The Classy Crooks Club (20 page)

At least my grandmother's giving me a little credit for being smart and useful; that's way better than the first week I was here, when she called me an irresponsible savage. But I don't want to be a resource. I want her to see me as a person, as part of the team.

I go over to the table and look at the blueprints anyway. Maybe I can pull off something really spectacular during this heist and Grandma Jo will never look down on me again.

“The first step is
finding
the painting inside the manor,” Cookie says. “There are forty-three rooms, and it could be anywhere. I'm sure the security system is no match for our Edna, but we're going to want to be in and out. This is a heist, not a scavenger hunt.”

“I'm terrible at scavenger hunts,” Edna says faintly.

“Stupid, stupid,” Picasso agrees.

Grandma Jo ignores them both. “We'll need some inside recon.”

“I could try my trick where I play the helpless, dotty old lady desperate for a bathroom,” Betty says. “If they let me in, maybe I could give them the slip and take a look around?”

Grandma Jo looks pointedly at Betty's walker. “You're not exactly the master of stealth you once were, Betty. The Westlakes will never fall for that.”

Betty heaves a sad sigh. “I guess you're right.”

Something suddenly clicks inside my head. “Wait a minute. Did you say the
Westlakes
?”

“They own Westlake Systems,” Edna explains. “It's a software company.”

“Do they have a daughter named Brianna?”

“I think that
is
their daughter's name,” Grandma Jo says. She looks at me sharply, like I've been eavesdropping on conversations I wasn't supposed to hear. “How did you know that,  Annemarie?”

“I know her,” I say. “She goes to school with me, and she's on my soccer team.”

“AJ, that's
wonderful
news!” Cookie crows. “Are you two friends?”

“Do you think you could finagle an invitation to go inside the house?” asks Betty. “Oh, that would be
marvelous
.”

Up until this moment, I had no intention of going to Brianna's party. If Maddie found out I was even considering it, I know our friendship would be in serious trouble. But how can I pass up this opportunity to prove to Grandma Jo once and for all that I'm worthy of her respect? This is my last shot to make her see me as something more than a silly, useless, wild kid.

Maybe Maddie would never have to know. If I can keep secrets about breaking into someone's house and stealing a taxidermied bear, surely I'm sneaky enough to keep a secret about a stupid lobster boil at Westlake Manor.

“Here's the thing,” I say to the four ladies assembled in front of me. I pause dramatically, drawing out the moment before my big reveal, and then I drop the bomb. “I
already
have a way in.”

“What do you mean?” asks Cookie.

“Brianna's turning thirteen on Saturday, and I'm invited to her birthday party,” I say. “If you need an inside woman for this job, I'm your girl.”

The delighted look that blooms across Grandma Jo's face is worth braving a hundred parties with the Bananas.

T
he last two heists have required learning new skills: navigating in the dark, getting used to birds, picking locks. But this project requires a whole different kind of training. By Saturday, I have to learn to blend in with Brianna's friends so I can carry out my mission without attracting unwanted attention. If anyone finds me skulking around remote parts of the house, I'll need to seem like I'm the kind of girl who belongs there, like I'm over at Westlake Manor all the time and know exactly what I'm doing.

And that means I'll have to go undercover as a girly girl.

I consider asking Amy what I should wear to the party, since her super fashionable stepsister takes her shopping sometimes. But I can't risk the conversation getting back to Maddie, and the two of them seem to share everything these days. So instead I start spending my evenings investigating the pictures on the Bananas' Instagram feeds. I've never really paid that much attention to what I wear as long as it fits, but I quickly discover that nothing I own is remotely appropriate for Brianna's party. The Bananas seem to wear cute little dresses to one another's celebrations, and the only dress I have is this horrible flowery thing my mom made me wear to Ben's high school graduation.

The next morning, while Grandma Jo's reading the
Wall Street Journal
and taking tiny sips of tea with her pinkie extended, I swallow my pride and ask her to buy me a dress. She usually answers my questions without even looking up, but this time she actually lays her paper down on the table, as though my request deserves her undivided attention. Behind her half-glasses, her eyes are wide with surprise. “I'm afraid I must have misheard you,” she says. “I could have sworn you just asked for some proper clothing.”

I concentrate on serving myself some more bacon so I don't have to look her in the eye. “Um, yeah,” I say. “Is that okay?”

Grandma Jo blinks, and for once she actually seems at a loss for words. Finally, she says, “I'd be delighted to buy you a dress, Annemarie. It will be nice to see you looking feminine for a change.”

“It's mostly for camouflage,” I say so she won't get her hopes up too much. “I need to look like I belong in Brianna's house, you know? But, um, I guess it couldn't hurt to look nice, too.”

“It certainly couldn't,” Grandma Jo says. “I don't have time to take you myself—the Brookfield Zoo is coming to collect the ocelot and three of the birds this week, and I have a lot of things to attend to. But I won't be needing Stanley on Friday, so I'll have him drive you to the mall then.”

My stomach does an uncomfortable little somersault. I can't quite decide if the thought of parading around in dresses for Stanley is thrilling or too mortifying for words; it kind of feels like both at once. But I can't back out without explaining why to my grandmother, so I agree. Maybe he'll help me find the right stores and then wander off on his own to shop for ties or shaving cream or whatever else guys buy.

“I trust you'll pick out something classy,” Grandma Jo continues. “The skirt should be no shorter than your knees, and the top should be decently cut. There is no need to show your bosom to the world.”

I turn bright red, but I just nod. It's not like I have any “bosom” to show the world, even if I wanted to. My chest is about as flat as this dining room table.

By Friday morning, I'm so nervous I can barely manage three bites of breakfast. Under normal circumstances, I'd call Maddie and tell her how terrified and excited I am, but then she'd ask why I was going to the mall in the first place, and I don't want to lie to her any more than I have to. I try to spend the morning practicing lock picking in my room, but I can't concentrate at all, and I end up playing
Zombie Squirrels
on my phone instead. When it's finally time to go, I brush my hair and put on a little lip gloss Amy gave me, then head down to the garage. Of course, then I chicken out at the last second and wipe the lip gloss off with the back of my hand. I don't want to be too obvious.

Stanley's leaning on the hood of the town car and reading a magazine, and he smiles when I come out. “Hey, Miss AJ,” he says. I love how he still calls me that. “You ready to go?”

“Yup,” I say. “Thanks so much for taking me.”

“It's my pleasure,” he says, and I wonder if he really means it. Is it possible he might actually
like
spending this extra time with me? I start wishing I'd kept the lip gloss on.

I act like a complete idiot at the beginning of the drive, fidgeting and laughing too loudly at Stanley's jokes and repeating myself. But he doesn't seem to notice, and about halfway through the drive I finally manage to calm down. It's starting to feel like a normal trip to soccer when Stanley turns onto a side street and pulls up in front of a green house with a wraparound porch. “This isn't the mall,” I say.

Stanley laughs. “Well spotted,” he says. “We have to pick someone up first.” He taps lightly on the horn to signal that we're here.

Relief and disappointment hit me at the same time as I realize I'm not going to be shopping alone with Stanley after all. “Who's coming with us?” I ask. It's probably Cookie; when she heard her grandson was taking me to the mall, she probably decided to tag along. She's pretty fashionable for an old lady, so maybe it'll be good to have her around. I watch the front door for a flash of red.

But when the door opens, there's no sign of Cookie. Instead, a tall girl about Stanley's age with a dark ponytail comes out and locks the door behind her. She's wearing jeans, a striped tank top, and flip-flops, but she makes them look elegant somehow. Looking at her makes me feel more like a kid than I ever have in my whole life.

“That's my girlfriend, Talia,” says Stanley, making everything five hundred thousand times worse. “Your grandma told me you need to buy a dress, and I don't know anything about that kind of stuff, so I asked her to come along and help. I think you're really going to like her.”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out, and before I manage to say anything, the girl slides into the backseat. “Hey, you,” Stanley says, and he smiles at her the same way the girl smiled at the ghost boy in
Sweetness and Sorrow
. It makes me feel sick.

“Hey, babe.” The girl leans forward and kisses Stanley on the cheek like it's no big deal. Before I've had time to recover, she turns to me. “Hey, you must be AJ. I'm Talia. It's really nice to meet you. Stanley's told me all about you.”

Talia has a dimple in her chin and a smattering of freckles across her nose, and she's so pretty I want to puke. “Hi,” I say. I have to force it out, like there's a hard candy stuck in my throat.

“Thanks so much for helping us,” Stanley says.

“No problem,” Talia says, and then she turns to me and lowers her voice like we have a secret together. “Stanley's hopeless with fashion stuff. His idea of dressing up is wearing Converse instead of flip-flops. You're
much
better off with me.”

It seems like the part of my brain that makes words has totally shut off. “Cool,” I finally manage. I almost suggest we switch spots—she obviously belongs up front with Stanley. But Talia scoots back and buckles her seat belt like she's totally content where she is, and Stanley pulls away from the curb.

Fortunately, Talia launches into a long story about her friend's birthday party, so I don't have to talk. As she and Stanley laugh together about people I've never heard of, I turn my face to the window so neither of them will see how my cheeks are flushing with anger and embarrassment. How could Stanley never have mentioned he has a
girlfriend
? Has he been hiding it from me on purpose? It doesn't seem fair that she already knows about me but I know nothing about her. What kind of stuff has he been telling her, anyway? When he goes home from Grandma Jo's, do the two of them snuggle up together and laugh about all the stupid things I've said?

I'm so lost in thought that I don't even notice we've arrived at the mall until Talia reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Um, I guess,” I say.

“Come on,” she says. “We're going to get you something beautiful.” She hops out of the car and goes around to Stanley's side, where she gives him a big hug and another kiss, this one right on the mouth. “You don't have to come with us if you don't want to, babe. We can meet you back here when we're done if you have other stuff you want to get.”

Before I can decide which is worse, spending time with the two of them together or shopping alone with Talia, Stanley says, “Nah, I don't really need anything. I'll hang out with you guys.” Talia looks relieved, and I realize she probably doesn't want to be alone with a totally uncool twelve-year-old any more than I want to be alone with her.

“So, what kind of thing are we looking for?” she asks me as we start walking toward the mall. She and Stanley are holding hands now, and her nails are perfect, painted the same light pink as the inside of a seashell.

My only plan had been to wander around until I saw something the Bananas might wear. “Um, just, like, a summer dress, I guess? Not super fancy. It's for this girl's birthday party . . . it's not a dance or anything.” I kind of want to say,
I want something like what you would wear
, but I don't want to sound like a total dork.

“Sure,” Talia says. “Let's start at Nordstrom. They've got a great juniors' department.” I'm pretty sure she's not
trying
to remind me how much younger I am than her, but that's kind of how it feels.