Текст книги "Confessions of a Kleptomaniac"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

I actually have four people I consider my best friends. Together, we make up a group of five very different people who somehow work together. Ari is our computer genius who’s really into school and getting good grades. Whenever we have a computer crisis, he’s there to hack into whatever we need him to do. He once even changed Wynter’s math grade from a D to a C so she’d pass Algebra.

Me: Tell him that he’s the bestest, bestest.

Wynter: I thought I was the bestest, bestest. :(

Me: No, you’re the bestest, bestest, bestest. But don’t tell the others.

Wynter: It’s our little secret. ;)

I set the phone on the console and back the car onto the road. The drive to school takes me about ten minutes. After parking the car, I grab my bag, get out, and take a seat on a bench in the campus yard with my bag on my lap, trying to hide my clothes as best as I can. As I’m digging through my bag for a stick of gum, I come across a few items I stole a couple of weeks ago. Usually, I hide everything in a loose floorboard in my closet, but mom knocked on the door while I was emptying my pockets, and I panicked and stuffed them into my bag.

I pull out one of the items and frown. A ceramic statue of a goose? I hate geese. I really do. They’re so mean and noisy. So why of all things did I jack this statue? I don’t even need it. What kind of person does that make me?

A terrible one who hates geese for no reason other than they’re noisy and mean.

“Dude, what’s up with the creepy-ass bird?” Beckett asks as he squints at the hand-sized statue in my hand.

He’s what most people call the preppy, rich kid of our group. They think he’s shallow and spoiled because his parents give him everything. That’s just the surface of Beckett, though. There’s way more going on underneath his nice clothes and good looks.

“It’s a present for my Gran’s b-day,” I lie, too afraid to tell him the truth.

He slides onto the bench beside me. “I hate to break it to you, Lu, but your present sucks balls. It’s seriously going to give your Gran fucking nightmares about the thing coming to life and eating her face off.”

“Okay, first off, gross, and second, you know I suck at picking out presents.” Not wanting to talk about the bird anymore, I stuff it into my bag. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Nope. Not even close. To distract myself from my terribleness, I skim the crowd forming in front of our school. “Where’s Wynter?”

He slumps back in the seat, his mood deflating. “She didn’t come out of her house this morning when I stopped to pick her up, and she hasn’t answered any of my texts.”

“Are you two still fighting?” I ask, pulling out my phone.

He props his foot up on his knee and rakes his fingers through his messy blond hair. “We were never fighting. We just had a mild disagreement.” When I elevate my brows at him, his lips quirk. “What? It wasn’t a fight? We didn’t even yell at each other.”

“Yeah, because she threw her drink in your face and then left your house before you could yell at her. If she’d stuck around, then you two definitely would’ve started yelling.” I swipe my finger across the screen of my phone.

Me: Where r u at?

Wynter: By my locker, waiting for you with some killa clothes.

Me: Awesome. But just an FYI, I’m with Beckett. He seems upset because you blew him off this morning.

Wynter: He totally deserves it. He called me a drama queen and a spoiled brat in front of the entire school, and he didn’t even apologize!

I sigh. Wynter is so about the drama, has been ever since we first met. Wynter and Beckett, however, didn’t used to fight. Back in second grade, Beckett used to have a crush on Wynter and would follow her around like a lovesick puppy. Thankfully, he stopped doing that around fourth grade when he decided he wanted just to be friends.

Me: He just told me to say he was sorry.

“I didn’t even do anything that I need to say sorry for,” Beckett says as he reads the message from over my shoulder.

“You called her a spoiled brat. You know she hates that, Beck,” I shoo him away from my phone.

“But she is a drama queen and a spoiled brat. So am I. She should just own it.” He bounces his knee up and down, growing frustrated. “She always acts like a princess in front of everyone when she’s drunk. And I’m not going to just sit there and put up with her drama.”

I push to my feet. “I know you’re trying to look out for her, but maybe next time, you should try taking her aside and talking to her about stuff instead of yelling at her in front of everyone.”

“Maybe there won’t be a next time,” he says. “Maybe I’ll finally say to hell with her shit and stop apologizing for stuff I don’t need to be apologizing for.”

“You know you’re not going to do that. She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s still your friend.”

“I guess so. I just wish she’d be nicer to me and quit freakin’ out over the tiniest things.”

“She’s nice when she’s sober, just like you’re more serious when you are.” I sling the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “I’m headed inside. You coming?”

He shakes his head, staring at the parking lot. “I’m waiting for Ari. I’ll catch up you with ya later, though.”

Waiting for Ari is code for he’s avoiding Wynter for a while and will probably have a guy bitch-fest with Ari. Poor Ari. He’s too nice, and he won’t say anything to Beckett, even if he doesn’t want to listen to him complain.

I decide to do Ari a solid and send him a text, warning him about Beckett’s pissy mood so at least he’ll have a choice over whether or not he wants to listen. More than likely, he’ll still meet up with Beckett because he’s not the kind of person to blow his friends off.

After I send the message, I wave good-bye to Beckett then weave through the crowd and toward the school with the morning sunlight beaming down on me. It’s late September, but since we live in a fairly dry and sandy place, the temperatures are still in the high seventies. I miss my shorts and skirts. I miss the fresh air on my long legs, which are going to get super pasty hidden beneath the god-awful pants my mom is going to make me wear for the rest of my existence.

“Whoa, she must really be mad at you.” Wynter’s face is pinched with disgust just like everyone else that has looked at my outfit this morning. She’s sitting in front of her locker with her legs stretched out, munching on a bag of chips.

I’m jealous of the cut-offs, silk kimono, and platforms she’s wearing. On top of being a diva, Wynter is really into clothes and completely obsessed with shoes to the point where we’ve all questioned if we should give her an intervention about her shoe addiction.

“You should’ve stopped by my house and changed before you came to school.”

“Yeah, probably, but I’ve been a little out of it since she made me torch my clothes.” I sink down on the floor beside her and slump back against the locker. “I don’t want to hate her, but sometimes it feels like I do. I’m such a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person. All kids feel like they hate their parents at some point in their lives,” she says, munching on a chip. “And besides, your parents are freakin’ psycho, making you burn all those pretty clothes like that. You seriously need to tell them to fuck off.”

A stressed breath eases from my lips. Just thinking about telling them off makes me sick to my stomach. “I’ll think about it.”

“No, don’t think about it. Do it.” She offers me some chips, and I shovel up a handful. “I mean, you’re already eighteen, for God’s sake. They need to start realizing they can’t control you anymore. You need to be your own person.”

Easy for her to say. Wynter’s parents are completely the opposite of mine and pretty much ignore her and let her do anything she wants. While she pretends her life is fun, I can tell she gets lonely sometimes.

“I’ve been trying to. You know that.” I look down at my hideous sweater. “But I feel like I’m starting all over again.”

“You’re not starting over. Your mom can’t burn all those parties and fun things we’ve been doing.” Wynter evaluates my outfit again before springing to her feet. “But we do need to get you out of those clothes like ASAP; otherwise, I’m going to have to disown you.” She smiles so I’ll know she’s kidding.

I know she’d never disown me over clothes and will always be my friend no matter what. Even if she found out about my klepto habit, she’d probably still love me. But I’d rather her not know. I’d rather have no one know about that horrible side of me.

But now Grey Sawyer knows, and I’m going to cross paths with him multiple times today. Will he say anything? What if he’s told people, like his popular jock and cheerleader friends? Will they start ridiculing me again?

“Are you okay?” Wynter asks as she opens her locker and picks up a small stack of folded clothes from the top shelf. “You look like you feel sick.”

“I’m good.” I stand up and stretch out my legs. “I’m just really ready to get the hell out of this outfit.”

She gives me the look as she hands me the clothes. The look always makes me uncomfortable, as if she can see right through me, and it usually leads to her prying.

“You sure? Because you can always talk to me about anything.” Her eyes light up as she claps her hands together. “You know what we should do? We should go track down Willow and the three of us ditch today. We can have a girls’ day out and binge on ice cream. We haven’t done that in forever.”

The idea is appealing, but she’ll hold to her word and make me tell her what’s bothering me. While I hate keeping stuff from her, confessing my worries with Grey discovering my klepto side means confessing things I’m ashamed of. Hopefully, Grey will keep his mouth shut; otherwise, the rumors are going to spread through the school like a wildfire, and Wynter will end up finding out, anyway—everyone will.

“I can’t ditch today. I have a test in math that I can’t miss. Plus, my mom’s got the principal on Luna watch.” I take the clothes from her and back toward the bathroom. “But how about a rain check? Maybe next week sometime?”

“Okay.” She keeps giving me the look as I wave good-bye then duck into the bathroom.

I peel off the heavy sweater and slacks and put on the black tank top and plaid shorts Wynter brought for me. We don’t wear the same size shoes, so I’m stuck wearing my tattered sneakers, but they look okay with the outfit.

I stuff the sweater and jeans into my backpack so I can put them back on after school. Then I pop my headphones in and crank up a song. School is one of the few places where I can actually listen to the music I like. The rhythm soothes me as I head to my first class of the morning, even though school doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.

Since it’s so early, I expect the classroom to be empty, but when I walk in, Grey Sawyer is sitting at one of the desks. He’s wearing a faded black Henley and a pair of worn jeans, his brown hair scraggly but sexy, looking perfectly put together like he did the other day when he saw who I really am.

I start to back out of the room, but he looks up at me before I can make my escape. For a split second, his blue eyes widen, but then he gives me that lazy, I’m-the-shit smile. Even after everything that’s happened, the look makes my heart go all kinds of crazy in my chest.

His lips suddenly move as he says something to me.

I tug on the cords of the headphones and pull them the out of my ears. “Sorry. What did you say?”

A sparkle of amusement dances in his eyes. “I said, hey, how’s it going?”

“Good,” I reply hesitantly, hitching my thumb under the handle of my bag. “How’s stuff going with you?”

“The same. You know, just living life and all that shit.” He briefly studies me before he returns to scribbling in his notebook.

That’s it? No, ‘hey, crazy shoplifting girl’? No, ‘I saw you the other day stealing from Benny, the nicest old man on the planet’? No, ‘here’s your jacket back, you dirty little thief’?

I reluctantly sit down in a desk across from him. The room is so quiet I can hear the sound of his pencil scratching across the paper. I retrieve my phone and check my messages to kill time, but no one has responded, and I’m left feeling hyperaware that Grey is right there. Usually, that alone makes me a little bit nervous, but now my nerves are even more jumbled because he probably knows stuff about me that no one does. It makes me feel exposed and very uncomfortable in my own skin.

“Have you talked to Beckett this morning?” Grey abruptly asks, startling the living daylights out of me.

“Yeah, I saw him, like, fifteen minutes ago. Why? Did you need to talk to him or something?”

“I just needed to get something from him, but haven’t had time to go track him down yet.”

“Just send him a text and tell him to bring it to you.” I force myself to meet his gaze and point at the window. “Or you can just go outside and search the quad. I’m sure he’s still out there.” Bitching Ari’s ear off about Wynter.

“I would, but I can’t leave the classroom.” When I stare at him in confusion, he looks down at the notebook on his desk, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. “I’m on academic probation, and I’m trying to get caught up on some assignments so I won’t miss Friday’s game. And I know, if I walk out of here, I’ll get caught up with other shit and won’t come back. Being in a classroom, there’s less distractions.” He lifts his gaze back to me and shrugs.

He’s acting so casual. Maybe he’s simply going to let the stealing thing go. I sure hope so. I feel a small weight lift from my shoulders at that thought.

“Just text Beckett, then. I’m sure he’ll bring you . . . that thing.”

“I would, but I . . . I didn’t bring my phone.” He stares at the trees, avoiding my gaze, seeming less confident than he normally is.

Weird. But then again, this whole exchange is weird since the two of us have barely spoken since the dance invite fiasco.

“Another distraction?” I wonder.

He nods, turning his head toward me. For some reason, I feel like he’s lying. I don’t know why I feel that way or why it even matters, yet I don’t understand why someone would lie about not having their phone with them.

“I can text him for you,” I offer.

He exhales audibly. “Thanks, Luna. That’d be awesome.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say as I type Beckett a message.

Me: Hey! U need to hit up Mr. Gartying’s classroom. Grey’s stuck in here and says ur supposed to bring him something. I’m hoping it’s not what I think it is, though, because now I feel like an accomplice. ;)

Beckett: Nope, it’s exactly what u think it is. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure you look hot in handcuffs.

I roll my eyes. Well, at least he’s in a better mood.

Beckett: Tell Grey I’m on my way . . . Although, I didn’t know u two hung out.

Me: We don’t. We’re both just stuck in the classroom together.

Beckett: Why r u stuck there?

I consider telling him it’s because I’m avoiding Wynter, but that would give him an open invitation to complain about her.

Me: I needed to get an assignment sheet I lost.

Beckett: Gotcha. Tell Grey I’ll be there in a min.

“He says he’s on his way,” I tell Grey as I set my phone down on the desk. I slant to the side to dig out my book from my bag, figuring that’s the end of our conversation. But when I straighten back up, he’s staring at me with hesitancy written all over his face.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks cautiously.

I stiffen. Oh, great, here it comes.

“Um . . . Yeah . . . I guess so.”

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything, but if I don’t ask, I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it.” He fiddles with a button on the sleeve of his shirt. “Is everything okay with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The store the other day . . .” He scoops up his bag from the floor and drops it on the desk. “When I saw you stealing all that stuff”—he unzips the bag, retrieves my jacket, and hands it to me—“I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay after what happened.”

My palms sweat as I take the jacket from him. “I don’t . . . I didn’t mean . . . I can’t . . .”

How am I supposed to explain why I stole some of the stuff that was in the pocket of the jacket? How am I supposed to explain why I steal? I wish I was more like Wynter. If she was in this position, she’d just play it off as being a badass rebel. But I always feel so guilty and ashamed when I get caught doing something wrong, and I’m sure it shows on my face.

“I’m fine . . . Thanks . . . for helping me,” I manage to get out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grey says. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

He offers me sympathetic smile that only puzzles me more. “That sometimes people hit rough spots in their life and have to do extreme things to survive.”

I’m even more confounded. Does he think I was shoplifting because I had to? Like I needed all those things I stole? Is that why he helped me out?

I should correct him, tell him I wasn’t surviving anything except the frustration in my life. I just have issues, and I’m a terrible, messed up person. But before I get the chance, Beckett strolls into the classroom.

“Aw, look at this. My two favorite people in the whole, wide world hanging,” Beckett says as he plants his ass on my desk. “What a great way to start the day.”

I note his bloodshot eyes. “You’re high already,” I mouth.

He grins goofily and mouths, “I needed cheering up.”

I bite back a smile. When Beckett’s in a good mood, he can be quite charming, but I don’t want to encourage him.

He winks at me before turning to Grey. “So you’re still on academic probation, huh? That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping to catch up by the end of the week so I can play in Friday’s game,” he grumbles in frustration. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pull it off. I suck at this class, man.”

Beckett deliberates something before his gaze glides to me. “Luna’s pretty good at it. Maybe she can help you.”

“Willow is better than I am.” I give him a pleading look not to push this. Even before Grey found out I’m a klepto, I don’t think I could’ve handle being alone with him. “You should ask her to do it.”

Beckett dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Don’t listen to Luna,” he tells Grey. “She’s just being shy.”

“No, I’m not.” I blast Beckett with a look. “I’m just being honest. I’m not as good at this as Willow is, and you know as well as I do that she’s a way better tutor.”

“I’d love it if you could, but it’s okay if you don’t want to,” Grey says, but he seems disappointed.

Beckett gives me a what’s-wrong-with-you look that makes me feel like the biggest jerk ever. I’m being rude after Grey saved my butt from getting busted at Benny’s. I kind of owe him.

“No, it’s okay,” I tell Grey. “If you want me to tutor you, then I can.”

Grey smiles a full-on, genuine smile. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate it, and I promise I’ll be the best student ever.”

I return his smile, but on the inside, I’m a wreck. Why the heck did I just agree to tutor him? Grey freakin’ Sawyer. The guy who made me feel like a loser. The guy who knows my dirty, little secret. He knows stuff about me I don’t want people to know. And now I’m just going to what? Spend hours with him, trying to help him get better with English class and hope he doesn’t want to talk about what I did?

Then there’s my mom. She’s going to freak if she finds out I’m hanging out with a guy, even if it’s just to study. She always gets that way when I try to spend time with guys she doesn’t know. She still acts like a weirdo whenever I mention Ari and Beckett.

As reality sets in, I open my mouth to retract my offer, to tell Grey that I have something else I need to do, but the bell rings, and people come pouring into the classroom.

While there’s a distraction, Beckett pulls a crinkled envelope from his pocket and lays it on Grey’s desk.

“Thanks, man.” Grey doesn’t appear very happy about the envelope as he picks it up and stuffs it into his backpack. Then he collects a small box from his backpack, and with his fingers gripping it tightly, he hands it to Beck. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, man,” Beckett says, taking the box from him. “And let me know what you decide.”

Grey bobs his head up and down, shoving the envelope into his bag.

Curious about what’s going on, I attempt to capture Beck’s gaze, but he refuses to make eye contact with me.

“I should probably bounce. I mean, I do have class,” Beck says to no one in particular.

Just then, Logan, one of Grey’s friends, drops his books on the desk in front of mine. “What’s up fuckheads?” he greets Grey and Beckett. Then his gaze lands on me, and a grin plasters across his face. “Hey, what happened to the grandma outfit you were wearing this morning?”

“I ditched it,” I mutter, opening up my textbook.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” he sneers. “You looked like a fucking hideous beast.”

“Dude, shut up.” Beckett rises to his feet and gets in Logan’s face. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“Beck, it’s fine.” I snag his sleeve and haul him back, not wanting him to get in a fight. “He’s right. I did look like a hideous beast.”

“See? She agrees with me.” Logan flashes me what he probably thinks is a charming grin.

I stare at him, unimpressed. Gag me.

“I thought I was having flashbacks from last year,” Logan rambles on, “when you used to dress like a homeless person all the time. Glad you weren’t stupid enough to go back to that look.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll punch him in the face,” Beckett says to me, looking eager to please.

I’m not about to get Beck into trouble. “Beck, I said it’s—”

“Quit being an asshole, Logan,” Grey interrupts in a harsh tone. He keeps his gaze fixed on his book, flipping through the pages. “Not everyone has the privilege of being a spoiled, little rich kid who never has to worry about money.”

Beckett gives me a questioning glance then leans in and puts his lips beside my ear. “Why is Grey Sawyer standing up for you?” he whispers. “I mean, I love you to death, Lu, and I think you’re fucking amazing, but Grey doesn’t get involved with other people’s drama.” He moves back, raising his voice. “That’s my thing.”

“Yes, it is.” I stress each syllable. “And maybe you should really think about what you just said, considering you’re always chewing out Wynter for being a drama queen.”

His brows furrow as if he just realizes they both share the same trait. “Interesting thought process.” He rubs his jawline. “I’m going to have to think about that one for a while.”

“Maybe you should do that when you’ve done a little less.” I put two fingers up to my lips and suck in a breath.

He aims a finger at me as he backs down the aisle. “Good idea. Although, I’ll probably forget about this conversation by the time that happens.”

“Beckett Vincent, get to your own class,” Mr. Gartying barks as he strides into the classroom, carrying a stack of papers.

“Yes, sir.” Beckett salutes the teacher before spinning on his heels and disappearing into the hallway.

Mr. Gartying shakes his head as he sets the papers down on his desk. “Everyone take a seat and turn to the page written on the board while I take roll.”

I rack my mind for an excuse to give Grey that will get me out of tutoring him as I open my book to the correct page. But everything I come up with seems lame and rude, and I don’t want to be a lame or rude person to anyone, no matter who they are or what they did to me.

“You okay?” Grey whispers to me from across the aisle. “I know Logan can be a dick sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply. “And it’s not that big of a deal. He was right about my outfit, anyway.”

“It doesn’t matter if he was right.” He keeps his voice low. “He shouldn’t be an asshole just because he’s rich and doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle.”

My gut twists again. “Grey, I wasn’t stealing because of . . .” I trail off, fearing what everyone will find out if I say it aloud. I’m scared they’ll find out I’m not as good of a person as people think. And most of all, I’m afraid of what will happen if somehow word gets back to my parents.

“Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone what happened.” He pauses, looking as though he’s having a mental tug-of-war with himself. “Luna, I’m here if you need to talk. I know you have friends and stuff, but I just wanted you to know that.” He smiles at me as he sits back in his seat.

“Okay . . . thanks . . .”

I feel so lost. Why is he being nice to me? Does he feel sorry for me because he thinks I’m poor? Or is it simply because he’s trying to be a nicer person now?

As class begins, I’m left with a handful of unanswered questions, stewing in my own guilt.