Life After Theft

  Hennigan’s face was turning red as he realized his plan to catch a notorious thief was crumbling to dust in front of the cop, in front of his employees. But I knew he wouldn’t give up so easily. He wiped the shock off his face and pointed a finger at me. “It doesn’t matter. Your list of infractions is still plenty long. Destruction of school property, breaking into lockers, trespassing at my home!” he said, as if the personal offense was the greatest one of all. “If you really are this Red Rose Returner person”—he said the name like it was a bad word—“then you’re guilty of all those.”

  I nodded. “And I take full responsibility.”

  Hennigan smiled as if he had caught me in some elaborate trap instead of asking a very straightforward question. “There!” he said, calling out to the police officer now. “He admitted it. Arrest him!”

  The cop began to walk toward me. His eyes met mine for a second and then I turned, giving him my hands before he could ask. My breath was short as the cuffs clicked shut. In a matter of moments I’d been read my rights and the cop had set me in the back of his car and slammed the door.

  It was over.

  What the hell had I just done?

  The cop went and talked with the adults for a few minutes, then got into the cruiser and closed his door.

  “Officer—”

  “Not here for small talk,” he said, cutting off my words and flipping on the radio.

  It was a surprisingly short drive to the police station. The cop pulled up to a well-lit side door and I got my first good look at him. He was tall and blond, and even though most of his bulk was the kind you get from cheeseburgers, I suspected he could rough me up without any trouble. Pleasant thoughts. His badge said BURKE. Jerk was more like it.

  He grabbed the back of my hoodie and pushed me toward the side door, which opened automatically. I didn’t know what to expect—I’d never been in a police station before—but I didn’t actually expect bars. But that’s where I ended up. Me and one guy who looked homeless and another who was totally drunk off his ass. The cop removed my cuffs and I was about to sigh in relief when he simply relocked them in front of me.

  “Sit,” Officer Burke said, pointing a meaty finger. What choice did I have? I sat and laid my head down on my fists, my elbows balanced on my knees. The longer I squeezed my eyes shut and drew my face back into my hood, the more I managed to convince myself I wasn’t there at all. I imagined anywhere else in the world I’d rather be.

  Sera’s room, for one.

  But mostly I imagined Phoenix. Everything in my life had blown to bits since I moved to Santa Monica. I’d avoided too much homesickness the last few months, but sitting in that holding cell, I let it wash over me.

  Just as I started to feel tears burn behind my eyelids—for the first time in years—the jail phone rang. My head jerked up, and some irrational part of me hoped I would find myself in my own bedroom with my cordless ringing on my bedside table. But I was still in the drab cell with my reeking cellmates. Officer Burke answered the phone. I tucked my head back into my hood and squeezed my eyes shut again.

  “Clayson!”

  I straightened so fast I knocked my head against the bars of the cell. Ow. “Yessir,” I answered reflexively.

  He glared at me. “Come on.”

  Hope leaped inside me. “Are my parents here?”

  The cop snorted. “Hardly.” Nothing else.

  I clenched my jaw and the cop unlocked the door and held it open just enough to let me slip by. Then the firm hand returned to the back of my sweatshirt. We went through another door and it was like a different world. Desks, cubicles, offices.

  My handcuffs felt heavy—like iron chains. We walked into a small room, empty except for a table and a couple of chairs. And one big mirror that was no doubt one of those two-ways you see on TV. Pointing to a metal folding chair, Burke said, “Someone’ll be here soon.”

  And before I could actually get to the chair to sit down, he left and closed the door behind me.

  Reflexively, I turned toward the sound. As I did, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t help but stare. A black hoodie pulled forward to shadow my face, baggy jeans and old Converse, cuffs binding my skinny wrists in front of me. My eyes were wide and scared, my expression tight; I looked more like a terrified twelve-year-old than the famed Red Rose Returner of Whitestone.

  I turned away; I couldn’t look at myself. It made me doubt that I was doing the right thing. And that was the one hope I couldn’t let go of.

  I sat in the chair and pulled my knees up to my chest, not caring who might be looking. I laid my head down and started counting slowly—a trick I’d learned when I was a kid and something scared me. Most things would be gone by the time I reached one hundred.

  I doubted I’d be that lucky this time.

  I was up to five hundred fifty-seven when the door handle clicked and a cop walked in.

  “Hey, Jeff,” Officer Herrera said.

  “Officer Herrera,” I said breathlessly. I don’t know how you can feel like someone punched you in the stomach in a good way, but that’s how I felt.

  “Sorry I missed your call,” he said.

  I rubbed at my eyes. “When you didn’t answer, I thought it was the end of the world; I almost didn’t bother to leave a voice mail.”

  Officer Herrera chuckled. “Sorry for not calling back. I didn’t know just how many strings I could pull for you and I had a lot of research to do before I could tug on any of them.” He looked up at me. “I’ve been watching you, Jeff. I heard about the big drop-off at the homeless center. Someone mentioned weird stickers and I knew it had to be you. That was really generous. You could have sold that stuff for thousands of dollars. More, maybe. There was one bag of jewelry that was all genuine article. And when the school break-in was reported it didn’t take long to link you to that, too.” He shuffled through the files on the table and put the largest one on top. He looked up at me, his eyes suddenly serious. “Does the name Kimberlee Schaffer mean anything to you?”

  I sputtered and choked.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He flipped open the file, seemingly oblivious as I coughed up a lung. “There’s not an officer in the place, except maybe a rookie or two, who doesn’t know her name. We tried to make something stick to her for years.”

  I was so shocked I almost couldn’t speak. “You—you caught her?”

  “Not red-handed. But we had enough to prosecute. The problem was finding a willing prosecutor.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, technically, everything we had on her was petty. I wish we’d caught her stealing some of that jewelry you left at the homeless shelter. That would have been something we could work with.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Officer Herrera let out a long breath. “For one thing, her father is about the most influential judge in Los Angeles County. For another, his family’s got more money than God and he’s not afraid to throw it around. We couldn’t pick her up for stealing earrings or stuffed animals. Some fancy-pants lawyer would get her off with a judge who was in the Schaffers’ pocket to begin with, and there’d be a big black mark on our station. Build up too many black marks and we’d see our funding get smaller and smaller. Not a nice guy, Judge Schaffer.”

  Kimberlee instantly made more sense to me.

  “But we kept records and they match up with a lot of the stuff you’ve been returning. It wasn’t too hard to put two and two together. And that’s what gets you off on the theft charges.”

  Hope flooded through me. “Really?”

  “And the codes get you off on B and E.” He shook his head. “I tell you, I don’t know how you got that key and those codes, but since you had Hennigan’s personal code, he can’t prove he didn’t give them to you, and that implies permission to enter. It’s a technicality, but I’ll make it work.”

  I wanted to hug him. Really.

  “The damage to the chem lab, however,” Officer Herrera said soberly, “is a di
fferent story. There’s a dollar amount associated with it, and unless you or your parents cough up the money, the school can sue you for it.”

  My stomach sank. Hadn’t Hennigan said ten thousand dollars? Good kid or not, my parents believed in natural consequences; they’d expect me to pay the bill.

  And there was only one thing I owned that would cover it.

  “But none of our prosecutors are going to try their luck arguing criminal vandalism or malicious mischief to a sympathetic jury,” Officer Herrera said, interrupting my dismal thoughts. “Which, under the circumstances, I have no doubt you’d get. I’ve spoken to some of my friends downtown and criminal charges are off the table. So it’s just the restoration expenses and those are between you and the school.”

  I felt myself grow a little weak with relief and I sank down in my chair a little. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  It was all I could do to keep myself from bursting into hysterical laughter. I had to take several deep breaths to push it back. “So I’m fine? Everything’s okay?”

  “Well, almost. I can’t fix much with your school. And Mr. Hennigan’s not really the forgiving type.”

  I hate Mr. Hennigan. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve spent the better part of the last hour on the phone with him and, since it’s a private school, the only people he really has to answer to are the board of directors. For starters, you’re suspended all next week.”

  My heart sank at that, but it was a hell of a lot better than expulsion.

  “I can’t convince him you’re anything but a hardened criminal, but I told him that keeping you in school is a vital part of rehabilitating you. That’s when he went ahead and decided against expulsion. You can remain at Whitestone.”

  Lucky me.

  “But he’s going to watch you like a hawk for the rest of high school; there’s just nothing I can do about that. This is the best I can do.”

  “Oh no, it’s great,” I said. “It’s so much more than I expected. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused. “You’re a good kid, Jeff. I mean it.”

  I didn’t feel like a good kid at the moment, but I hoped he was right.

  “Now, standard protocol at this point—even though you’re being released without being charged—is to contact your parents and have them come pick you up. But we haven’t been able to get a hold of them.”

  “They’re on a weekend getaway thing. They won’t be back till tomorrow.” Or so.

  “Okay. I’ll vouch for you this time. And there better not be a next time.” His face got as hard as stone. “Are you done, Jeff? Because if you’re not, it’s time to give up this project. I’m serious.”

  “I’m done,” I said honestly. “As of last week everything was returned and . . . Kimberlee can rest in peace.” Whatever that meant.

  “Good. Because if I see you in here again, you’re on your own, good motivation or not.”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My shift’s over. I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  He stood and opened the door for me. As I got to my feet my handcuffs jingled.

  Officer Herrera rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love—” he muttered, digging into his pocket.

  There has never been a sweeter moment in my life than the second when those cuffs clicked open and released my wrists. “Thanks,” I said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

  “Let’s go,” Officer Herrera said, pointing down the hallway.

  Thirty-Three

  FOR THE SECOND TIME IN as many weeks I slid into the passenger seat of Officer Hererra’s cruiser. The sky was dark now and for the first few minutes we rode in silence. Then I cleared my throat. “Officer Herrera?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.” I ran my hands through my hair, the realization that everything had actually worked only beginning to sink in. My hands shook as the adrenaline of pure relief flowed through me.

  “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t believe you were doing the right thing, Jeff. You earned this.” Officer Herrera turned into the school parking lot—empty now except for Halle.

  “I just wanted to make things right,” I said.

  He pulled his car beside mine and shifted into park. “And that’s something I support. It’s why I came to your rescue.”

  “Well, I’m glad,” I said, cracking a grin. “Because I would have been so screwed if you hadn’t shown up.”

  He hesitated for a few seconds before adding, “I have to call on Monday and tell your parents what happened. But I think you need to tell them first.”

  “I will,” I said, although the thought made my stomach feel like I’d just swallowed a chunk of ice.

  “I also feel you should know that the two other teachers who were at the school with Hennigan told Officer Burke that you’re a good kid and that he should go easy on you. He thought it was a joke, but I’m telling you so you know that you’ll have support at school.” He laughed. “Hell, the kids’ll probably all love you.”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. He was right—by Monday, everyone would know that Jeff Clayson was the Red Rose Returner.

  Sera would know.

  I had to tell her before she heard it from someone else.

  I didn’t even know where to start.

  As if he could read my thoughts, Officer Herrera patted my shoulder. “Get on home,” he said gently. “You’ll have your work cut out for you soon enough.”

  I nodded and got out of the car. Then I stood in the parking lot and waved as I watched Officer Herrera drive away. I unlocked my car and was about to get in when I looked over and saw the last of the stickers still sitting on the pavement, though Bailey’s key was gone. I picked them up and put them in my pocket. Something to remember this by.

  My house was dark except for a couple of security lights. I opened the fridge, but I didn’t feel hungry; I felt empty. For weeks I’d wanted nothing more than to get Kimberlee out of my life. And now, it looked like maybe I had.

  But not by helping her move on. I’d chased her away, and even when she came back to stop me from turning myself in, we’d just argued more. I felt like I’d failed her. And she didn’t have a backup plan.

  I hesitated as I pulled a quart of milk out of the fridge. Maybe she did. Maybe there were other people who could see her. She’d lied about everything else at least once; why not this? Maybe I was just the only one gullible enough to try and help her.

  But a painful thudding in my chest told me it wasn’t true. It was the same ache I’d felt when she’d cried on my bed—a smoldering, hollow sense of helplessness. I spit my mouthful of milk into the sink and turned off the kitchen light, my appetite completely gone.

  I dragged my backpack up the stairs, enjoying the thud of my books on the steps. It made me feel better, though I couldn’t say why. I walked through my open door and, just because no one was home, slammed it.

  Damn, that feels good.

  I opened it and slammed it again, harder. I started to smile as I opened the door again.

  “Please don’t.”

  I froze, still holding onto the doorknob, and waited for her to speak again.

  When she didn’t, I flexed my arm against the door and started to swing.

  “Jeff.”

  I let go of the door and turned to look. “Kimberlee?”

  I almost didn’t recognize her. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and there was no makeup on her face—no red lips, or thick black lines around her eyes. She was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans. She stood leaning against my headboard with a pair of light blue flip-flops on her feet. “You’re back,” she said softly. “I was worried.”

  She sounded serious, but I’d known her too long to believe it. “No thanks to you,” I said darkly.

  She looked down at her feet. “I should have come with you.”

&nbsp
; “Little late for that.”

  “It’s a little late for a lot of things,” she said, her voice shaky.

  I glared at her, trying to figure out what the trick was. Finally my curiosity got the better of me. “You look different.”

  Kimberlee nodded but said nothing.

  “Have you been able to do this the whole time?” I asked bitterly.

  She shook her head. “No! I promise.” She looked down at herself. “And I can’t change back, either. Not that I’d want to,” she added quietly.

  That made me pause for a minute. I figured for sure she’d be mad about her plain appearance. “What happened?”

  “After I left here . . . I was so pissed. I went to the mall and tried to steal things, spied on a bunch of couples making out in the movie theater—all the stuff I used to do. And I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

  Boy, that sounded familiar. A little payback is always satisfying.

  “You did something today that didn’t benefit you at all. It was just for other people and your screwy sense of the right thing to do.”

  I didn’t bother to argue.

  “And I realized that even though I don’t feel like you do—I don’t care about doing the right thing—I wanted to. I wanted to have something, anything, that I believed in that much. So I came back,” she added after a long pause.

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “I was too late, though. I even went to the school, but everyone was gone. What happened?” she asked.

  With a sigh I dropped my backpack on the floor and related the story. When I got to the part where Officer Herrera came into the interrogation room, Kimberlee started to smile.

  “All that drama and I wasn’t even around to see it.” She paused, then said, “You’ve gone through so much trouble for me.”

  “What else was I going to do on a girlfriendless Friday night?” I asked, forcing a smile.

  We both laughed shakily for a moment before Kimberlee’s eyes filled with tears and she looked down at her feet. “I went to my parents’ house. Inside, I mean; not just to the cave. I hadn’t done that before.”