Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(10)
I set my journal on my bedside table, not bothering to hide it. Maybe I’m hoping my mom will find it and read it. Maybe I just don’t care anymore. I’m suddenly looking forward to school. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to find an after-school club to join, and I’m going to make friends. I practically bounce off my bed, invigorated by anticipation, and head downstairs in search of dinner.
…
By the time I’m halfway to school the next day, I’m doubting my plan. What if I find a club and hate it? I could stay just to make friends. Or what if I find a club I like and it’s the one and only thing I have in common with any of the other members? I try to shake the doubt away. I’m probably way overthinking this. It can’t be that hard to make friends; people do it all the time. I’ve met people before, made friends before. Right? At this moment, I can’t call to memory a single time I’ve put myself out there to make a human connection. I mentally recount the friendships I’ve valued over the years, and they all have one thing in common: the other person made the effort, and I let them. Am I so guarded that I’ve never purposely made a single friend?
I’m so lost in my own musings, I don’t give it a thought when someone falls into step beside me. Until I realize he’s keeping perfect pace with me.
“Hey, flower!” The rich timbre of the familiar voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I stop walking and whirl to face Will. His expression is warm, and his look is clean-cut: white-as-snow sneakers, dark jeans, and a blue polo under a bomber jacket. His dark hair is parted slightly to one side and hangs over his forehead in a way that almost makes me want to reach out and brush it back. Almost.
“What’s up?” My voice is louder than I’d intended, and I bite my tongue against the urge to immediately apologize.
The grin on his face is friendly and genuine and doesn’t falter in the slightest at my hard tone. “I saw you here and thought maybe we could walk together. You know, since we’re headed to the same place and all.”
He wants to walk with me to school? My cheeks heat, and I hope he attributes my flushing to the cold.
“Sure.” It’s stupid, but it’s all I’ve got. Besides, what am I going to do, tell him no, he can’t walk with me, and make him stay ten paces behind me for the next hundred or so yards? I resume my trudging pace toward the school, and he falls into step beside me once again.
“It’s a nice day, huh?”
I look up at the sky and chuckle before I realize he’s serious. He’s enjoying the overcast, cold morning far more than I am. I’m all but shivering inside my winter coat, and I’ve had my hands balled up in my sleeves since I left the warmth of my apartment building. I shoot him a sideways glance, like that’s somehow going to help me figure him out, but drop my attention to the pavement when our gazes meet. “Sure, it’s okay.”
“You’re probably used to more sun where you’re from, huh?”
I consider not answering him. I mean, I can’t exactly tell him the truth, can I? I’m more used to moonlight than sunlight because I’m an international jewel thief from a long line of jewel thieves, and that’s more of a nighttime career. Oh, and I’m here hiding out from a European crime boss my mother and I pissed off. He’d either think I was lying or crazy. Or both. And on the off chance he did believe me, the truth would only put him in danger. I settle for the simple truth.
“I didn’t really spend a lot of time outside during the day. But I suppose the weather is only what you make of it. Actually, my favorite is rain.”
“Rain, huh?”
“Sure. Not like a thunderstorm or anything but a soft drizzle, just enough to make some noise when it hits the window.” I sneak a glance at Will to gauge his reaction.
He’s staring thoughtfully up at the sky. “My favorite weather is the very beginnings of snowfall. Before there’s really any powder on the ground but there’re snowflakes in the air that land on your face and hands. And tongue.” He closes by sticking his tongue out in a mock attempt to catch invisible snowflakes, and I laugh.
The air between us is silent for the rest of the walk, but it’s not an awkward silence. There’s something easy about being near Will, like he’s not expecting anything of me and is just content walking quietly together.
When we pass the spot on the retaining wall where I first saw him with his buddies, they’re there waiting for him, and Nicky jumps to his feet to high-five Will. “He-ey, Cam-Bull!” And then to me, “How’s our new friend?” He’s not as put together as Will. In fact, he looks like he rolled out of bed and threw on yesterday’s wrinkled black tee and jeans and topped it with a gray hoodie that, judging from the looks of it, probably smells like dog.
“Hey.” Will greets his friend but doesn’t high-five him. “This is Marisol.”
He does remember my name.
To me, he says, “You met Nicky already—and that’s Anton.” He points first to the hot mess blocking our path, then to a more subdued, and more put together, boy still sitting on the retaining wall. The other boy lifts a hand to wave shyly before returning his attention to his phone.
“Hi,” I say, but don’t know what to add after that. Even if I was good at small talk, I don’t like the way Nicky’s looking at me like I’m just Will’s latest conquest.