Aprilynne Pike - Life After Theft

“So what happened?” I asked quietly.

“I found her and took the keychain,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And I’ve never felt so good and so bad at the same time. I got this amazing high like I could conquer the world. But that was the moment that I knew I would never, ever conquer stealing.” She shrugged dejectedly. “I kinda gave up after that. There didn’t seem to be any point. I guess dying was the only way to stop.”

“I’m sorry.” But it felt like a stupid thing to say.

She shrugged. “My own fault for swimming out into that riptide.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“We don’t all die from them.”

“No, but some of us end up being miserable for the rest of our lives.” I paused for a moment, considering that. “Maybe that’s worse.”

“As opposed to being miserable for the rest of your afterlife?”

Something in her voice made me feel sorry for her, and it wasn’t a feeling I wanted to have. I needed to stay rational and in control here. Kimberlee was a veritable emotional steamroller and I was constantly in danger of getting myself flattened. I sat down beside her, but not close enough to touch. The cold, creepy feeling still freaked me out. “But it might not last too much longer. You return everything and apologize and you’ll be out of here . . . to . . . wherever.”

“It’ll be a good place, won’t it?” Kimberlee said, starting to smile now.

A little.

But I was so the wrong person to ask.

When in doubt, lie. “Absolutely,” I said, without meeting her eyes.

“WAKE UP, LAZY ASS!” KIMBERLEE shouted at about two-hours-before-rational-time o’clock the next morning. “It’s Harrison Hill day!”

“Sure,” I said, grabbing a pillow and dropping it on top of my head. “And in case you didn’t hear right, I’m going at ten o’clock p.m.”

“Duh. We have to go shopping now and get you something decent to wear.”

That cheered me up like a kick to the head. “Shopping? Uh, no.”

“Dude, I’ve seen what’s in your closet. Old tees and faded jeans. And Converse? Please!”

“Vintage,” I corrected her, defending my eclectic collection of shirts I’d very carefully selected from some of Phoenix’s finest thrift stores.

“Whatever. Not good enough for Harrison Hill. When you go to a school with uniforms, you make the most of any chance to actually show off your taste. This party will be a full-on fashion show and your clothes will totes stick out. And not in the good way.”

“I never stood out in Phoenix,” I grumbled, smooshing my face back into the pillow.

“This is not Phoenix.”

I mumbled something incoherent into my pillow.

She sat down on the bed, almost touching me, and I cringed. “This is your first chance to make a real impression on the social scene. You want to do it right.”

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