“Changed your mind about your homework, huh?” Ivy said with a wry smile.
“It can wait,” I said. “Pass the chocolate.”
If I was really going to steal something tomorrow, I may as well live it up now. Because considering the fact that I’d never even attempted to shoplift so much as a ChapStick in my life, there was a very good chance I was going to get caught. Which meant I’d be spending tomorrow night in jail.
And I had a feeling they didn’t serve chocolate and sparkling cider in jail.
I lay in bed that night, so tired I could feel my skin tightening on my face, feel the weight of my bones as my body pressed into the bed, but still, somehow, unable to sleep. I’d taken a shower upon returning from the chapel, even though it was after eleven. I’d scrubbed my face, washed my hair and blown it dry, brushed my teeth for a good five minutes–all to get my mind to realize that it was time to relax. Time to sleep. Then I’d donned my most comfy flannel pj’s, the white-and-purple polka dotted ones my dad had given me for Christmas, and crawled under the covers. Taking a deep breath, I had closed my eyes, and repeated one word to myself slowly, over and over and over again.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.
And now here I was, an hour later, counting the cracks in my ceiling.
There were more than forty of them. Far too many to be safe. I was going to have to talk to housing about this tomorrow. Or that’s what I
would have done, if I didn’t have to get a pass off campus, go into Easton, and commit petty theft. If life had been at all normal.
With a frustrated groan, I rolled onto my side and fished my phone out of my book bag, which hung from the back of my desk chair. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Some message that said, “Psych! We were just kidding! Your next assignment is to eat ten pancakes at breakfast!” No such luck. There were a bunch of new e-mails, but they were all crap from teachers and friends and Scott. Plus one of those stupid mother-daughter love poems my mom had started sending me lately.
Out of nowhere, a tear ran down my cheek. I felt like I was failing, but why? I’d already completed one task. I just had to figure out a way to complete the next. And the one after that. And the one after that. I’d never failed at something like this before—not when I’d been put through all those stupid tests to prove that I was worthy of getting into Billings, not when I’d had to scrounge for my own survival for days on a deserted island. What made me feel so desperate now? I lay flat on my back again, and suddenly tears began streaming from the corners of my eyes. They slid across my temples and wet my hair. My chest heaved with quiet sobs.
Were they watching me right now like they seemed to be at every other moment? Could they somehow see me breaking down? Were they out somewhere, just laughing at me? Laughing at what I’d become at their hands?
I was so tired. So very, very tired. Why couldn’t I just sleep? I knew I could think more clearly and handle all of this more soundly if I could just sleep.
Suddenly there was a light knock on the door. I sat up straight and wiped my face with both palms. The door opened before I could even move, and Josh slid into the room.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” I croaked.
Without another word, he shed his coat and kicked off his shoes. Then he crawled into bed with me, wrapping his arms around me and nudging me back down. He nuzzled against me from behind, pressing his ice-cold nose into my neck. He kissed me once, and then he just held me, his breath a perfect rhythm against my skin.
Slowly, I felt myself start to relax. Felt my muscles loosen. Felt my heart unclench. Felt my eyes flutter closed. Thank God for Josh. There was no way I would still be sane without him.
I let out a breath, cuddled deeper into his arms, and promptly, finally, fell asleep.
As I walked up Main Street in Easton on Tuesday, my heart pounded harder than I would have thought possible. I swallowed hard when I saw the small pink-and-white placard hanging above the door of Sweet Nothings, one of the Billings Girls’ favorite boutiques. Kiran had shoplifted a few things from this place last year, out of sheer boredom rather than necessity, and she’d never gotten caught once. If I was going to get away with this, Sweet Nothings was the place to be. All I had to do was walk inside, slip something into my pocket and walk out again. I had even dressed up like a person who could actually afford to buy something in the town’s most expensive boutique, figuring it would help me feel more comfortable and less conspicuous. I wore the cashmere Dior sweater Kiran had given me last year, and my one pair of diamond earrings, a gift from Walt Whittaker before he had become Constance’s one and only. It was the perfect “I’ve got cash to burn” costume.
I could do this. I could.
I walked right up to the door of Sweet Nothings . . . and then turned around and kept walking.
As I hustled by, I caught the shop owner’s quizzical eye through the plate-glass window. I ducked my head guiltily. Dammit. Damn. It. Could I have done anything more conspicuous? What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t even entered the store yet and already I was on her radar. I yanked my phone out of my bag and pretended to answer it, pausing in full view of the shop owner.
There. See? I just stopped because I was getting a call and I didn’t want to be one of those annoying people who have loud cell phone conversations in the middle of a tiny, exclusive shop. I just wanted to avoid irritating your upscale clientele. You should
give
me something for free just for being so damn considerate.
I turned my back to the window and breathed. Let her think I was gabbing away. I should have been sequestered in the library, working on the extra-credit project Mr. Barber had assigned me to make up for my D—yes, D—on yesterday’s test. I should have been stressed about my grades right now, not about fulfilling the sadistic requirements of the psycho who had kidnapped my best friend. But there was nothing I could do about it. This was my life. This was what I had to do. Noelle’s future depended on it.
“Okay. Right. Bye!” I said loudly into the phone. Then I pantomimed turning it off and shoved it back in my bag.
I am Angelina Jolie in
Mr. & Mrs. Smith, I told myself as I walked inside.
I am Sarah the superspy chick from
Chuck.
I am cool and gorgeous and wealthy and can get away with anything.
“Hey, Reed!”
My hand shot up to cover my heart. Ivy stood near the back of the shop, holding a red silk nightgown. Her dark hair was down around the shoulders of her white coat, and a rust-colored Birkin bag dangled from her forearm.
She
looked like she belonged in here.
But then . . . why
was
she here? She hadn’t mentioned anything about going shopping this afternoon. Wouldn’t a normal good friend have invited her good friend along?
Not that I’d invited her, but I had a reason. I was here to steal something.
The question was, did she already know that was why I was here? All the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as we faced off. Ivy couldn’t have something to do with this. Could she?
All of these thoughts passed through my mind in the space of about ten seconds. Ten heady seconds that left me feeling off kilter and completely played.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked, placing the hanger back on the rack. “Shopping for a hot date with my ex?”
I gulped against my dry throat. I wished she would stop bringing up Josh so often. As if I wasn’t tense enough already. But then, if her mission was to torture me . . .
My eyes darted to the woman behind the counter. She looked down her aquiline nose at me and sniffed, although her forehead was so overly botoxed her expression didn’t change one bit. Then she got back to hand-pricing a stack of cashmere sweaters piled up on the counter, her short, dark hair falling forward over her sharp cheekbones.
Ivy’s brow knit as she approached me. “I’m just kidding. You know
I’m happy for you guys.” She nudged me with her shoulder. “God, you’ve been so serious lately. Is everything okay?”
Her eyes were warm and concerned and just like that, my suspicions died away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Not every one of my friends was a psycho. Statistically speaking, I’d probably never have another psycho friend as long as I lived. Ariana and Sabine had already cornered the market.
“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I replied, moving past her and pretending to browse. I fingered a silky, green-and-white scarf and checked the price tag. Fifty bucks. Probably not “fabulously extravagant” enough to impress the kidnappers. “I’m just looking for a birthday present for my mom,” I lied, moving on to a rack of winter hats. It was the same story I’d given Double H’s secretary to get my pass off campus. Her birthday
was
actually coming up, so if the woman cared to check my story it would have added up.
“Oh, cool,” Ivy said. She walked back over to the lingerie rack, picked up the nightgown again, and smiled at me. “On second thought,” she said. “This is totally mine.”
She sidled around a cascading rack of cocktail dresses and headed for the counter. Even in all my conspicuousness and on-the-verge-of-peeing-in-my-pants tension, I couldn’t help wondering who she planned on wearing that nightgown for. Tattoo Guy? I watched from the corner of my eye as the shop owner slid the sweaters aside so she could ring up Ivy’s purchase and decided now was not the time to ponder Ivy’s love life. For the moment, the woman was distracted. This was my chance.
I turned around and found myself in the back alcove where the shoes were displayed. That was never going to work. I couldn’t exactly hide a pair of Uggs in my pockets. I heard the crinkle of tissue paper as the proprietor folded and wrapped Ivy’s nightgown. There was still time. I strode to the other side of the store where sunglasses and flip-flops and bathing suits dangled from silver hooks—everything the rich denizens of Easton might need for their winter getaways. I couldn’t exactly sport a bikini to class tomorrow, but sunglasses . . . those were a possibility.
I reached for a pair of Gucci’s with the logo imprinted all along the sides. The tag read $350. I held my breath. Just slip them from the rack and into your pocket. One swift motion. My heart throbbed in my ears and my eyes stung. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Could not believe it.
But Kiran would have gotten away with ten pairs by now.
Do it, Reed!
I heard her say in my ear.
Do it! Do it now!
I was just slipping the glasses from the metal rack when Ivy came up behind me.
“Wow! Nice gift!” she said loudly.
I dropped my hand so fast it slammed into the rack and half a dozen pair of two-hundred-dollar-and-up sunglasses clattered to the floor. The woman behind the counter
tsk
ed under her breath, dropped her pen, and walked around to clean up the mess.
“I’m really sorry,” I stammered, backing up. My skin was so hot I was sure I was about to melt into a puddle on the floor. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, dear,” she said, her words placating, but her tone unkind. “Happens all the time.”
I whipped around to face Ivy, sweat pricking the back of my neck. “You know what? I could really go for some coffee. Want to hit Starbucks?”
“Sure,” she said, lifting a shoulder. “Oh, but I actually have to get some cash.”
“Perfect!” I blurted.
“What?” she asked, completely baffled.
“You go hit the ATM and I’ll meet you there!” I said, my eyes wide. I sounded manic even to my own ears. “I’m just gonna look at a few more things.”
“Ooookay,” Ivy said, eyeing me skeptically. “But are you sure you want coffee? You’re kinda hyper already.”
The shop owner, still crouched on the floor, tried to hide a laugh.
“I’m sure. I’ll be there in five,” I said.
As Ivy left the shop, the little bell above the door tinkling behind her, I turned around and desperately surveyed the area. Chunky sweaters, distressed jeans, and faux-fur-collared coats stared back at me. Tears stung my eyes. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t do this. This was not me. I realized with a sudden sinking dread that I had failed. That the kidnapper had hit on the one thing I was not capable of doing.
But Noelle needed me. It was this one little infraction—this one middle-school dare—or her life. What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just do it?
The store owner stood up and smoothed her black skirt. “Can I help you find anything?” she asked, sounding like she’d rather wrestle a pack of hyenas. Her eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down.
She knew. She knew why I was there. What I was trying to do. Of course she did. I was acting so guilty I may as well have had the word scrawled across my forehead in bright red letters.
“I’m good, thanks,” I managed to say.
As she went back to the counter, I wandered over to the shoes again, just trying to regain my composure. There was a rack of half-off socks back there, and I grabbed the first pair I saw—thick, black, and gray striped ones, probably meant for cozy nights by the fire at the ski house in Vail. They were only ten bucks. I figured I’d at least buy something to throw the woman off my scent. Prove her suspicions wrong, even though they so weren’t.
“Hey, Mom!”
A pretty girl with jet-black curls stepped out of the storeroom at the back of the shoe section and strode right by me, up to the counter. She was about my age, but petite, with a lip piercing and a ton of eye shadow.
“Louise! There you are,” the woman said, exasperated. “Your break was over fifteen minutes ago.”
“Sorry. I was on the phone with Christine, and you know how she gets,” Louise said, rolling her eyes. “Go ahead and grab dinner. I got this.”
Louise’s mom patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Then she turned and walked toward the back room. As she passed me by, she gave me a long, admonishing look, but kept walking. Behind the counter, Louise popped a pair of ear buds in her ears, yanked a graphic novel out from under the counter, and leaned back against the wall to read.