Pretty Crooked (29 page)

My mom was pacing back and forth. “I need you to go get your phone and give it to me.”

I did as she asked and handed it to her, heaving my shoulders in disappointment. I’d been hoping to call Aidan as soon as I got home—to let him know how it all turned out and to thank him again for helping to calm me down. Also, to hear his sexy voice. Now it might be a while before I could talk to him.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked her, timid.

“As you might have guessed, you’re going to be grounded indefinitely. Besides, now that we’re a media freak show, I need to change our numbers.”

“Aren’t you overreacting a little with the privacy? It’s a small town. They can find us if they want to, wherever we go.”

She whipped around and narrowed her eyes at me. They flashed in anger. “Don’t you understand? This is
a living nightmare. The entire national press is outside. They know where we live now. And we can’t even leave if we want to, not without breaking your probation. We’re so screwed.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought the lawyer said we were lucky with the ruling. And I thought you wanted to stay here.”

“Not anymore, I don’t.”

She went into her bedroom and slammed the door. Inside I could hear her shuffling around, moving heavy things.

I knocked on her door. She didn’t answer, so I knocked again.

“Go away,” she called. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

She’d shut me out.

What did I expect? This was all my fault. I was getting exactly what I deserved. Even if the court had let me off the hook, she had every right to punish me. I’d not only broken the law, but I’d embarrassed her. She was ashamed to be my mother.

But this was the worst punishment I could imagine, maybe worse than being locked up in juvie. I couldn’t stand it that she wouldn’t talk to me. She was all I had, the only person I could count on in the whole world.

All those hours in the cell, I’d been thinking about her. Remembering when I was a little kid, how she’d sit with me in the library and we’d read dozens of books at
a time, staying until it got dark, leaving only when there was nothing good left to read. How she helped me fix up my bike, finding the vintage seat for me on eBay and surprising me with it. And how she’d once made me a birthday-cake castle out of ice-cream cones when I was in a medieval phase, painstakingly gluing on chocolate shingles with sugar syrup for hours.

She had taken care of me all these years by herself, starting when she was only just a little older than I was now. I couldn’t imagine having a baby at this age. It couldn’t have been easy.

She was obviously really furious with me. But I knew she loved me. She’d brought the lawyer, which must have cost a fortune. She could’ve just left me in juvie, which is what I probably deserved.

I sat on my bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing that trying to read or watch a movie would be useless at this point. Every now and then I would look out the window to see if the reporters were still out there. By nightfall, a few cars had left, but most of them were still there. I could see the occasionally blinking lights of cameras floating around like fireflies in the yard. They were like little glimmers of hope—reminding me that there were people out there who cared about me.

How long would we be trapped in here? I wondered. When they let me out of lockup, I hadn’t expected that I might be imprisoned in my own home. It could go on for days like this, and what if my mom was still
avoiding me? The idea was terrifying.

I just needed her to forgive me. I needed things to be right between us again. We had to go back—not just to the way we were before I got arrested, but to the way we were before we moved here. I didn’t know what that would take, but I was prepared to do anything.

I went out into the hallway and knocked on my mom’s door again. “Are you in there?” I asked.

Nothing.

But I could hear some thumping, like she was still moving things around. Maybe reorganizing her closet. She sometimes did that during times of stress.

I slumped down outside her door on the carpeted floor, pulled my knees up to my chest, and listened for a while, feeling helpless.

“I’m sorry,” I said into the crack of the door. “I know you hate me right now, and I don’t blame you. I really screwed up. And you’re right. There’s just no excuse for what I did.”

I took in a deep breath and let it out. “And I’m sorry for the other night—I didn’t mean to accuse you or blame you for anything. I know it’s not your fault at all. It’s me. I take full responsibility for my actions. I’m also sorry for following you. It was a stupid idea. And it was an invasion of your privacy. I just let my imagination get the best of me. And I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m just sorry in general, I guess.”

As I let the list of my wrongs rattle off into silence, I
could hear that she had stopped moving around. Maybe she was sleeping by now. Or just thinking about what I’d said. But what if something had happened to her?

“Mom?” I said, suddenly panicking. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice husky. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Good.”

“How are you?” Her voice was thin but threaded with genuine concern.

“I’m okay.” I took it as a good sign that she was asking. “I was just wondering. Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

“Maybe,” she said softly. “But not tonight. It’s been a really long day for both of us and I’d just like to sleep now. So maybe you should go back to your room. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Fair enough,” I said into the door. “Well, good night…?”

I didn’t like the idea of going to sleep with everything still unresolved, but at least we were talking to each other civilly. Talking at all had to be a step in the right direction.

“Good night,” she said. Or at least that’s what I think she said. It was kind of muffled.

I shut out the light overhead. Then I started back down the hallway to my room, fumbling my way through the dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IF THIS WERE any normal Tuesday morning at eleven
A.M.
, I’d be in third-period French. Of course, life was not normal at all, and I was just waking up. I’d been suspended from school until Thursday. There had been official calls for my mom and me. Mr. Page had told me over the phone how disappointed he was, which of course made me feel worse. Valley Prep still had to bring my case before an internal disciplinary board to see whether I would be expelled for my crimes. They told us it might be “disruptive,” under the circumstances, if I came back right away. The hearing was scheduled for Friday.

I knew I was lucky. I was in no hurry to face everyone at Valley Prep. Another day or two at home was just fine by me. Since I’d been back, I’d savored every moment of normalcy, from my own pajamas to the ability to sleep in darkness.

My mom was at the kitchen table as usual, with a copy of
Modern Painters
and her cup of tea in front of her. She’d cleaned at some point, because there were no dishes in the sink and the counters looked freshly wiped. The sun streamed in through the back windows, planting squares of light around the room. I paused in the doorway, watching her read. Things seemed brighter now in the light of day. Like a fresh start.

She looked up at me. “This is still your kitchen, you know. The water’s probably hot enough for tea.”

That was something. I put an Earl Grey bag in a mug and poured water into it. Then I sat down in my normal spot across from her. She was fully dressed in a striped tunic and slim jeans, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked flatly.

“Pretty good,” I said. “My room here is like the Ritz-Carlton compared to the juvie cell.”

Total silence. And then I regretted bringing it up in that way, cracking a joke. She would think I was making light of the situation, not taking it seriously.

But it’s not like it wasn’t on both of our minds. Was I supposed to pretend it hadn’t happened?

“I mean, I was tired from being there,” I backpedaled. “I didn’t sleep much.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t imagine it was too comfortable.” Translation:
I’m not really interested in feeling sorry for you right now, Willa
.

I focused on my tea, which was developing an oily sheen on the surface. I’d left the bag in too long. I took a sip and it was strong, almost bitter.

I thought we might be able to get at least some kind of peaceable silent tea-sipping thing going, but then my mom pulled her chair away from the table and stood up. She moved toward the sink and set her cup down in the basin. Then she folded up her magazine into thirds and stuck it under her arm.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Out. I’ll be back later.”

So this was our new arrangement. Like two strangers rooming together.

I heard the laundry door squeak open and shut with a hollow clap. Then there was the rumble of the garage door opening.

I couldn’t wonder where she was going. I wasn’t going to pry anymore. She was setting the terms here and it was my job to simply accept them. It was going to take a while to build up trust between us again. That was okay, I thought. I would do whatever was necessary.

Not wanting to sit at the table alone, staring at her empty seat, I picked up my tea and went back to my bedroom.

There was some business to attend to today. I had to check in with Daniels and set up a meeting. I needed to start thinking about a plan to get some money so I could pay everyone back. Asking my mom was out
of the question. I’d probably need to get some kind of legitimate job. A job they could give a fifteen-year-old confessed thief that would pay more than minimum wage and was within walkable distance. It sounded like a lot to ask.

I also needed to talk to Cherise. It had been days now, and I was sure she’d heard about everything that had happened. I had to come clean with her. But I didn’t have my phone, so I went online.

I checked my email first to see if she’d written, and I almost fell off my chair.

I had eight hundred and fifty-two emails in my inbox—the last one being a message from the account server that I had run out of storage room.

Most were names I didn’t recognize. As I briefly ran through them, I gleaned that they were from all over the country, people who had heard the story. Some of them were mean and accusatory, calling me a crook, a scoundrel, a liar. In this category were a few messages from Kellie and Nikki that I couldn’t bring myself to open.

But my heart lifted when I saw that most of them were actually supportive, with subject lines like
my hero
,
the new Robin Hood
, and
Sly Fox rules
. There were a couple requests from reporters, from
People
magazine and TMZ. One agent from a Hollywood firm had written, asking if they could represent me and my story. I had approximately one hundred and sixty-three new Facebook friend requests.

I noticed a message from [email protected]. Mary! I clicked it open.

Hey Willa
,

I heard you’re in trouble and you’re probably not even reading email but I felt like I should write on behalf of Alicia and Sierra and myself and thank you. For the last few weeks, I was wondering who was behind that new stuff. You should know that it made us really happy, even though we kind of knew it was too good to be true. So thank you so much for all that you have done, Willa. You risked your life for us and we will never forget that. The Sly Fox has some huge fans around here
.

See you soon (I hope)
,

Mary

Happiness, true happiness—something I hadn’t felt in days—surged through me, and my heart felt like it was going to burst. This is what it had been all about. It hadn’t been a waste. And maybe, just maybe, it had even been worth it.

I logged on to IM. Cherise happened to be online just then—my third good sign in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe these were omens of hope.

Hey
, I messaged her.

MiZZJackson: Hey.

Willa1997: You’re not in school?

MiZZJackson: Home sick.

Willa1997: So, I guess you heard some things?

MiZZJackson: Yes.

We paused, and I watched my cursor blinking in a blank box before I figured out what to say. I was afraid if I waited too long she might log off.

Willa1997: So you know everything?

MiZZJackson: I can’t believe that was you. Why didn’t you tell me?

Willa1997: I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone.

MiZZJackson: I was next, wasn’t I?

Willa1997: No! Never. Not you.

MiZZJackson: How am I supposed to believe that?

Willa1997: Because it’s true. You’re my friend.

MiZZJackson: So what’s the difference? Why them?

Willa1997: They were so mean. You saw the stuff they did.

MiZZJackson: So they deserved to be robbed?

Willa1997: I just wanted to make things fair. I messed up.

MiZZJackson: Yeah, you really did. You lied to me. To all of us. I feel like I took you in and helped you and introduced you to everyone and you practically spit on me.

Willa1997: I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry. I really am.

MiZZJackson: But are you? Even if you could take it back I doubt Kellie and Nikki would ever forgive you.

Kellie and Nikki were never really my friends, anyway
, I wanted to say. Cherise was the only one I really cared about.

Willa1997: What about you?

MiZZJackson: You’ve put me in a bad position now. I mean, you don’t know how many years I spent trying to be accepted by these guys. Years, Willa. I’m finally part of the crew and now you want me to go down with you because you made a stupid mistake? I don’t think so. How do I know you won’t just turn around and start stealing from me?