims in my line of work. Victims of muggings, robberies . . . when people get stolen from, they don’t just lose their stuff. They lose a piece of their security, their ability to believe things are right in the world. I’ve seen very few of those victims have their belongings returned. But when it does happen?” He paused and smiled. “It’s amazing. They get their confidence back. And sometimes more than they had before. Suddenly humanity isn’t so bad; the world isn’t so dark.”

  His impassioned speech made me suddenly—irrationally—want to tell him about the other stuff I’d given back. But I wasn’t going to push my luck.

  “You seem like a good kid,” Officer Herrera said, “so I’m going to give you a suggestion. None of these stores is going to benefit from what you’re doing; the merchandise is too out-of-date. At best the employees will take it home, but it’ll probably just get trashed. If you’re really as sincere as you say you are, find a charity secondhand store and donate it. Goodwill, Deseret Industries, Saint Vincent DePaul, that sort of thing. I think that’s a better salute to your friend’s memory than taking a bunch of hair clips back to a corporation that wrote this stuff off last year. This way, maybe it’ll do someone some good.”

  “That’s a really good idea, actually,” I said, thinking of the six other boxes full of merchandise that were still in the cave.

  When we reached my cul-de-sac, Officer Herrera shifted into park and looked over at me. “I have to take you in and explain things to your parents, but I’ll try to help them see that this was mostly just a misunderstanding.”

  Despite his assurances, I don’t think anything can make that moment when your mom opens the door to find you on the porch with a cop easier. Her face went pale and she looked up at Officer Herrera with a dazed expression. “Don’t worry, ma’am, your son’s not in trouble.” He chuckled. “Not with us, anyway.”

  Har, har.

  “What happened?” Mom asked.

  “Jeff was caught by mall security trying to return some merchandise a friend of his stole. The security guards didn’t believe him and called me. Personally, I think he’s telling the truth. But escorting him home is standard protocol, so here we are.” He paused for just a second and then dug into his wallet and handed me a business card with his name and number listed. “If you get into any more trouble over this—the security guys hassle you or anything—let me know. Okay?” He handed me my backpack and nodded at my mom before heading back to his car.

  Her eyes followed the tall cop down the driveway and then watched as his car disappeared from the cul-de-sac. Only when she had nowhere else to look did she turn her eyes to me. “Wow,” she said. “That may be the hottest cop I’ve ever seen.”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m married, not dead.” Did I mention that my parents freak me out sometimes? She glanced one last time down the cul-de-sac before putting on her Mom face. “So?”

  “So . . . what?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t even try to play dumb.”

  My eyes darted out to the well-lit sidewalk where old people seemed to always be walking their dogs and—at the moment—eyeing me. “Can we at least close the door?”

  Mom rolled her eyes at me and swung the door closed. “Wish granted. Now spill.”

  Man, I hate lying to my mom. But what else could I do? “It’s like Officer Herrera said. I found a bunch of stolen stuff and I’m trying to get it back where it belongs.”

  “You just found a bunch of stolen stuff. Someone delivered it to your doorstep or something?”

  “Mom.” I paused, trying to decide what to say. “Have I ever been a problem child?”

  Her eyes softened. “No,” she admitted.

  “And I tell you everything, right? I mean, I even told you about getting drunk.”

  “That’s true. You did earn some points there.”

  “Okay. So I want you to understand how weird it feels to I say that I can’t tell you. But,” I added as she started to interrupt, “I will tell you that I’m trying really hard to do the right thing. And I want to cash in all my good-kid chips from the last sixteen years and ask you to just trust me.” It was all I could do.

  “Are you in trouble, Jeff?”

  “No. I’m not. I promise.” Trouble really wasn’t the right word for it.

  Mom looked up at me, her lips pursed. But I could tell she was considering it. “Okay,” she finally conceded. “But please don’t get brought home by the cops again. It kinda strains the trust thing.”

  “I will do my very best,” I said.

  Mom looked at me hard for a moment longer before stepping forward to hug me. Then she patted my cheek—something she’d done for as long as I could remember. It usually made me feel like a little kid, but tonight it didn’t bother me so much. “I love you, Jeff.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.” I smiled at her and a movement just above her head caught my eye. I glanced up and saw Kimberlee at the top of the stairs. The instant my eyes met hers she dropped her gaze, pivoted on one heel, and disappeared into my room.

  Twenty-One

>   FIVE O’CLOCK COMES WAY EARLY on Sunday morning. “I don’t know why we have to do this at the buttcrack of dawn,” Kimberlee whined as I pulled a T-shirt over my head and attempted to lace my shoes with fumbly fingers.

  “So nobody sees me. You may not be facing expulsion, but I certainly am.”

  “Why do I have to come? It’s not like I can help.”

  “Consider it penance. And you can keep watch,” I said, very quietly. My parents were sleeping like every other reasonable person in Santa Monica. I’d decided Officer Herrera was right; returning Kimberlee’s shoplifted items to corporate America over a year later wasn’t going to help anyone. Surely whatever cosmic power was keeping Kimberlee hostage here on earth would understand a little creativity in this instance. But thrift stores still turned around and sold stuff, cheap or not. I had a better idea. We were headed to a homeless shelter. I’d looked up the closest one.

  It wasn’t very close.

  Granted, I wasn’t completely sure what a bunch of homeless people were going to do with designer clothes and fashion accessories, but I’ve heard silk is warm.

  Kimberlee griped the whole way down to her parents’ house. “Holy hell, Kimberlee!” I said, my patience finally snapping. “I don’t know what you’re bitching about. You’d think you actually could sleep or something. I’m the one who’s exhausted out of my mind!”

  She glared at me. “Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I automatically like mornings.” But I could tell that even she knew it was a weak retort.

  “Face it,” I said as I trudged through the sand, the chilly morning air cutting right through my hoodie. “This is your project as much as it is mine. What the hell am I talking about? This is your project way more than it is mine. What am I getting out of this? Nothing. Nada.” I turned and looked at her. “I honestly do not know why the hell I am still doing this!” I shouted. I am not a morning person.

  “Be quiet,” Kimberlee said, glancing up to where you could just see the rooftop of her house. “My parents are actually home right now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good! Maybe someone can catch me, find what’s in the cave, and take it away. Then I could get out of this whole crazy situation.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Kimberlee said, clearly more interested in placating me than actually apologizing.

  “Whatever,” I grumbled.

  It took me five trips to load my car up with the rest of the merchandise from stores. And even though I had totally altruistic motives, I had to admit it was a nice bonus that I would be able to take so much stuff back in one trip.

  I pulled the rapidly dwindling roll of stickers out of my pocket and slapped one onto each box.

  “Why are you doing that?” Kimberlee asked. “With Hennigan on the rampage, you’re more likely to get caught if you’re using those stickers on everything, even if this isn’t in school.”

  “It’s my trademark,” I said. “I like it,” I added icily. Maybe I just liked that they still annoyed her. Small victories.

  “Well, when Hennigan kicks your ass out of school, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  We drove for almost half an hour before we reached the homeless-shelter-slash-soup-kitchen I’d found online. There was no one at the back door, despite the huge line out front. I’d apparently caught the staff between garbage runs and cigarette breaks. That could last minutes . . . or seconds.

  With my heart pounding I ran back and forth from my car to the porch, stacking boxes as fast as I could. I practically threw the last box on the top of the pile, and as I turned I heard it crash to the ground. I glanced back and saw something glittery and gold roll out onto the cement, but didn’t dare go back. I was already a little worried I’d been caught on some kind of camera and was about to experience my first manhunt. And I doubted every cop would be as nice or understanding as Officer Herrera.

  I think I was a full ten minutes back on the road before I began breathing normally again. And, miracle of miracles, Kimberlee stayed quiet that whole time.

  I glanced down at the dashboard clock. 6:21. “Sweet. I have enough time to go home and sleep for a few more hours,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’m not your social advisor.”

  “Yeah, but I’m bored. You’re never around. If I let you sleep, can we watch a movie tonight?”

  I just wanted her to stop talking. “Can’t. Have a date with Sera.” Assuming I could get home before I fell asleep and crashed my car.

  “Edged out by the junkie cheerleader again,” she muttered.

  “Would you shut up!” I half surprised myself when the words came shouting out of my mouth.

  Kimberlee looked over at me with wide eyes. “What?”

  “Nothing—not a word about Sera ever again, do you understand?”

  “I have a right to not like her.”

  “Then keep it to yourself!” I gripped the steering wheel harder. “The fact that you don’t like her is probably a compliment.”

  “Screw you!” Kimberlee snapped.

  “All you have done since I met Sera is rag on her and try to keep me away from her. But guess what? I like her. I like her a lot. You know who I like her a lot more than? You!”

  “Yeah, ’cause she’s sooo much better than me.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Because she’s so innocent? Stuff happened before you got here that you can’t even begin to understand, and she was right in the middle of it. She’s lucky she’s not in jail. My dad would have put her away in a second.”

  I briefly remembered Sera’s words the other night—It’ll mess you up. It messed me up—but pushed them to the back of my mind. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Why would you steal? I don’t know! Because you are a freaking psychopath!” I was out-and-out yelling now and it felt good. Weeks of holding my temper, despite everything, exploded out my mouth. “You’re mean and petty and spiteful! You hate everyone—as far as I can tell you’ve always hated everyone—and I don’t know why you can’t understand when everyone hates you back!”

  “At least I’m not the one stumbling blindly down a path led by nothing but a pretty face and a nice ass, refusing to listen to anyone around me!”

  I slammed on my brakes and skidded to the side of the road. “That’s it. Get out.”

  Kimberlee looked out the window. “Here?” she said, wrinkling her nose. Her voice was calm—as if the entire conversation had never taken place.

  “Here. Get out and don’t come back until you’re ready to accept my relationship with Sera. Because if you say one more thing about her—and I mean it—one more thing, I will take everything else in that cave and throw it in the ocean and you will never move on.”

  It was an empty threat, but something in my voice must have convinced her I was serious, because her jaw dropped and for a second I thought she might cry. Then her eyes narrowed and her glare was all daggers. “Fine,” she hissed. “But when she breaks your heart into a million pieces because she’s not the perfect angel you think she is don’t come whining to me, because all I’ll say is I. Told. You. So.” She spun away from me, hair flying, and slid through the passenger-seat door. I peeled onto the freeway and forced myself not to look in my rearview, afraid that seeing her standing on the side of the highway might make me change my mind.

  I was still a little grumpy when I rang the doorbell at Sera’s house that afternoon.

  “Oh, Jeff,” her mom said, obviously not all that pleased to see me. “Come on in. Are you early?”

  “Maybe a little,” I admitted. Fine. Half an hour. But I got sick of hanging around my house jumping at every noise, afraid it might be Kimberlee.

  “Let me go see if Sera’s still in the gym.”

  Oh man, I was so not going to miss this. I hurried to follow Sera’s mom through the hallways. Last week Sera told me about the
gym. Not like with basketball hoops and tennis courts, but a spring floor and a bunch of gymnastics and weight equipment and big foamy mats that roll out so Khail can do wrestling stuff. It sounded amazing, but so far I hadn’t managed to get far enough into the house to actually see it. I was practically rubbing my hands in anticipation when Sera’s mom opened a totally normal-looking door.

  And there she was.

  Her back was to us and I don’t think she heard us come in. She was wearing a dark blue leotard with tiny black shorts over it. And she was doing pull-ups on a set of uneven bars. I counted as she struggled through her sixth one before dropping onto the ground, rubbing at her arms.

  I couldn’t decide if it was sexy or intimidating to have a girlfriend who could do more pull-ups than me.

  Sexy, I finally decided. So long as we never had to go up against each other in some kind of public contest. That would be beyond humiliating.

  Then her mom spoiled everything by clearing her throat. Sera turned and as soon as she saw me, she ducked her head and her whole face and neck flushed bright red.

  “Jeff’s a little early,” her mom said as though that weren’t the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Hey,” I said, giving a totally lame-ass wave.

  But Sera just looked at her mom. “I’ll be done in about five minutes; then I’ll send him back to the kitchen before I shower.”

  “Please do,” Sera’s mother said as she left the gym, but not before pulling a little hand weight over and propping the door open.

  I stepped closer to Sera and gestured at the open door. “Seriously?” I whispered, in case her mom was still in earshot.

  Sera rolled her eyes. “She keeps me on a pretty short leash. At least when she’s in town. I love it when she goes on business trips with Dad. The longer, the better.”

  “Why such a short leash?”

  Sera was quiet for a few seconds. “I got into trouble a couple years ago,” she said quietly.

  I had to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from fidgeting. “What kind of trouble?” I asked, not wanting to believe anything Kimberlee said, but not stupid enough to have missed all the little hints I’d been hearing the last couple weeks.