Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(29)

He waves his hand dismissively as he drains the last of his bottle and sets the empty on the coffee table. “It’s no matter. I will help you.” He’s clearly stopped listening, if he ever even was.

My mother changes tacks, turning to me and saying, “Mari, why don’t you go on to bed. We’ll talk more about this in the morning, sí?”

I nod and climb out of my chair to obey. After kissing my mother on the cheek, I head for my room, but not before throwing out a half-hearted, “Good night, Uncle Samuel. It’s good to see you.”

The whole time I’m showering and getting ready for bed, I mentally relive my entire date with Will, replaying my favorite moments over and over. Like the way he looked at me when he first caught sight of me outside the restaurant. Or the way his lips felt like silk on mine. Or the way kissing him felt perfect, like we were made to fit together. And he’d seemed just as into it as I was. My stomach flips at the thought that I might get another chance to kiss him.

As I crawl into bed, I grab my phone from my nightstand. I tell myself I’m just checking the time—11:23 p.m.—but really I’m checking to see if Will has messaged me.

He has. Hey, flower. Everything all right? I had a great time tonight. Maybe we can do it again on not V-day.

My fingers are stiff with giddy nerves when I try to respond, and I have to erase and restart several times before my message is finally typo-free. Yeah, it was just my uncle needing a place to crash. I had fun, too. I want to say more, like how great a kisser he is, how I wish my mother hadn’t called and interrupted us. But I leave it at that.

Will doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s already asleep. I have trouble doing the same, distracted as I am by the memory of Will’s lips on mine and his body pressed so close. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s gotten under my skin in the most dangerous way…





Chapter Thirteen


February 15th,

I didn’t sleep well last night. I had too much on my mind. Will is…a nice surprise. I know the biggest reason for coming here was to start a new—normal—life, but it’s already surpassing everything I hoped for. I’ve made a couple of awesome friends, and now I’m falling for a guy who actually might feel the same way about me. It’s not that I thought of myself as un-datable, but I guess I never really thought there would be room in my life for a…boyfriend. But every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw Will, smiling at me from across the booth at dinner, leaning in for a kiss on his rooftop. Sure, I’ve kissed boys in Truth or Dare, and there was that one time, in Westmeath, that Finn O’Reilly snuck a kiss for cheap thrills behind the pub. But I was eight and more into playing hopscotch than kissing boys, and all I remember about it is that his breath smelled like peanut butter.

But last night’s kiss…that was a real kiss. Definitely one for documenting. And better than any I might have been picturing.



A knock on my bedroom door interrupts my writing. I slam my journal shut and tuck it under my pillow before calling out, “Come in.”

I expect my mom, but it’s Uncle Samuel who pokes his head into my room. “Good morning, Mari. I wanted to come say hello before I run a few errands. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I answer, and he steps fully into the room. I curl my feet up under myself to make room for him to sit at the foot of my bed.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. You’ve grown quite a bit.” He appraises me in the way a relative appraises a child. Then his expression grows sad and distant. “Your father would be so proud.”

And just like that, my own spirits take a nosedive. My father has been gone so long that most of the time his absence is my normal. But sometimes, particularly when someone points it out, I remember how much he should have been here for.

“He loved you and your mother very much. And your mother was wrecked without him.”

“I remember my mom being different once my father was gone, but I was so young.” She must have hid from me how hard it really was on her.

“Yes, you were very young.” Uncle Samuel clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “Your mother wanted to leave with you back then, but my father talked her out of it.”

That was news to me. “How?”

My uncle’s eyes take on a faraway look, like he’s mentally reliving the memory. “He reminded your mother that if she left, she would be completely alone. You would be completely alone. If she stayed, you would always have a family, always have someone to help you when you needed it. You know your nonno’s favorite saying…”

“‘Chi si volta, e chi si gira, sempre a casa va finire,’” I supply. No matter where you go, you will always end up at home.

Uncle Samuel nods. “Yes, right up there under ‘Il sangue non e acqua.’” Blood is not water.

“So she stayed.”

“She stayed with us…with your father’s family. For you. So you would know the love of family.”

For the first time ever, I think about my father’s death in terms of how hard it must have been for my mother. It must have been hell to continue in the business that cost her husband his life, to be reminded of his absence every time she did a job with a partner who wasn’t him, to sit down to meals with his family but not him. And she did it for me.