Trinkets (11 page)

I find my seat in the theater next to Taryn, who’s buried in her phone.

“Who’re you texting?” I ask, glancing over her shoulder.

She yanks her phone away. “Nobody,” she says.

“You need to watch yourself.” I shoot daggers at her. I’m not sure when she got the idea that she could talk to me like that.

There are about sixty LO kids here in the theater, mixed with a few hundred people my parents’ age. The room has little balconies and berry-red seats and gold walls. A few of the people gave us smiles as we came in and sat down, like they approved of what culturally advanced students we were.

I straighten my dress, a Nanette Lepore I stole from Souchi a few months ago when I was shopping with my
mom. It was risky to steal it when I was standing ten feet away from her, but that was half the fun of it. Besides, she was too distracted to notice.

I peer up at the little balconies before spotting Elodie, sitting in her berry-red seat a few rows in front of us. She’s with another girl from Yearbook, snapping pictures of the old baroque theater and its gold walls with her camera. Moe is sitting in the row right in front of me. If I squint hard enough, I can almost read what she’s writing in her notebook… which she probably wouldn’t appreciate. Although she’d be more chill about it than Taryn was when I tried to read her text messages. Taryn’s kind of a dick. But whatever. Kayla’s a little better. And I guess the point is, no matter what, Taryn and Kayla and I have a history together. For what it’s worth.

As the lights dim, Ms. Hoberman looks rapt. The parental-age people in their suits and dresses start to clap. I sink down in my seat as the red curtain rises up and away. I can’t help feeling like whatever’s going to happen isn’t going to be good. But obviously that’s because I’ve read the play, and everybody knows this is a tragedy.

Why do we have to read a play and then sit through a shitty performance of it? I feel bad for those suckers onstage because this is going to be the highlight of their acting careers. Fortunately I have a journal, where I can write observations of how I definitely smelled a fart in the lobby and now I’m pretty sure Mercutio has a boner. Can you imagine getting a chubby onstage? I’d totally play it off like I didn’t care, but inside I’d be mortified. There are tons of annoying things about being a girl, but at least we don’t have to deal with phantom boners. I wrote a note on a piece of paper and covertly flashed it to Tabitha, but I don’t think she got it. I wrote, “Mercutio’s giving the full salute.” She looked confused. Once I explain it, I’m sure she’ll think it’s funny. Or maybe she’ll be annoyed I tried to flash her a note in public, but who cares. Somebody needed to appreciate my humor, and it might as well be her.

On the bus home, Patrick Cushman passes out gum. When he asks me if I want any, I decline. I hate gum. It seems like the flavor never lasts more than a minute. It always leaves you disappointed and wanting more.

“He’s retarded,” Taryn says, glaring over at Patrick. “He’s just trying to impress you because he said he stole it from 7-Eleven.

“He stole it?” I ask, surprised.

“Apparently.” Taryn rolls her eyes. “Only an idiot would shoplift,” she sneers.

I’m glad I never confided about my extracurricular activities. Some girls steal with their friends, but I never wanted to risk telling her. Once when I was drunk, I was tempted to tell Kayla, but she started telling a long story about hooking up with some hippie guy she met from
Lewis & Clark and how she was totally scared he gave her herpes, and the moment passed, so I didn’t bring it up again.

And now girls I wasn’t aware of three weeks ago know more stuff about me than some of my friends do. When Moe tried to get my attention tonight, at first I was irritated. Then the whole rest of the play I kept intermittently wishing I could figure out what the hell she had written on that piece of paper. I bet it was funny.

Patrick Cushman leans over to me. “It’s watermelon. You sure you don’t want a piece?”

“Sure.” He grins and hands me one. “So, was it worth the risk?” I ask.

He looks a little surprised by the question. “To be honest, I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” He shrugs. “It was a complete accident that I’m reframing as a criminal act in order to make myself sound impressive to girls.”

I smile. He’s kind of cute, actually. Lanky limbs. Green eyes with a little bit of a sparkle. He’s not as buff as Brady, but he has nice hands. I get a sudden flash of him putting my sweatshirt around my shoulders that day as we left the nurse’s office after my dodgeball debacle. He may have been creeping on me, but it was in the most gentlemanly way possible.

“I’m not sure if ‘impressive’ applies. Maybe ‘moderately appealing’?”

He laughs. “I’ll take that.”

I unwrap the piece of gum he hands me and put it in my mouth. “
Mmm.
Definitely worth it. Delicious.” I nod.

“Here,” he says. “Keep one for the road. It always loses its flavor too quick.” He walks back to join his friends, and I watch him go. Taryn is staring over at me like
WTF?
so I just put on my iPod and concentrate on making the taste of watermelon last as long as it possibly can.

Aunt B was working the night shift at the hospital, so Marc was waiting up for me after I got home from the play. He pretends he doesn’t do it, but he always does.

As far as brothers go, he’s not bad, aside from the time when I was seven and he got us lost on that “secret” ski run only he knew about at Mount Hood Meadows. It was right before our parents had their car accident. Ski patrol had to go out looking for us. When we finally made it back to the lodge, our parents were furious, because tons of people die up there. Usually hikers, but still. They were so pissed they made us stay in the cabin all weekend, and our mom wouldn’t let us get hot chocolate. I loved hot chocolate, so I stopped talking to Marc for a week, until he used all of his allowance money to buy me three boxes of Nestlé
hot chocolate with little mini marshmallows and I forgave him.

I didn’t really have much to report about the play, but Marc didn’t care. He just likes to know I’m home before he goes to sleep.

When Moe walks into Shoplifters Anonymous, she stops at my chair. “Meet up after?” she asks me. I nod, and she says, “Cool. I’ll tell Elodie.”

We sit there for an hour and forty minutes as Shawn shows an ancient educational film about the perils of shoplifting. It features Winona Ryder doing community service and talking to the camera about how wrong it is to steal. She’s wearing a cute vintage dress and tiny diamond studs. She doesn’t seem super regretful even though all she talks about is how sorry she is. You’d think as an actress, she’d want to act a little more apologetic, but then again, if somebody made me do a video after I got caught shoplifting, I’d probably be highly flipping annoyed.