Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief

by Rosie Somers

  Ring, ring. My phone interrupts the moment again, and I swear it’s a hundred times louder than it was just a few moments ago.

  Will pulls back, and my lips suddenly feel cold without his kiss. He removes his hand from my hair but leaves the one at my hip. “You should probably get that. Must be important for whoever it is to call right back.”

  I don’t want to admit it, but he’s probably right. I extricate myself from his arms and reach for my phone.

  The moment I see my mother’s number on the screen, I know something’s wrong. She never calls me repeatedly unless something’s up. I swipe my thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I do my best to not let my mounting concern show in my tone.

  “Marisol, I need you to come home, rápido. We’re out of milk.” We devised the code phrase when I first became old enough to go places and do things on my own. It started as a joke, and I never actually thought I’d hear her say it for real. But here she is, telling me we’re out of milk, and her voice is rushed but quiet, like she’s trying not to be overheard.

  She’s not alone.

  “Is it—” I catch myself before I say Petrov’s name. The less Will knows about him, the better. “I’ll be right there,” I tell her.

  “I love you, mija. Be safe.”

  “Love you, too. See you in a few minutes.” I hang up the phone, and by the time I slip it back into the pocket of my sweater, I’m in full freak-out mode. It takes everything I have to maintain my composure and not let on to Will just how freaked I am by my mother’s call. “I have to go,” I tell him without looking him in the eye. I stand up from the swing, and he does the same.

  “I’ll walk you.” His tone is all business; he must realize something is wrong.

  I consider arguing with him, telling him I don’t need a babysitter, but right now, I need the comfort of his company for the two-block walk back to my place. Between my mom’s call just now and the guy following me earlier, if I walk alone, I’m going to imagine every possible thing that could be happening, and I’m going to get so caught up in my own imaginings, I’ll be a nervous wreck by the time I arrive. “Okay.”

  I let him lead me to the door and into the elevator. The descent to the main floor seems to take forever. But finally we make it out of the building and onto the street, and he leads me toward home.

  Chapter Twelve

  The two blocks between Will’s apartment building and mine might as well exist in a fog for all I’m aware of my surroundings. I’m intent on getting home as quickly as possible and don’t have time for things like paying attention to the world around me. Will stays by my side easily, keeping up with my almost jog with long, easy strides. He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t need him to. Or want him to.

  The minutes feel hours long, but eventually, we make it to my building and rush inside. The eleven is lit up on the floor indicator above the elevator, and it doesn’t seem to move even after I hit the call button. When it does start moving, the descent is painfully slow. As each new floor lights up, my gaze darts over to the stairs, and I weigh the merits of jogging umpteen flights to my floor. I could do it, but by the time I got there, I’d be borderline worthless for even simple conversation, let alone whatever trouble awaits up there, and it probably wouldn’t be much quicker than just waiting for this slow-ass elevator.

  When all’s said and done, I waffle over the choice for so long that I’m still standing in front of the elevator when it dings and the metal doors part to let me in. Will places his hand against one of the doors to hold them open while I enter, but I’m so anxious, I’m inside long before the doors would have closed. I press the button, even as Will is still stepping into the car.

  “You don’t need to come up with me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to involve you in my drama.”

  Will looks unconvinced, but after several long seconds, he steps back into the lobby. “Let me know if you need anything. Okay?”

  I nod as the doors start to close, and even after they meet and the elevator begins to climb, I’m still nodding. It’s almost turned into a nervous tick at this point. The elevator takes what might as well be a hundred years to crawl to my floor, and I feel every minute of that time.

  My mother is standing outside our front door when I get there. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she shifts her weight lightly from one foot to the other and back again.

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Uncle Samuel.” She opens the door to let me into the apartment, but I’m frozen in place. In my mind, I’m imagining all the horrible things that could have happened to my uncle, my father’s brother—all the horrible things Petrov could have done to him in an effort to track us down. Would he really go so far to reach us? He can’t be that mad about us getting to that museum job before he did—can he?

  “What happened? Is he hurt? Is he…?” I can’t finish my question, so I leave it open-ended.

  My mother’s eyes widen in shock. Then she barks a surprised laugh. “No, dear. He’s fine. I mean, for the most part.” She holds the door wider and motions for me to go in.

  For the most part? Then why did she use the code? My mind is reeling as I head immediately for the parlor to look for him.

  As I expected, Uncle Samuel is sitting on the couch, but he’s much healthier than I pictured. Except for the fact that he’s basically smashed. He has a bottle of beer in one hand and is swaying like he’s barely holding his own weight semi-upright. He looks at me and grins. “Marisol! You’re here!”

  “Hi, Uncle Samuel. What are you doing in New York? I thought you were working with Andre on that job in South Africa.” To my mother I whisper, “How much has he had to drink?”

  Uncle Samuel’s not exactly an alcoholic. He just has a stopping problem. As in: he doesn’t. If there’s beer in the house, he’ll keep going back for more until it’s gone. Grandma Rosa once told me that’s why Uncle Samuel and my father weren’t speaking to each other when my father died. And why he showed up wasted to my father’s funeral. He’s sort of the black sheep of the Floreses, traveling from family member to family member until he wears out his welcome. Then it’s on to the next.

  It must be our turn again.

  “I’m here because I have something important to tell you.” He speaks slowly, like he’s trying to take care to articulate correctly, but his words are still a little slurred. He motions to the two armchairs opposite the couch with a lazy wave of a limp hand. “Please sit.”

  “Okay.” I walk fully into the room and sit in one of the chairs. I speak to him in the same tone I imagine I would use with a toddler, all calm pandering topped off with a little condescension. “What is it you need to tell me?”

  “You, too.” He points toward my mother, but his direction doesn’t fully line up with her. I wonder how many of her he is seeing right now.

  She silently pads across the living room floor and claims the other chair. Her posture is almost regal, all straight lines and stiff spine. To the casual observer, she might appear graceful, classy, almost aristocratic—if that were even a thing anymore. But I know her posture is from muscles tight with tension and worry.

  “Good, good,” Uncle Samuel says more to himself than either of us. “Now, I came because I’m here to protect you. With Gabriel gone, it is my responsibility to look after you, and—”

  My mother barks a sharp, acerbic laugh, and her posture relaxes. “Your responsibility to protect us? Sam, Gabriel has been gone almost a decade, and you’re just now taking it on yourself to look out for us? Marisol and I have been doing just fine without your help.”

  Uncle Samuel reels backward from the force of her reaction. “But there are rumors that Petrov Rosinsky is after you. No one gets the take under his nose, but you two made off with quite a fortune. You can’t possibly expect to protect yourselves from him. You need help. I can help.”

  “How?” Now he’s really got my attention. No longer am I just hum
oring my drunk uncle. I move to the edge of my seat and wait intently for more information.

  My uncle’s eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting my question. His lips open and close like a fish out of water while he struggles to come up with an answer. Finally, “I can teach you self-defense.”

  I push out a lungful of air on an exasperated sigh. What had I really been expecting? Uncle Samuel’s barely paid any attention to us over the last however many years except to show up on our doorstep acting and smelling like he just bathed in beer. “I already know self-defense.”

  “Then I’ll teach you more. And I’ll keep my ear to the ground for any news, so you can be prepared.” He’s visibly growing more confident in his plan with each word he utters.

  “Sam, Petrov doesn’t even know where we are,” my mother tells him in the same voice she used to with me when I was little and being particularly dense. My mind flashes back to the guy who was maybe following me on my way to meet Will, but I don’t bring it up. In all likelihood, the guy was just an opportunistic mugger who thought he’d spotted an easy mark. The odds of Petrov’s reach suddenly expanding across an entire ocean in the weeks since we left Europe are low. Even Petrov has his limits.

  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.

  And all I want now is to find my mother and hug her forever. Or at least until I have to leave for school.

  “Thanks, Uncle Samuel. I think I need to go find my mom.” I climb off the bed and wait for him.

  He nods and stands. “I love you, Mari. Everything I do is to protect you. Remember that, okay?”

  “Okay…” His words are ominous, and I catch myself trying to dissect them for a minute before I remember that this is Drunkle Samuel I’m talking to. He’s probably halfway to fit-shaced right now.

  I silently herd him out of my room and close my door behind us. As he ambles down the hall toward the living room, I veer off to my mom’s room. I owe her a hug. Or a thousand.

  …

  I float through the rest of the day, not paying attention to much other than my budding feelings for Will. In the morning, he’s waiting for me at the door outside my building. He sits with me at lunch, and in the afternoon, he walks me all the way home, leaving me in the lobby with a lingering hug. He even texts me good night before he goes to bed.

  Friday goes much the same way, and I’m almost a little sad heading to photography club after school instead of meeting Will at my locker like I do every other day. But no matter how much I like him, I’m not going to ditch my friends or my hobbies, even if they are as new to my life as he is. If he likes me, he can wait for me.

  And he does.

  When Trin, Lacey, and I step out of the building after club lets out, Will is in his spot on the low retaining wall, playing on his phone. As soon as he realizes we’re
there, he jumps to his feet and tucks his phone away, giving us his undivided attention.

  “Hi,” he says to all of us, but I feel like the greeting is for me alone.

  Trin half waves at the same time Lacey giggles.

  “Were you waiting here for me?” I ask.

  He blushes guiltily. “Not really—not for long, anyway. I had to stay after to talk to my lit teacher, and I figured since I was still here anyway…”

  “How sweet,” Trin coos. “Isn’t that sweet, Lacey?”

  Lacey nods her agreement, and both girls watch us intently, like we’re there for their entertainment.

  “I could go for some coffee. Who wants to get some with me?” I’m grasping at straws to try and break the tension. Hopefully it works.

  “Sure, I could go for a chai latte,” Lacey answers, and Trin agrees.

  “You guys ever been to that little café around the corner? It’s pretty good.” Will motions in the direction we would be heading to get home anyway, and I wonder briefly if that’s where he gets the coffees he sometimes greets me with in the morning. Does he walk almost the entire way to school for coffee, then walk two blocks back just to make the same trip with me a few minutes later?

  We trek around the corner to the café. It’s quaint and tucked between two office buildings. And all but deserted. I guess not many people drink coffee at three thirty in the afternoon. The shop has a bar with a handful of unoccupied stools tucked under, and the only other patrons are a young couple looking lovingly at each other from opposite sides of one of two bistro tables flanking a creamer station on the side wall. Four wingbacks circle a square coffee table under the front window.

  Trin drops her bag on one of the chairs and fishes out a small wallet before heading to the counter. Lacey follows her with all of her stuff, but Will hangs back. “What’re you feeling?”