Life After Theft

  I was pretty sure it wasn’t a butler, but seeing as how the person who opened the door was a man in a suit—tie and all—I think my momentary confusion was justifiable. We stared at each other for about five seconds before the man raised an eyebrow and asked, “Can I help you?”

  And since I’m always cool under pressure I gracefully responded, “Yeah, um, Sera and . . . Is Sera . . . I mean, can I . . .” Finally I thrust out my hand and said with a stupid grin, “I’m Jeff.”

  He looked at my hand for a beat before shaking it with a less-than-confident grip. And I don’t mean self-confidence.

  “I’m here to pick up Sera,” I said, still smiling like a dork and trying to figure out just who this guy was. Dad? Creepy uncle? And I still hadn’t entirely ruled out the butler thing.

  “Oh,” he said, his eyes narrowing. That definitely swung the votes in favor of dad. I irrationally wished I’d worn a tie.

  “I’m here!” Sera called from the top of the stairs, hurrying down. Right before her dad’s eyes swung to her, she mouthed I’m sorry to me.

  We managed to make it out of the house without too much drama, although Sera’s mom did peer around one of the many doorways to remind Sera to be home by ten. Or at least she said the words “Sera, remember, home by ten,” but the whole time she was staring straight at me.

  Once the front door was shut and we were far enough that I was fairly sure that they couldn’t hear us, I asked, “Man, how is it that parents manage to be the scariest creatures on the face of the earth?”

  “You’re telling me,” Sera grumbled.

  I looked sidelong at her. “They’re scary to you, too?”

  “They rule my life.”

  I guess she was right, but I never thought about my parents that way. They were cool; always had been. Note to self: I am lucky.

  We got into the car and I eased Halle away from the curb. I had a sneaking suspicion Sera’s parents wouldn’t be overly impressed by my peeling out of their pristine cobblestone driveway. “You can, uh, pick whatever you want to listen to,” I said, pointing at the radio.

  Without a word she flipped the station to something rock, but not hard, then turned the sound down to an obvious talking level. Excellent.

  “So, where do you want to go?” I asked.

  “Well, I did say something about a movie earlier today,” she said helpfully.

  I fidgeted. “Yeah, but . . . I was hoping we could talk. Last night”—I laughed as I ran my fingers through my hair—“I was in bad shape.” I wondered if it was a stupid move to even remind her. “I just . . . I want to spend some time with you when we’re both on even ground.”

  She smiled. “Sooooo,” Sera said, dragging out the word, “did you have any suggestions?”

  “Um, are you hungry?”

  “Like any proper girl going on a date of unknown destination, I am halfway hungry.”

  “Uh . . . what?”

  “It’s when you eat a little bit before you go out so that you’re hungry enough to eat something if the guy takes you for food, and full enough that you won’t be starving the whole time if he doesn’t.”

  Sera always has a plan. And probably a backup plan.

  I never do.

  “How about dessert?” I asked.

  “Dessert?”

  “Yeah, since you’re all halfway hungry, you know?” Wait—I framed the question carefully. “Do you . . . eat dessert?” I mean, you never know with girls.

  She gave me a full-out grin on that one and I about melted. “I love dessert.”

  I pulled into the first restaurant I saw and a few minutes later we were tucked into a booth with a peanut-butter milkshake and a brownie-fudge sundae in front of us as well as a Diet Coke. I always think it’s weird to see people who order a dessert . . . and a Diet Coke.

  “I like the way it tastes,” Sera said, defending herself when I pointed it out.

  “Suuure,” I slurred, spooning the whipped cream off the top of my milkshake.

  We polished off our desserts in the first fifteen minutes or so, then sat and talked idly. She told me about Whitestone; I told her about Phoenix. And I had to ask her what it was like living in such an enormous house.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it,” she admitted. “We have a gym and a theater room; I have my own bathroom, that kind of thing. But . . . I don’t know, when I think of my ‘family’ I don’t think of my parents. I think of Khail. Just him. I guess I wish I had a real family and a smaller house.”

  I grinned and told her about my parents and their rather inauspicious beginning. “I have a few memories of living in an apartment where my ‘room’ was the couch,” I said, and she shook her head.

  “Seems like everyone wants what they don’t have,” she said, then looked up at me. “But you kinda have everything you want now, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “I’m lucky, I guess.” Or would be, if I could get rid of psycho ghost girl and keep things moving along with Sera.

  Another hour passed in good but oddly awkwardness-free small talk until the waitress’s glares became a little too obvious to ignore.

  “Not exactly your ‘linger over coffee’ kind of restaurant, I guess,” Sera said with a giggle as we headed into the parking lot. I wondered if it would be too weird to take her hand. After all, we were only twenty feet from my car.

  But it also seemed weird to not do anything. Finally, when we were only about ten feet away, I placed my hand at the small of her back. She didn’t react; I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. When we reached the car she turned and looked up at me as she leaned against the door.

  “So, what now?” she asked with a coy grin.

  I found myself smiling back. “I don’t know.”

  She looked down at her watch. “Well, I have to be back in twenty minutes, but that gives us about ten before we have to actually get going.”

  Was she trying to say something? I couldn’t be sure.

  I finally decided that at the very least, she was saying something, so I carefully placed my hands on either side of her waist, making sure I wasn’t putting them anywhere near her ass. No repeating my lame mistakes from last night.

  She smiled up at me like she was indulging me, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m not really like the guys you usually date, am I?” I asked. May as well know.

  She laughed, and shook her head. “Maybe not.”

  “Then . . . why did you say yes?” Part of me didn’t want to know, but hey, after embarrassing myself so badly last night, a simple question could hardly be a deal breaker.

  “Well,” she said, looking thoughtful for a few seconds. “I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while—”

  Great. I’m the rebound guy. I braced myself.

  “But when I was dating a lot it was always jocks or the really popular guys and they all turned out to be jerks.” She shrugged. “You seem nice. Actually nice—not just nice to get in my pants.”

  Well . . .

  “And I guess I’m trying to follow my instincts this time instead of my social compass.”

  Was that a compliment or not? Screw it—I didn’t care.

  So I kissed her.

  Her mouth was so soft and warm I could hardly believe it was real. But when I got nervous and pulled away, her fingers pressed tight against my back and she ran her other arm up around my neck, pulling my face back down to hers. My hands, still at her waist, pulled her toward me, our hips snug. I could taste the restaurant’s complimentary mint on her breath. Her hands gripped my shoulders, almost like she needed help balancing. Foreheads still touching, I reluctantly ended our kiss.

  And when she smiled I started another one.

  I did manage to get her home on time. Barely.

  Fourteen

  “SO WHEN DO WE DO IT?” Kimberlee asked just before getting out of the car the next morning. It wasn’t a great plan, but it would work.

  “Not during Bleekman’s class. Or Wilkinson’s. I left his class on Friday. H
e’ll get suspicious.”

  “Okay, how about second hour? That’ll give me enough time to get the combos. You can tell Mrs. Campbell you have to pee.”

  My shoulders slumped at the thought of carrying around the piss-pass again. “Fine,” I said. “You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

  “Whatevs,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and strolling off. She looked so normal and solid until someone walked too close and an arm or a shoulder passed through her. I shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

  Luckily, I had something much more pleasant to look forward to. “Hey!” I said, smiling as I approached Sera at her locker.

  She turned and smiled back and I tried to move in for a kiss and she turned it into a hug.

  Yeeeeeah.

  “Sorry,” Sera said, sounding very genuine and impulsively grabbing for my hand instead. “I swear, I don’t know how to do this anymore. I’ll be honest: I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while. Like, over a year. I’m . . . rusty.” Her face flushed and I was stunned to realize that she wasn’t having second thoughts about me; she really was just out of practice.

  I could work with that.

  “Sera,” I said, and I waited until she looked up at me. “It’s okay, things are kinda new. But I had a great weekend with you, and I don’t want that to go away.” I grinned now and leaned my face a little closer. “And if you just want to use me as your get-back-in-the-game fling, well—I’ve done worse.”

  She totally cracked a smile.

  The bell rang, a loud clang in my ears that made me grit my teeth, but at least the air was cleared. “So . . . see you at lunch?” I asked, shifting my backpack.

  “Yeah.”

  I didn’t try for a kiss again—just squeezed her hand. I really liked her and I wasn’t going to mess things up by being impatient. I could wait.

  For a while.

  Besides, I had work to do today. I didn’t hear a word in Bleekman’s class—just kept wondering if Kimberlee was going to come through for me. I mean, it was her salvation and all, but I never could tell with her.

  But just before English ended, Kimberlee slipped in—through the wall—and started whispering numbers in my ear. I wrote them down in my notebook vertically, hoping that if someone looked over my shoulder they wouldn’t be able to figure out what they were.

  And maybe because it made me feel all secret-agentish.

  Kimberlee followed me to second hour and hovered over my desk in the most nerve-racking way possible. Of course.

  Class started and, without so much as a hello, Mrs. Campbell stepped up to the board and began lecturing. My class in Phoenix hadn’t been quite as far along as this one, so I really couldn’t afford to space. I attempted to tune out Kimberlee asking, “Is it time yet?” about every three minutes and waited until halfway through the class, then sheepishly raised my hand.

  Mrs. Campbell looked at me skeptically when I picked up my backpack on the way out the door, but she didn’t stop me. After all, I was carrying the oversized pass and I’d left my book on my desk. Not really an ideal combination for ditching.

  As soon as the door closed, Kimberlee led me to the closest locker. I was glad, for once, that she was there. I’d have spent my full bathroom-plausible ten minutes just looking for it. As the combination lock clicked open I looked surreptitiously down both halls, certain someone was going to burst in at any moment.

  “Go!” Kimberlee prompted.

  I unzipped my backpack, double-checked the name on the bag, tossed it in, and slammed the door shut. It had been less than ten seconds. My heart beat madly as Kimberlee hurried toward the next locker and pure adrenaline flowed through my shaky limbs.

  We repeated the process twice more before Kimberlee looked at my watch. “Good time,” she said. “Now hurry back.”

  Now I was so terrified I really did have to pee. Unfortunately, despite the enormous pass in my hand, I no longer had time.

  I walked back into class and slid into my seat, sure everyone’s eyes were on me. But I heard nothing but the scratch of pencils on paper surrounding me. After another ten minutes passed, I allowed myself to breathe normally.

  Every day that week Kimberlee and I skipped out of a different class and hit three or four more lockers. If that sounds like a lot of progress, let me break it down for you: It wasn’t. It was like trying to empty a bathtub with a teaspoon.

  But at least we were doing something.

  Kimberlee tended to disappear for most of the morning—far longer than should have been necessary to get the combinations to our target lockers. That was fine with me, though; the less she was in my life, the better.

  Thanks to Sera, I had started to think of lunch as the most wonderful time of the day. Things were getting a little less weird with her friends, though I still didn’t participate in the conversations very much. But I was starting to realize that Sera didn’t either. Not that she was standoffish, just quiet. Maybe even a little shy. It was like she wore cheerleader camouflage to fit in, but she wasn’t really one of them, in a lot of ways.

  On Friday we slipped away from the lunch table fifteen minutes before fourth hour. Sera was talking about some assignment for her Trig class as she was getting books out of her locker, and I was sort of listening, but I admit she was wearing one of her shorter skirts and I was taking full advantage of the fact that her back was to me. Besides, I was in AP calc—if she asked me a question, I could probably come up with a decent answer fast enough to avoid getting caught.

  Sera pushed her locker closed with a clang and turned to me with a smile. “You’re such a good listener,” she said appreciatively.

  I shrugged in a faux-modest way. Just don’t ask me what you were talking about.

  “Other guys I dated wanted to talk about their games and their latest session in the weight room and . . . well, about themselves, pretty much all the time.”

  “That’s the advantage of dating a nerd,” I said. “Guys are pretty much all the same. We like to talk about how awesome we are and all the coolest stuff we’ve ever done. For jocks it’s their big goal in football—”

  “Touchdown,” Sera corrected with a grin.

  See, I’m funny, I thought, laughing inwardly at my little joke. “Yeah, that,” I said. “But the coolest thing I’ve ever done is gone on a date with the . . .” What did she call it? “Junior co-captain of the cheerleading squad.” Her widening smile told me I’d gotten her title right.

  And then, because I was feeling both confident and bold, I reached down for her hand, curling my fingers around hers. I held my breath, wondering if she would pull away.

  She didn’t. In fact, she leaned closer. My heart was racing when she tilted her head toward mine and kissed me.

  This was no dark parking-lot kiss. This was a public, in-school, in-front-of-her-classmates kiss. A gossip-starting, relationship-cementing kiss.

  I’m telling you, a good relationship is all about finding common ground.

  And then making out on it.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when the knuckles rapped on the lockers right next to my ear. “Break it up, Miss Hewitt,” Mr. Hennigan said, not slowing as he strode by.

  Sera’s cheeks flushed a little, but I wasn’t even fazed.

  I scored another quick kiss as I dropped Sera off at her history class. As far as I was concerned, this was the green light for our relationship to get going full speed ahead. The possibilities were endless. I dropped into my seat and started planning my weekends.

  Long movies in a dark theater, long drives in a dark car, long . . . talks . . . in dark parks.

  I was sensing an emerging theme.

  “Okay, I got ’em,” Kimberlee said, startling me from my daydream.

  I just stared stupidly up at her, not yet out of my lust-induced haze.

  “Would you get out your pencil?” she yelled. “I can’t remember all these numbers forever!”

  Locker combos—right. Hello, reality.

  Fifteen
>
  “WE CAN’T DO THIS MUCH LONGER,” I hissed to Kimberlee as we left the classroom and speed-walked down the hall. “My teachers are all going to think I have some kind of bladder infection or something.”

  “I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas,” she said, her voice both strained and desperate. I was reminded how few options she had.

  “I’ll work on it,” I said as I reached the first locker. “Is this Khail’s?” I’d been carrying around Khail’s bag since Tuesday. But for three days in a row Kimberlee refused to get the combo for reasons I couldn’t even begin to guess at. Only after I threatened to stop returning stuff did she finally bring me his numbers. I felt like I owed it to Sera as her shiny new boyfriend to get her brother’s stuff back to him.

  “Yes, I promise. Just do it and let’s move on.”

  “Keep watch.”

  She walked several feet away and peered down the hallway.

  Unfortunately, people can come from both directions. I didn’t even hear Khail’s footsteps until he’d grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed me against the lockers. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I was too terrified to make a sound.

  With his iron fists still holding me prisoner, Khail took two steps toward the bathroom door and used me to push it open.

  Next I got slammed up against the tiled bathroom walls. Much more painful than lockers, but thankfully also more private.

  Kimberlee wandered in sheepishly and stood in the corner, watching.

  “Why were you breaking into my locker?” Khail asked.

  His voice was incredibly calm—scary calm. I still couldn’t speak, but I managed to gather enough wits to hold up my hand, still clutching the bag containing his belongings.

  Khail’s eyes darted to the bag, and widened. He loosened his grip. A little.

  With one hand still on my collar, he reached out and snatched the bag from me. After looking at it for a minute he released me entirely. “You stay right there,” he said, jabbing one sausage-sized finger against my chest.

  Yes, sir!

  He opened the bag and pulled out a worn black Yankees hat. “No way,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. As he was staring at the hat, a pair of red silk boxers fell out and onto the floor. He eyed them for just a second before recognition dawned on his face and his hand darted out to grab them and shove them in his pocket.