Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(9)

Back at my locker, I wrap my makeshift tool around the lock’s shackle and slip the point down into the locking mechanism. A quick jimmy and I’m able to pull the lock open. And just like that, I have access to my locker again. Who needs a combination anyway?

I drop my bag at my feet and bend to get my books out of it. On my way back up to put them in my locker, movement in my periphery catches my eye. Will is standing not twenty feet away, and I never heard him approach. My heart hammers against my ribs. Did he see what I just did? What will he think of me now? Probably peg me for some kind of delinquent.

But maybe it’s not a bad thing if he thinks I have a rebellious streak, as long as it keeps him from figuring out that rebellion in my family would mean not breaking into locked things.

I shrug off his shocked stare and throw my books into my locker, then shut it and relock it, making sure to pocket my little makeshift pick. “I thought you left,” I say as I head toward Will, only because he’s between the way home and me.

“Yeah, somehow, I ended up with your English folder.” Sure enough, he’s holding the dark-blue, three-prong folder I tucked my English notes and assignment into during class today. I would have missed that at home when I went to do my homework.

“Thanks.” I take it from him carefully, almost like I expect a jolt of electricity to course through it from him to me. But I remain un-shocked and slip the folder into my backpack before continuing on my way. Will stays where he is, and I do my best not to take it personally. I only just met the guy today, after all, and he just caught me breaking into my own locker. If I were him, I’d probably have stayed behind, too.





Chapter Four


February 7th,

The worst thing I ever lost was my virginity. No, I’m just playing; I still have that. Seriously, though, it was the opal ring my mom gave me when I turned eleven. It was my grandmother’s, the ring my grandfather gave her when he proposed, and Mom thought I was mature enough to wear it. Turns out she was wrong.

I didn’t even have it a month before I lost it at school one day. It was my first year in Italy, and I had just switched schools the week before. Considering the language barrier between English and Italian and the cultural gap, I was almost desperate for a friend, any friend. So when Ana, one of the most popular girls in my class, oohed and aahed over it, I couldn’t get it off my finger fast enough in my attempt to let her try it on. She had no trouble getting it on her finger, but when she tried to get it off, it was stuck.

We tried everything. She pulled; I pulled. Even the teacher gave it a go. She tried soap and cold water at the bathroom sink, and even that didn’t work. We were sent to the school office.

Signora Di Cicco, the office administrator, called the maintenance guy, who brought, like, tin snips or something. He cut it off, and I almost cried. I was happy to have the ring back, but it was damaged, no longer wearable, and I was sure my mom’s heart was going to be broken over the fact that I’d taken it off in the first place. I tucked it into the little zipper pocket in the front of my backpack and prayed my mom wouldn’t notice it wasn’t on my finger.

She noticed at dinner that night. I tried hard to keep my hand in my lap under the table, but I slipped up and reached for my drink with the wrong one. My mom has eyes like a hawk, and she zeroed in on my bare index finger immediately.

“Where’s Abuela’s ring?” Her tone was accusatory, and I immediately gave up any idea I’d had about hiding the broken ring from her. I told her the whole story, start to finish, and when I was done, even though I expected her to be furious with me, she smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was still a smile.

She told me, “Mija, you never have to hide things from me. I love you. Yes, the ring was special, but you are more special. Besides, we can always have it repaired. Go and get it; let’s take a look.”

But when I went to get it out of my backpack, it was gone. I’m almost positive Ana took it. The pouch was zipped tight, and she was the only other person who knew it was in there. So my grandmother’s ring wasn’t just broken; it was gone. There were tears in my mom’s eyes when I told her, and I know it was because that ring was one of the few things left of my grandmother’s. But my mom stood by her word and didn’t get mad at me. She told me she knew I didn’t lose it on purpose, but still, to this day, I feel like I let her down in a big way. I feel like I’m letting my mom down again now by not acclimating well enough to the new home I begged to move to.

She was waiting at the door for me when I got home from school. For the second day in a row. She looked for all the world as if she were barely restraining herself from asking how my day was. Somehow, she must have sensed the aching loneliness I was feeling when I got home. The only person who’s even spoken to me in two days is Will, my sidewalk Romeo. He’s killer hot, but I’ve been a loner for so long—by necessity, never by desire—that I’m not even sure where to begin.

…

I put down my pen, close my journal, and lean back on my bed, resting my weight against the headboard. That’s enough touchy-feely for now. I didn’t mean to pour my heart out on the page, and I certainly didn’t intend to write about that particular experience, but something about the way I felt when I lost that ring reminds me of the way I feel now.

I mentally replay my first two days of school, of floating through the hallways filled with other students, of sitting in the office waiting for my schedule. I could easily have connected with any one of those other students. If I’d only known how. Besides Will, the closest I’ve come to making a new friend is Jamie, and I didn’t see him again at all after he showed me to my class. My brain hitches on the flyer I saw for drama club tryouts, and I have a lightbulb-over-the-head kind of moment. I’m not into drama, or anything that would put me in the spotlight, really, but surely there’s another club. One where I could meet people, feel normal, and still be inconspicuous.