Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(16)
“Hey, Mari.” Lacey turns to face me when she hits the bottom of the steps. “Trin and I usually go to my place on Friday afternoons to bounce ideas around and take some pictures—”
“And to talk about Jacob, ’cause Lacey is, like, totally in love with him,” Trin interrupts.
Lacey blushes but otherwise ignores Trin’s teasing. “Anyway, if you wanna come over, too, you can. It’ll be fun. And we can answer any questions you may have about photography.”
“And you can listen to Lacey talk about Jacob.” Trin pats Lacey on the head like she’s a puppy.
“Whatever.” Lacey shakes off Trin’s attention.
“That sounds like a lot of fun, but I can’t today. I gotta give my mom notice on stuff like that,” I tell them. The truth is I’m anxious to get home and make sure she’s okay. We might be well away from Petrov’s eyes and ears here, but deep down, I’ll probably always harbor worry that he could find us. I can’t quite shake the fear, however irrational it may be, that he’s going to come looking for the loot from that French museum.
Trin nods in understanding
“No worries. Next Friday, then?” Lacey asks.
“Yeah, totally!” I can’t decide which is greater, my excitement at being invited to hang with my new friends or my nervous worry that something may have happened to my mom.
Lacey produces a phone from her back pocket. “What’s your number? I’ll text you.”
I tell her my number and wait while she and Trin program it into their phones. Mine buzzes almost immediately with messages from each of them.
“Cool, see you later, Mari!” Trin says.
“See ya!” Lacey echoes, and we part ways, heading in opposite directions away from the school. I’m a little disappointed they don’t live in my direction, but at this point, I’m just happy to have potentially made a couple of new friends.
I wait until Trin and Lacey are out of sight. Then I dial my mom and wait for her to pick up. When she doesn’t, I try again. And a third time. Finally, heart firmly planted in the pit of my stomach and cushioned by a mountain of worry, I give up, tuck my phone back into my backpack, and head for home. The whole way to my apartment, I’m doing my best to convince myself I have no reason to freak out, but I’m failing. With every step, I’m picturing some new possible danger or injury that could have occurred while I was at school. By the time I hit the landing outside my front door, I’m in full fight-or-flight mode, convinced any number of horrible things lay in wait for me just beyond the entryway.
I try the knob first, but it’s locked. My fingers are clumsy and heavy with anxious energy, and it takes me longer than I like to dig the key out of my bag. The door unlocks easily, but I take an extra minute, and an extra deep breath, to prepare myself before turning the knob and stepping in.
The apartment is quiet. Sunlight streams into the gallery from the doorway to the parlor and from the kitchen at the far end, creating intersecting rectangles of light on the herringbone floor. I step slowly into the light from the parlor and into the room itself a second later.
“Hi, honey, how was your day?” My mother greets me from her place on the sofa. She’s cozily ensconced under a velour throw, and a book is open on her lap.
I ignore her question and ask my own. “I tried calling you. Why didn’t you answer?” I don’t mean for my tone to sound as confrontational as it does, and I immediately bite my lip.
She looks at me with a blank expression for a moment. Then her eyes brighten, and she says, “Oh, I’m so sorry. My phone died this morning while I was getting groceries, so I put it on the charger in my bedroom when I got home. I forgot all about it. Is everything okay, mija?”
My nerves are still frayed from the three-block jog and ten-story elevator ride, but I’m relieved beyond belief that all my worry was unfounded. I paste on a smile and tell her, “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just a little worried when I couldn’t get ahold of you.” I cross the room and wrap her in a loose hug. I want to curl up on the couch next to her and not let her out of my sight until all the lingering adrenaline is out of my system, but I don’t want her to think anything is wrong. So I release her and stand back, busying myself by twisting my backpack straps at the shoulders.
“Lo siento, Mari. I did not mean to worry you. I will keep my phone close by from now on.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in my room doing homework if you need me.” I adjust my backpack on my shoulders and head for my bedroom, but when I get there, I don’t start on homework. I grab my journal and curl up on my window seat instead. This day has been a full one, and I just want to get it all down so I can process it.
Between photography club and school and Will, I’ve got a lot of material to write about, but instead of focusing on my journal, my mind keeps drifting to Will. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s gotten under my skin…in a good way. Instead of coherent sentences, I end up doodling his name, hearts, flowers, his name again. This is what I’ve been reduced to. I’m not even capable of a solid journal entry anymore. My preoccupation with Will is undeniable.
Chapter Seven
Shadows are everywhere, and I’ve spent most of my life trying to blend into them, most times succeeding in doing so. But I can’t for the life of me think of a good photo op for our shadow pictures. It was my idea, and I can’t even get the right shot. Or any shadow-themed shot for that matter. I’ve carried the camera with me everywhere for the last three days; I had all weekend to come up with something. I’ve taken at least a hundred photos, but I can’t make a single one of them work for the assignment.