Life After Theft
Page 29
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.
“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.
