Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(23)

“Hey, I can do not serious. Casual is my middle name.” He presses a palm to his heart to indicate his sincerity. “Well, actually, it’s James, but it should be Casual.”

“I have no doubt,” I tease.

“Come on, flower. Nothing serious, I promise. I won’t even bring you flowers or anything. Heck, I don’t even gotta pick you up. We can meet, if it makes you more comfortable. Just come out and have dinner with me. What do you say?” His tone is about as casual as I’ve ever heard from him. Maybe he really isn’t looking for a serious relationship—maybe he really didn’t realize what today was when he asked me out. It couldn’t hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt, right?

“Okay. Fine. Text me directions to where I’m supposed to meet you. One date, Will Campbell. You get one date.” I shut my locker and make eye contact with him to drive home my words.

“Try not to fall in love with me tonight, okay, flower?” He throws his arm back over my shoulders and directs me toward precalc. He’s teasing me, but if I’m honest with myself, there’s more than a distinct chance of exactly that.





Chapter Ten


February 14th,

Mom doesn’t talk about my father much. Most of what I know is what I remember of him from before he died. But I was seven when he was killed during a job Petrov roped him into, so most of my memories of him are fuzzy at best.

I can vaguely remember when he taught me to ride my bike without training wheels. jogging along behind for what seemed like miles back then before letting go and letting me fly. And I’ve melded together in my own mind all the nights he used to read me to sleep. But one memory of him and my mother together has always stood out clearly in my mind.

It’s such a simple memory; my mother was cooking dinner, and my father was tooling around in the kitchen “helping” her. She accused him of trying to get in the way, and instead of arguing with her or leaving the room, he just hugged her. It was the kind of hug people who are really in love share, the kind where they fit perfectly together in body and spirit.

It seems silly, but one day, I want that. I want that love, that intimacy.

But I can’t ever have it. It’s not like a teenage jewel thief is the kind of girl a boy would be proud to bring home to his parents.

I want to be normal.



I stare at the page, at the words that evidence my desire to leave behind everything my family is. I stare until my vision blurs. Then I close my journal and tuck my pen into the spine.

I can’t think about this right now. I have a date to get ready for, and I don’t want to show up to it loathing my life and myself.

I’ve told Will this date is just a casual thing we’re doing, but the closer I get to it, the more nervous energy collects in my muscles. By the time I get to the restaurant tonight, I’m going to be a fidgety bundle of awkwardness.

I look wistfully at my phone and consider calling off the date for only the hundredth time since I got home. But I restrain myself. I just want to have a good time, to be a typical seventeen-year-old for the night. And Will is definitely the person to help me forget everything. I climb off my bed, leaving my journal to be forgotten among my sheets, and head for the shower.

…

I still haven’t quite got the hang of navigating the city yet, so I program the address of the restaurant into my phone and let the GPS lead me. From the looks of it, the place isn’t far.

I turn right at the first intersection and catch sight of my reflection in the darkened window of a storefront across the street. My heels are tall and sparkly, and my dress is a shimmery, lavender number not meant for New York winters. The one comfort concession I did make was to throw on a thick, button-down knitted sweater. Partly for warmth and partly for the deep pockets to stash my stuff in so I don’t need a purse. I’ve never dressed up for a guy before—I’ve never wanted to.

I hope Will likes the look.

Behind my reflection is the slightly distorted mirror image of the street behind me. It’s all but deserted. The only other person sharing this stretch of sidewalk is a man bundled tightly in winter wrapping. I’m a little envious of his heavy coat and long pants, but I grin and bear it, snuggling deeper into my sweater.

A block later, my phone tells me to go left. I stand at the corner and dutifully wait for the light to change. I keep my attention straight ahead, and when I get the walk signal, I’m the first one off the curb. Again I watch the reflections in the store window in front of me.

After that, I make a bit of a game out of inspecting reflections in the windows I pass, watching the people around me without actually looking at them. I’m still two blocks from the restaurant when I realize that the same man whose winter coat I envied near my apartment is still behind me. All the other pedestrians have come and gone, but he’s been with me the entire time.

Almost like he’s following me.

My pulse speeds up, and adrenaline is spreading warmth through my veins, preparing my body for fight-or-flight. I quicken my pace, rushing as casually as I can in heels. No matter how freaked I am, I don’t want to let on that I’ve made him. So far, he’s keeping a safe-ish distance.

And just like that, I’m starting to second-guess myself. Maybe my flight reflex is malfunctioning. Maybe the stress of hiding out is getting to me, and I’m starting to imagine danger where there isn’t any. But if he really is tailing me and realizes I’m onto him, he may act. And a surprised assailant is an unpredictable assailant.