tepped out of the storeroom at the back of the shoe section and strode right by me, up to the counter. She was about my age, but petite, with a lip piercing and a ton of eye shadow.
“Louise! There you are,” the woman said, exasperated. “Your break was over fifteen minutes ago.”
“Sorry. I was on the phone with Christine, and you know how she gets,” Louise said, rolling her eyes. “Go ahead and grab dinner. I got this.”
Louise’s mom patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Then she turned and walked toward the back room. As she passed me by, she gave me a long, admonishing look, but kept walking. Behind the counter, Louise popped a pair of ear buds in her ears, yanked a graphic novel out from under the counter, and leaned back against the wall to read.
Well. Things had just turned right around, hadn’t they?
Slowly, I walked up to the side of the counter, where a bevy of glittering necklaces were displayed on small, hanging racks. Louise looked up as I approached and gave me a quick smile, then returned to her reading. I lifted the tiny white price tag on the first necklace. It looked like something the new Lorna might wear. A string of delicate, white beads with every tenth bead replaced by a rhinestone-encrusted flower. The price was $250.
I glanced at Louise again. She was engrossed. Carefully, casually, I slid the necklace off the display, folded it around my hand, and then stuffed my hand into one of the thick, woolen socks. My palms were sweating profusely, and for a second the necklace stuck to my skin, but I wiggled my fingers and it fell free, nestled perfectly inside the pocket of wool.
“I’ll take these,” I said, dropping the socks on the counter.
Louise pulled one ear bud from her ear and glanced at the price tag. She keyed the numbers into the register and snapped her gum.
“That’ll be ten sixty,” she said.
I dove into my bag and fumbled out my wallet. She waited patiently while I extracted a ten and a single and shakily handed over the bills.
“You need a bag?” she asked, jamming down on a button. The cash register slid open with a clang.
“No!” I practically shouted. I plucked the socks off the counter and into my handbag, shoving them as far down as they would go. Louise looked at me like I’d just escaped from a mental asylum.
“Okay. You don’t have to take one,” she said a bit sarcastically.
I laughed. “Sorry. Too many Red Bulls today.”
She grinned and rolled her eyes. “I hear ya,” she said, sliding my forty cents across the counter. “Have a good one!”
Then she popped her ear bud back into her ear and picked up her book. That was it. Easy peasy. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. I grabbed my change, turned around, and made for the front of the store like I was running for the carousel at the state fair when I was a little kid. Pure and utter joy coursed through my veins. Not to mention this kind of euphoric, all-powerful feeling. I’d gotten away with it. I’d actually gotten away with it.
“Hey! Wait!” Louise shouted.
I froze with my hand on the door. My heart choked off all air supply. Across the street I could see Ivy sitting in the front window at Starbucks, sipping a coffee, waiting for me. Little did she know that if she was ever going to see me again, she was going to have to bail me out at the Easton police station.
I turned around to face my accuser.
“Here!” Louise said. “You forgot your receipt!”
She held out a tiny white scrap of paper.
“My mom freaks if I forget to give them out. There’s a special discount coupon at the bottom and she thinks it’s the holy grail of repeat business,” Louise said, shaking the receipt like she was offering a bone to a dog.
My brain was taking way too long to catch up. Somehow I managed to reach out and take the receipt, but my expression was completely confused.
“Mothers, huh?” I heard myself say.
“Can’t live with them, but they do pay for the pizza,” Louise joked back. “See ya.”
She sashayed back behind the counter and I turned around and shoved open the door. A gush of cold air hit me in the face, waking me from my stupor, and just like that, I was free. I crumpled the receipt and tossed it into a garbage can as I crossed the street to meet my friend.
Discount coupon or no discount coupon, there was no way I was ever stepping foot in that store again.
I had committed a crime. I was a felon. A thief. Every time I looked down at the long, beaded necklace, dangling low on my chest, my stomach twisted. I couldn’t believe I’d actually felt proud of myself for even a moment. What had I accomplished, really? I’d managed to hide something from a girl who probably wouldn’t have noticed if a nuclear bomb had gone off under the countertop. And I’d probably gotten her in trouble. Once her mom realized a $250 necklace had gone missing on her watch, Louise was dead. That woman had no-nonsense written all over her. Would she fire Louise? Take away her iPod? Stop buying her the pizza she so clearly lived for?