The Thief (5 page)

See, I have this problem. I’m all super cool
and everything, but I’ve never exactly...ah...had a girlfriend. I
mean I’ve had some crushes here and there. Once in sixth grade I
kissed a girl on a dare. I’ve just never felt anything close to the
adjectives and nouns and verbs people throw around when they talk
about what ‘love’ feels like. But...

Well. You know.

Old Ms. Graham lives the stereotype of old
lady in a creepy old house who alternates between loading you down
with pies and sweets, and telling you stop talking so loud in the
library and to floss and brush your teeth three times a day. I’ve
been mowing her lawn since I was old enough to handle a push mower.
But where most grandparents go on about their grandkids endlessly
from the day they’re born, I’d never heard her mention Juliet once
until a couple days ago.

That’s not to say I didn’t know she existed.
My family has lived in Havenwood my whole life, and the city’s not
so large that you don’t still have some small-town gossip. I
remember when we were (both) small, Hayley and I snuck downstairs
to eavesdrop on a dinner party our parents had thrown, and during a
hushed bit of conversation, I first heard that Ms. Bea’s son Simon
had a daughter our age.

Maybe it was the fact that they talked about
her like she was some secret – that from then on I only ever heard
mention of her in passing, in undertones, and never around Ms. Bea.
Sometimes they called her “Simon’s girl,” sometimes they called her
“Kyra’s girl,” but it wasn’t until last week that I heard her
actual name, when Ms. Bea answered the phone while I was helping
her move some furniture. She had gradually gone the color of the
bleached upstairs walls as she listened to whoever was on the other
line. I was really worried she might pass out or something, and she
kept alternating between saying, “yes,” “no,” and “are you sure?”
Finally she’d hung up and went to an ancient chair that released a
puff of ‘in storage forever’ dust as she sat.

“
Juliet is coming,” she’d
said. She said it like someone had died. I think she’d forgotten I
was there, because when she finally did look at me, she seemed
shocked and asked me to leave.

And I hadn’t been able to think about
anything else since. Well, except when I was getting attacked in
the parking lot. But you have to admit that’s distracting.

“
She can’t be that tall.
Right? I mean look at her grandmother. Woman is tiny. She won’t be
tall. Right?”

“
Sure,” Destin says. I can
tell he’d stopped caring awhile ago, but I can’t stop talking. It’s
a disease.

“
But your mom is tiny,” I
frown, arguing with myself in the absence of his input. “And you’re
like a skyscraper.”

He shrugs.

“
But she can’t be that tall.
Right?”

“
Forty-seven,” he says,
securely shutting his locker.

“
Feet? Tall?”

“
Times you’ve said that in
the last twenty-four hours,” he says. “It won’t help obsessing over
how tall or short she is. It doesn’t really matter
anyway.”

I frown, looking into my devoid-of-chocolate
locker. Someone is going to pay for this.

“
Course it matters,” I say,
shutting it and following him down the hall. “Girls don’t like guys
who are shorter than them.”

“
Never heard you say that
either.”

“
Just like you’ve never used
sarcasm.”

Destin sighs. His thick curtain of bangs
hides half his expression, but his body language is always clear.
“You always joke about your height.”

“
Because it’s hila-a-rious,”
I stretch out the word, “and I might as well make the joke before
someone else does. And it doesn’t help standing next to the Empire
State Building all the time,” I gesture at him.

“
Fair enough, but are you
sure she’s even coming to our school? She could be at public.
You’re more than usually bent out of shape about this. Over a girl
you’ve never even seen.”

“
It’s this huge mysterious
thing!” I say defensively. “I mean nobody says anything about her,
even though there was supposedly this whole big ordeal about her
parents eloping - old Ms. Graham doesn’t even have pictures of her
- and blammo, her dad vanishes and now here she is. Was her dad
tall? Do you know?”

If he rolls his eyes, no one could possibly
know. His hair obscures it completely. “I have no idea,” he says
calmly. “But my guess is that she’s either your height, or about
half a foot taller.”

“
Why would you say that?” I
gasp. “That’s too tall! She’ll think I’m a midget!”

“
You can find out for
yourself, I guess,” Destin says, “because there are two girls I’ve
never seen before.”

“
What! Two?”

I peer around the corner into the foyer,
where he’s looking. He’s not kidding; two unknown girls stand among
the mix of people. One is short, blonde, and surly looking.

The other is a goddess. She has skin the
color of pale milk chocolate, hair that gleams near-black, and
smooth, delicate features. She’s looking around in a sort of
controlled terror, pursing her plush lips. A flightless angel lost
in the woods. I have to help her. My life has no other purpose.

My feet start moving me forward. But before
I can even get around the corner, a large, thick-fingered hand
reaches out to shove me, and I slam back against the lockers. I
glare up at Chase Armstrong, a senior the size and shape of a bear.
His name is a little too appropriate.

“
You been having fun with my
locker, midget?” he rumbles at me.

“
Not in recent memory,” I
snap, peeved that he’s blocked my view of my Reason For
Existence.

“
That’s funny. You’re funny.
So funny I think I’ll take it out of your hide. Hope that soda was
worth it.”

“
Soda?” I object. “What
soda? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“
The one you swiped from my
locker, dork. It was in there last night, and now it’s
gone.”

“
Do I look like I’m stupid
enough to smash open the locker of someone who could sit on me to
death?”

“
It’s not smashed, the lock
was picked or something,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “Nerd
territory.”

“
Our lockers were hacked
last night too,” Destin speaks up, though he cringes when Chase’s
attention moves to him. “We didn’t do it.”

He regards us both with suspicion. “If you
didn’t then who did?”

“
Ninjas,” I say offhand,
ready to be far away from this conversation.

“
Ninjas,” Chase
repeats.

Destin coughs. “Yes, our current theory is
ninjas,” he says. “It’s part of a conspiracy involving the school’s
foreign investors, and it’s only just now starting to affect the
students. This is the first of many manifestations to come. It
seems you’ve been chosen, just as we have. You’re one of us now,”
he says solemnly, patting Chase on the shoulder.

“
That’s it, I’ve had enough
of you two freaks,” he growls, smacking Destin’s hand away. “Just
keep away from my stuff alright?” He storms off down the hall, big
arms swinging.

“
Nice save,” I tell
Destin.

He sighs. “Ninjas? Seriously? Were you
trying to get hit in the face so you could show your imaginary
girlfriend your manly scars?”

“
For the last time, she’s
not imaginary, she’s - oh!”

I quickly round the corner, looking for the
girl of my dreams, but Principal Umino has already captured her and
is leading her away to her office. Opportunity missed. But there
will be others. I swipe my unruly blonde hair out of my eyes. The
gears in my head start turning.

“
Whatever you’re thinking
of, it’s a bad plan,” Destin warns.

“
Go on to class without me,
then,” I say. “Because I think it’s a great plan.”

Chapter 4

Jul

earlier that morning

The rising sun glinted off the hood of Bea’s
ancient Cadillac as she drove me to school. The drive had been
silent but for the rattling of the engine and a back hubcap that
occasionally jangled. I should have been used to being ignored, but
was I crazy to hope for some kind of conversation?

The first day of school
loomed ahead, a monolith in my mind. Well, not the first day of the
school
year
- the
semester was already well underway.
But it
would be the first day for me to attend.
Transmute
had been the word of the
day on my calendar, and the chance to be someone else was not lost
on me - a new place meant the opportunity to make new first
impressions. Trying to invent a better impression than I usually
made, however, was agony.

I had spent hours last night trying on every
single piece of clothing I owned about twelve times each,
desperately hoping that the next time I went to my closet I would
have something magical and wonderful inside that would prepare me
for today. It had taken me so long to fall asleep I’d overslept and
ended up having no time to get ready anyway. I’d settled with a
blouse and capris, hastily pulling my hair into a loose ponytail
over my shoulder. Transmutation, it was not.

“
There may be afternoons
where you’ll have to walk back,” Bea said, finally breaking the
long silence. “It’s not all that far, and on Thursday and Friday
afternoons I work at the library. It’s a straight walk through the
woods. Here’s the school, on the left - someone spent a pretty
penny on that place, that’s clear.”

She was not lying. Though it had been
nothing but the same two-lane road surrounded with trees since we’d
left her house, the car rounded a corner and suddenly a school
stretched out in front of us, a giant building of grey stone that
looked very out of place for the deep south. The combination of
brick and stone in the architecture lent it a kind of earthiness,
and the drab grey tones and stiff geometry gave an air of prestige.
The climbing vines and loosely manicured shrubberies added to an
overall vibe that put words in my mind like “east coast” and “Ivy
League.” It did not look like it had only been built a few years
ago – whoever maintained the landscaping had to be very good. I had
to forcefully remind myself that, though not in eyeshot, not three
miles away was a dying strip mall housing an adult video store, two
barbecue joints, and a check-cashing service. It had taken less
than ten minutes to drive, and most of that had been to skirt the
forest – loathe as I was to walk, the forest path Bea had talked
about would certainly be a more direct route, though it would
probably still take longer.

Bea pulled her ancient Cadillac into the
parking lot, and my nerves resumed jangling where the hubcap left
off, compounded by the sudden feeling of awe. Somehow, I got out of
the car, staring up at the three-story edifice as I hoisted the
strap of my book bag over my shoulder. Three stories is nothing to
a New Yorker, but I was far, far from home, and compared to the
rest of this town I’d seen, the school was practically a
castle.

“
I’ll be back to get you at
3,” Bea said, starting the engine back up.

“
You’re not going to walk me
in?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.

“
This ain’t preschool,” Bea
said. “Main office is just inside, they’ll get you set up. I’d just
be in your way.” And with that she pulled out of her parking space
and left me.

I swallowed my abandonment and approached
the building, feeling subdued and a little sorry that I hadn’t
tried harder to find something for breakfast. Butterflies had
hatched in my stomach. I self-consciously clung to the strap of my
bag. It was liable to fall off my shoulder from being so empty. All
it contained was a spiralbound notebook, and my mother’s blank
journal. I just couldn’t leave it behind.

Some older students were walking leisurely
into the building from the parking lot, pocketing keys from what
were probably their own cars. I felt a stab of jealousy, and was
reminded of my own mode of transportation.

Hello, I’m Jul Graham.
What’s that? Oh yes, I’m chauffeured in a death trap by an old lady
who hates me. When I’m not on foot.
My
hands were sweating so I wiped them discreetly on my capris before
opening the front door.

The interior was more modest, and
school-like. The hallway was bright and clean – and loud. Students
were everywhere, walking through the enormous atrium entryway, down
the huge corridors on either side that apparently housed the
lockers. I hesitated in the atrium, as students swarmed around me,
up the stairs that climbed either side of the entry. I clutched my
bag, peering around at the signs on the walls. My fear
compounded.

Oh god, I’m lost
already,
I thought.
I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.
I won’t get my schedule. I won’t find my classes. I’m going
to be late. I’m already late by three months! I’m going to look
like an idiot!

“
Ladies,” said a smooth
woman’s voice, “you look as if you could use some
direction.”

I turned and saw an Asian woman in a skirt
suit. Perfect manicured nails curled around the tablet she carried.
The bottom edge of her chin-length hair was impeccably
straight.

“
Camille Teague, I see you
at least made it through the doors without incident,” she said,
offering a hand to another girl, who I hadn’t noticed close by. She
had been leaning so casually against the edge of the stairs, she
had looked like she belonged here. She was short and pale, with
long, unruly blonde curls. She gave the woman a wary look, but
shook nonetheless. She was new as well? Was I miraculously not
alone?