Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief

by Rosie Somers

  I watch the passenger door of the sports car open at the same time my mom throws the back door of our van wide and jumps down. I don’t get a look at whoever is climbing out of the car before climbing down after my mom, and I don’t care to. With the van taking up the whole width of the alley, we might just be able to make our escape.

  “Where will we go?” I ask.

  “New York City.”

  Chapter Two

  February 5th,

  The life of a professional thief is glamorous.

  That is, if you consider attending five high schools in three years, possessing my own personal collection of ski masks, having better knife-throwing skills than social skills, and not having a close friend since elementary school glamorous. Yep, I’m living the dream. I have arrived.

  Today’s my first day at high school number six. This time is different, though. This time, I’m not moonlighting as a larcenist, planning and executing heists. My only responsibility right now is going to school. Oh yeah, and I’m back in New York. I haven’t been here since my father died nine years ago.

  I’m both relieved and terrified. Give me a safe and I can crack it easy breezy. Put me outside a locked door, and I can pick my way in faster than you can say, “Locked out.” I know how to find schematics and floor plans for buildings in fifty different cities, and I can navigate air shafts like a pro.

  Because I am a pro.

  What I’m not good at is being a typical teenage girl. I’m not up on pop culture; I have no idea who the popular bands or hot actors are. I’m not sure my clothes are stylish, or even close.

  As much as I’ve been pining for a regular life lately, I’m a little worried now that I have it. And if I’m honest, a little adrift. Like I don’t quite know what to do with myself if I’m not spending all my free time engaging in illicit pursuits.

  I’m torn between feeling like I don’t know what to do with all this extra time on my hands and wanting to hide inside my room from the world because I’m not sure how to fit in. I’d prefer to just enroll in some sort of online classes. The idea of having to face a whole new school filled with kids who will be eyeballing the new girl, sizing me up, is not an appealing one. At all.

  I barely slept last night, I was so nervous, and I think I must have stood in front of the mirror for an hour this morning, trying on different outfits, making sure my makeup and hair were just so. I finally decided on dressing for comfort over style—plus it’s like negative a bazillion degrees today. But even now, I’m considering changing. For the millionth time.

  What if I’m the weird new girl? What if no one wants to make friends with the weird new girl? Or worse, what if I do make friends and they find out about what I do?

  Yep, I’d rather be going to school online. I could totally become a hermit and have no regrets.

  The only upside is that it’s the first day of the spring session, so everyone’s schedules are swapping around anyway. Maybe I can slip under the radar in all the confusion. Maybe no one will realize I’m new.

  …

  “Marisol, vámonos; you’re going to be late,” my mother yells from somewhere near the front door of our new Upper West Side apartment.

  “I know, Mamá. I’m just finishing up getting dressed,” I lie. I do it to placate her, because if she knew I was stalling, writing in my journal, she’d probably throw the little pale-blue notebook away. Punctuality is priceless, or so she always tells me.

  I slip it under my dresser, grab my coat and my backpack—empty except for a paper-filled three-ring binder and a pack of blue Bics—and take a deep breath before exiting my room. We’ve only been here a week, but we’re fully unpacked, no boxes for me to have to dodge to navigate the space. One of the benefits of living a life of crime: the need to be ready to make an escape on the fly means there’s no opportunity to become a hoarder.

  My mom is so tense when I get to the living room, it’s almost like it’s her first day at a new school. She’s standing by the front door, twisting a strand of her dark hair around slender fingertips. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

  Yeah, because I am so eager to commit social suicide by having my mommy walk me to school like I’m in first grade instead of eleventh. I’d rather fall into a puddle of melted snow and show up covered in gutter mud. I shake my head. “No. That’s okay. I can handle it.”

  Her brows draw together, and she chews her bottom lip like she wants to say something. But all she asks is, “Do you have your phone?”

  “Yep.” I pull it out of my back pocket and flash it in her direction as proof.

  “Text me when you get there, and let me know you made it safely.”

  “Okay.” I tuck the phone back into my pocket and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” As I pass her, she holds an arm out to stop me and pulls me in for a hug. She nuzzles my hair and breathes deeply.

  “Did you just smell my hair?” She hasn’t done that in years, not since I was a small child and we used to curl up with hot cocoa and my favorite book at night.

  “And I’m not sorry, either.” She releases me and pats me on the upper back. I shake away my nostalgia and let her usher me into the hall.

  At the elevator, I push the button and turn back to wave goodbye. She has one foot out the door, and one hand turns and releases the doorknob nervously, like she’s barely restraining herself from following me out.

  “Mom, I’ll be fine. I promise. The school is three blocks away. Seriously.”

  She steps fully inside the apartment again but still toys with the doorknob. “Okay, but…if you have any problems, call me immediately. Okay?” It’s a command and a request all rolled into one.

  “I promise.”

  The elevator dings its arrival, and the doors slide open. I rush inside and hit the button for the lobby, then relax against the back wall and breathe a sigh of relief. My mom isn’t typically the nervous type, and her obvious anxiety today has left me a little on edge myself.

  Halfway down, the elevator stops, and a tiny, old woman with a tiny dog in a jewel-encrusted collar and leash steps on. They both eyeball me the rest of the way to the ground floor, and I do my best not to make eye contact with either. I may not be a career thief anymore, but I still appreciate all the shiny. And I could be off this elevator with that collar without her ever realizing I’ve touched the dog.

  But I won’t. I don’t live that life anymore. I won’t be that person.

  Once we land at the lobby, I can’t get off fast enough, and I make my escape before the old woman has even taken a step toward the doors. I square my shoulders and head out of the lobby. The air is crisp, and I suck in a deep breath. And immediately cough it back out. Crisp, yes. Fresh? Not so much. My nostrils sting as if I’ve just smelled the entire city at once. I don’t remember it smelling quite so…pungent. Settling for shallow breaths until I become accustomed to the air, I head in the direction of my new school. I fall into step behind a smartly suited businessman who turns off a block later. Then it’s just me cruising this section of the sidewalk. I’d expected it to be busier, and while the sidewalk isn’t entirely deserted, there’s no one in my immediate area. It certainly isn’t the crowd of people all heading in the same direction like ants that I’ve always imagined New York sidewalks to be.

  When I turn the corner a block from the school, I find the missing masses. Teens line the sidewalk, spilling out into the roadway and climbing up onto the wrought-iron bars surrounding the main building. Some stand in groups; others navigate the path alone. Like me. Even though I’m not the only student arriving by myself, I still feel overly conspicuous. I square my posture, heft my backpack onto my shoulders a little more securely, and raise my hands up to grip the straps for comfort. And trudge forward into the melee.

  I’m almost to the wide stone steps leading up to the front entrance when a jean-clad leg extends to block me. At first, I don’t look. I don’t have to; I can see in my periphery that it belongs to a boy, a tall boy
sitting on the short retaining wall bordering the sidewalk.

  “Hey, hey. I’ve never seen you before. Are you new?” His voice is sharp and nasally, and his tone is overly confident.

  “I’m new.” I keep my voice even and wait to see what he does next.

  When he doesn’t lower his leg, I turn to look at him, more out of curiosity than anything else, and he finally returns his foot to the ground.

  His face matches his voice, a little mouselike, and his hair is drab brown and a little greasy. Or maybe I’m just being overly critical because I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.

  “See something you like?”

  I suspect if his ego grows any larger, it might suck the air out of the space between us. “Does that line ever actually work?” I answer.

  “Come on, Nicky. Dial it back,” the boy next to him says in a deep, smooth voice that immediately draws my attention. Not because he’s coming to my defense but because I want to hear him speak more.

  Holy hotness, he’s all golden gorgeousness. My stomach flips over, and I can’t seem to pull my gaze away from his perfect features, his square jaw and patrician nose, his high cheekbones and Cupid’s-bow lips, but more than anything, it’s his crystal-blue eyes—light against the darker tone of his skin—that snare my attention, more gray than blue, like the color of a winter storm or a frozen lake. But they’re anything but cold. His eyes are warm and inviting and crinkle at the corners in amusement.

  “She’s way too good for the likes of you.” He slaps his friend on the shoulder in commiseration.

  The boy seated to his left sniggers, and the spell is broken. I’ve been so absorbed in admiring him, I’ve completely spaced on the fact that there are other people around us. Watching me make a fool of myself. On the bright side, at least I’ve kept my mouth shut and haven’t been drooling all over the pavement at his feet.

  A perky, dark-haired girl bounces up onto the retaining wall and circles the boys to land on her knees behind Nicky. Even though he couldn’t possibly have missed her entrance, she covers his eyes with her hands and chirps, “Guess who!”

  “Um…Rachel?” Nicky pretends to guess.

  Her bottom lip folds into a perfect pout. “No.”

  “Angela?”

  The girl slides her hands away from his eyes and plants them firmly on her hips. “No.”

  Nicky turns to her with a smile. “Come on, Danielle, you know I’m just playing.”

  Danielle’s pout turns into a pleased grin, and she wraps him in a tight hug. When she releases him and stands, she asks, “Do you wanna come over after school today?”

  “Sure…maybe.” He turns his attention to me while he’s answering her, and she follows the direction of his gaze. Her eyes widen, like she’s only just noticing me.

  “Hi, I’m Danielle. Are you a friend of Nick’s?” Her voice is sugary, but her eyes narrow as she asks the question.

  I take a step back and fight the urge to throw my hands up as a display of my innocence. “This is my first day. I was just on my way to the office to get my schedule.”

  The moment she realizes I’m not moving in on her guy, her demeanor changes. Suddenly, we’re best friends, and she’s hopping down onto the sidewalk in front of me. “Oh! Happy first day! I can show you to the office if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay. I was just here to enroll the other day. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find my way back.” I smile and try to sound open and friendly. I’m not really good at this small talk thing, but what I am good at is adapting. “Thanks for the offer, though. It’s very kind of you.”

  She responds with a warm, genuine grin, then turns back to Nicky. “Meet me here after school.” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before bouncing away.

  I flick my gaze toward Nicky’s hot friend, and he’s staring back at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. “So, you’re new, huh?” His tone is casually curious. Part of me wishes he were the one into me, the one trying to flirt with me and holding me up from going into the building. But he’s not. Just his high school Casanova of a friend next to him. He’s just some do-gooder, altruistically delivering me from his friend’s misguided attempt at flirting.

  Embarrassment heats my face, and my tongue is all but tied in knots inside my mouth. I need to make a quick getaway and salvage what little dignity I have left. I roll my eyes in feigned annoyance and nod in his general direction. Okay, so pretending I’m the opposite of into him isn’t my best move, but it’s all I have. I’m hardly skilled in the art of flirtation. Without sparing him another glance, I book it, aiming straight for the safety of the inside of the school building. Or anywhere else where he’s not. Maybe that will settle the swarm of butterflies tickling my insides.

  Chapter Three

  I pull out my phone on the way to the office and text my mother, partly because she said to and partly to hopefully look like any other student instead of the out-of-place new girl I feel like right now.

  The school office is as crowded as the halls. The line to sign in is five students deep, and when I get to the log, it’s three-quarters of a page long. I’m going to be here awhile. One at a time, administrators come to the front counter and call students by name. I haven’t even made it to the chairs when a bell rings, echoing like a fire alarm out in the hall but only a long monotone inside the office. Several students give up the wait and grumble their way toward the exit. I’m quick to tuck myself into a chair against the wall in the far corner. My rushing is less about making sure I get the chair and more about making sure I don’t stick out like a sore thumb.

  “Is anyone here just to get a copy of their new schedule?” a wiry woman with graying blond hair calls from her seat behind the front counter. I raise my hand, and she motions me over. I obey quickly.

  “Name?” She doesn’t even look at me, instead focusing intently on her computer screen.

  “Marisol Flores.”

  A few keystrokes later, she mutters sotto voce, “Ah, there you are.” The printer next to her whirs to life, and a moment later, she hands me my schedule, still warm. I flip it over to view my classes while she fills out a hall pass to excuse my tardiness.

  First period is precalc. My heart sinks.

  I’m fluent in three languages, but I rely heavily on calculators for math. Precalculus first thing in the morning is going to make for a great start to my days. But more pressing than worrying about my worst subject is the question of how to get there. When my mother and I came to enroll me last week, they didn’t have a schedule ready, and the administrator tasked with my impromptu orientation seemed harried and overloaded. I didn’t even get a tour. “Do you have, like, a map or something? Where do I find…” I check my schedule. “Room B204?”

  Miss Personality behind the counter is practically married to her computer at this point. Without looking away from it, she calls to someone behind her, “Jamie, can you show Marisol to her class, please?”

  A boy with dark-rimmed glasses, bronze skin, and pale-brown eyes pokes his head up from a computer farther down the counter and eyes me. When he finally answers with, “Sure,” I can’t tell if it’s with indifference or interest. His movements are smooth as he pushes his chair back to stand and rounds the counter, stopping at my side. I hand him my schedule, and he spends a moment looking it over. “Let’s get you a map while we’re here, too.” His expression brightens into a wide smile, and I relax a little.

  I let him lead me over to a wall-mounted magazine rack stocked with printouts and flyers. To me, it looks like a mess of random announcements and flyers, but Jamie reaches right for the maps partially hidden behind a bunch of flyers for the drama club’s spring tryouts. He grabs one and hands it to me, and I claim my prize quickly, antsy to make my escape to the hallway.

  “Thanks for helping me. I can probably take it from here,” I tell Jamie once we’re out in the hall. But if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want him to leave me to my own devices. Even though the halls are pretty m
uch empty, I don’t want to be that weird new girl walking around campus with her nose buried in a map.

  “Nah, I’m pretty sure helping new students find their classes is in the TA job description. Plus, it gets me away from the mindless busywork Ms. Davids has waiting for me.” He follows his statement with a wink and another one of those bright smiles. Then he points to a spot near the center of the map. “We’re here. And B wing is here.” He slides his finger just less than an inch over the paper, but it feels more like a mile. I’m glad I won’t have to make the trek alone.

  Though he seems friendly, Jamie leads me to B wing, then the stairs, in virtual silence. I wonder if he’s just not talkative or maybe he feels as awkward as I do. Finally, I’m standing outside room 204.

  “This is your class.” He sets a finger on my map again. “Your next one is there.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him and give a half wave as he starts to back away. I almost don’t want him to leave. I don’t know how late I am, but I know it’s late enough that I’m going to cause a disruption when I go in. I tamp down the nervous butterflies threatening to take flight in my stomach and reach for the door handle.

  As soon as I’m inside the room, I wish I could have just stayed in the office until the end of the period. All eyes are on me, watching as I stand awkwardly in the doorway. And the teacher is the worst. She’s older, probably been teaching for longer than I’ve been alive, and dressed to the nines. Her eyes are narrowed on me, as if she’s silently scolding me for interrupting her time, but then her face folds into a warm, wrinkled smile. “Welcome, I’m Mrs. Leonard.” She holds out her hand for my pass.

  I scurry to hand it to her. She scans it, then folds the small blue paper and slips it into her pocket.

  “Take a seat.” She points toward the row nearest the door. There’s an empty chair at the very back, and I start that way. A flurry of movement halfway down the row catches my attention, and I look over just in time to see my sidewalk savior from earlier all but shoving another boy out of the desk in front of him. The boy puts up a feeble protest but vacates the seat and claims the one I’d been aiming for at the back.