He Started It(55)

Nikki looked into the rearview mirror. “Then why did you let her take it?”

Portia blinked, her eyes wide. “Because she’s—”

“Because you let her,” Nikki said.

Portia didn’t answer, nor did she grab the Etch A Sketch. She didn’t do anything except continue to sit by my side until I finished my picture and gave it back to her.

That was my fault, and I can admit that now. I underestimated Portia. Always have. Later that day, my things started going missing.

The first was a candy bar I had hidden in my bag. I had saved it from our convenience store stop the day before, but when I went to eat it, the bar was gone. Portia claimed to have no knowledge of said candy bar.

Next it was a T-shirt I loved, followed by some hair bands. Those I went looking for, and I found them in the pocket of her jeans.

“You took these,” I said.

She shrugged. “No, I didn’t.”

“But they’re in your pocket.”

“I don’t know how.”

Like that, over and over, for the rest of the trip and the rest of her childhood.

Would she have become a little kleptomaniac if Nikki hadn’t told her to take the Etch A Sketch?

I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, wondering if you become something like that just because someone tells you to. You don’t. You don’t become a murderer because someone says “Kill that guy.” That’s not how behavior works.

Nikki may have given her permission, but there was a little thief inside of Portia all along. Just like there was an asshole inside of Eddie and a wild child inside of Nikki. And a liar inside of all of us.

Nikki was one of the best. There were no pictures of Portia, certainly not any that were vile. I asked Nikki about it that very night, after everyone was asleep.

She laughed. “Are you kidding? Of course there aren’t any pictures.”

“I didn’t think so. He just seemed so sure.”

“That’s the point.”

Liars that good are hard to find.





What is something that has surprised you?

Oh, I can name more than one. Being pregnant is first. Whatever was supposed to happen in my life, it wasn’t getting pregnant at 17, I can tell you that.

Grandpa being an asshole is a close second.

Our parents allowing this trip to continue is third. Although I guess it’s somewhat understandable since they don’t know what Grandpa did. Grandma said it didn’t start until he retired—was forced out, actually—and all of a sudden he had no job and nowhere to go. I mean, part of me can’t blame her for staying. What do you do when you’re 64 years old and your husband suddenly starts hitting you?

Who the hell knows? Doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s the asshole.

One more thing. I think we’re being followed. No, I’m sure of it. That maroon Honda has been behind us for a while now.





When I look at Portia now, headphones on, listening to music, I wonder if she’s really as broke as she pretends to be. Maybe it’s all a lie. Maybe we’ve been paying her way because she’s still stealing from us.

Eddie. Where had he been during that original nine-hour ride? In the passenger’s seat, next to Nikki, doing a whole lot of sleeping. He woke up long enough to charm a truck stop waitress into giving all of us some free ice cream. As soon as we got back into the car, he went back to sleep after mumbling something about pulling a muscle while up at the ghost town.

That’s when I turned my attention to him. Throughout the trip, he was our secret weapon. The one who could talk to anybody, young or old, into giving us a pass. If we were late checking out of a motel, we sent Eddie to talk to the manager.

I spent a lot of time watching him, trying to figure out how he charmed people into giving him free stuff and, usually, becoming his friend at the same time. He did have a formula.

One, make fun of yourself. It makes you nonthreatening from the start.

Two, smile. Especially when you’re asking for something.

Three, mix your lies with the truth.

Four, remind them how silly/stupid/forgetful you are, this is all your fault, and won’t you be an awesome person and lend a hand?

This worked for him often enough that I tried to copy it. I practiced making fun of myself, I memorized jokes, and I practiced a half-dozen smiles so I’d have a lot to choose from.

Didn’t work. People never responded the same way. It didn’t matter how nice or sweet or cute I was, I never would’ve been able to convince that truck stop waitress to give us free ice cream.

Even at fourteen years old, Eddie was the guy everyone loved. I hated him because everyone loved him.

We were around five hours into our nine-hour journey when I kicked the back of his seat.

Nikki didn’t notice, neither did Portia. I didn’t know it yet, but she was too busy looking for shit to steal.

I was about to kick his seat harder when I realized I could kick his arm. It was wedged between the seat and the passenger’s door.

That woke him up.

He looked around like we had hit something. “What?” he said.

“What what?” Nikki said.

“Nothing, I guess.” He curled back up to sleep. After about ten minutes, I kicked his arm again. And again.

The fourth time was the charm. That was when he figured out it was me.