Authors: Elisa Ludwig
Pretty Crooked (25 page)
“What about him? We’re not exclusive or anything. Ooh, I have an idea. Let’s call Aidan and put him on speakerphone.”
“I don’t think so. That’s kind of … middle school,” I said, trying to appeal to her inner snob. In my experience, speakerphone was never a good idea. I didn’t want to be pulled into Kellie’s games. Not now. Or ever, really.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a bitch, Willa. It’ll be fun. Nikki and I do this all the time.” She already had her phone out and was paging through for his number.
I cringed at the word
bitch
. If only she knew what I was really thinking. I had to play along if I didn’t want her to suspect anything.
She dialed his number and clicked on the speaker button so the ringing echoed across the hot tub. I hugged my knees into my chest, anticipating all of the possible scenarios that could follow. What if he thought we were making fun of him? Or worse, what if he really
was
flirting with her? I’d feel like such a fool if I believed for one second that he and I shared something special, even though I had no idea what that “something” was. Maybe he wouldn’t pick up. I hoped he wouldn’t.
“Hello?” Aidan answered, his voice kind of soft, like he was waking up from a nap.
“Aid, it’s me, Kellie,” she crooned. I watched her face instantly go all flirty and fluttery, as if he were in the hot tub with us.
“Hey, Kellie.”
Was he happy to hear from her? I couldn’t tell.
“And Willa’s here. We’re in my hot tub,” she trilled suggestively.
“Hey, Willa.”
“Hey,” I called out, trying to sound normal, even though I was resisting the temptation to dunk my head under the water.
Instead, I stared into the blue frothy abyss. I’d been savoring my memory of him from the day on the road, replaying it over and over like a tiny little movie in my head, and I didn’t want to lose that good lucky feeling. But if it turned out he liked Kellie, it would all mean nothing.
“What are you up to?” Kellie asked. “Wanna come over?”
And now, a third weird possibility presented itself: What if he thought I was putting Kellie up to this because I was too shy to call him myself or something? Ugh, that would be horrible.
“I can’t, Kell. I can’t leave my house. And I’d invite you guys here but I’m not allowed any visitors.” His voice was suspended in the air between us. I really missed him, I realized. I wished I could see him. Only not here and not now.
“Really? You’re actually going to stay in?” Kellie said in disbelief. “I never thought you were the type to play by the rules.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of different this time,” he said.
“Are you sure?” she pleaded. “Don’t you want to see us? Two girls in our bikinis?”
That was it. I had to jump in. “C’mon, Kellie. We
shouldn’t pressure him if he’s already in trouble.”
She shot me a dirty look and then pouted at the phone in her hand. “So when will you be free again?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m pretty much grounded. But have fun. Talk to you later. Bye, Willa.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up the phone. That was one awkward and potentially upsetting moment averted.
“That was lame,” she said. Then she glared at me. “Why’d you have to start acting like his mother? I mean, he might have changed his mind if you hadn’t said anything.”
“I just felt like you were coming on a little too strong.” Then I rushed to clarify myself. “I mean, he’s the kind of guy who’s into a challenge, so I thought you might want to tone it down.”
The words were actually painful to say, they were so false. The idea that I would be trying to help fix up Kellie and Aidan was ludicrous. But my true feelings—about him and about her—were so dangerously close to the surface now, I needed to say whatever I could to try to shut down the conversation.
“Whatever.” She let out a noisy breath from the back of her throat. “If I need your help, next time I’ll ask.”
She seemed to buy my excuse, and that restored peace, or at least quiet, to the hot tub. But there was something else bothering me. All along, I’d been stealing with what I liked to think was a good purpose in
mind. Of course, Tre was right. The feeling of going after someone’s stuff, of actually getting away with it, was a high in itself. But I’d never felt too strongly about my victims. I was stealing for people, not against them.
This time it was like I
had
to rip off Kellie. Like I needed to. I wanted her to know that she wasn’t better than me, or Mary, or Sierra, or Alicia—or anyone else. And, okay, maybe I wanted to torture her a little. The question was: Was it worse to do it out of revenge? A thought flitted across my brain, something Tre had once said to me. “You always want to take your emotions out of it. Because as soon as you start to care, you make mistakes.”
I could just walk away now. But why, when the biggest prize of all was right in front of me?
Nothing was clear anymore. Maybe it was the steam from the hot tub—it was all getting clouded up in my head and I was no longer sure I could tell right from wrong, or even what I should do next.
Kellie, meanwhile, was busy on her iPhone, and she burst out into laughter. “You should see what’s on the Buzz today. There’s an amazing blind item about someone having sex in the Fieldhouse weight room.”
“Hmph,” I said. How had she not noticed that I’d never shown any interest in the Buzz?
“And there’s also a pic we got of Sierra and her new boyfriend hanging out at the mall. When we saw him the other day he looked so familiar to me, and then when I
uploaded it, I realized it’s totally our gardener Ignacio. The comments write themselves, really!”
She typed something furiously into the keypad with her thumbs, adding another comment, no doubt, to the post.
Then she shoved the phone in my face. Over the photo were the words
Dirty hands + scum of the earth = true love forever
.
My chest burned with fury as I glimpsed what had been written beneath by various posters.
Can you say gutter trash
?
The man doesn’t speak English. Guess she likes to roll in the mud. Filthy is as filthy does. Does she steal his money, too
?
But that wasn’t all. I scrolled down farther to see that there was a photo of Cherise. She was smiling her beautiful smile, oblivious to the nasty caption scrawled over it.
Have you seen me lately? I used to be cool but now I’m a thief-loving loser
.
Any last shred of guilt I had floated away like an errant bubble, dancing on the surface of the hot water. I stood up and “accidentally” dropped the phone on the cement. I didn’t bother to grab one of Kellie’s towels before marching inside to grab my stuff. If I dripped on her floor, so be it.
I was sick of pretending. I was sick of playing along with this witch. Now it was time to do something.
IN A WAY, it was all too perfect. A Saturday evening, warm and still. Late enough to be dark but early enough that people were still out doing the things regular people do on Saturday nights. (Even for me, banditry was not exactly normal weekend recreation.)
I pulled my bike up to the mailbox at the gated entrance and looked up. Neat little lights lined up like candy buttons on the driveway. A few lights had been left on in the house, too, strategically, for security purposes, but I knew for a fact that Kellie was at UA, and her parents were in Europe.
Beyond the mansard roof was a perfect view of the mountains, rising cool and shadowy in the distance. I smiled, nervous but inspired. This was my first attempt at jacking a house, and I was basically starting at the top. Why mess around with a little rancher when I could go straight for a multimillion-dollar estate?
I tucked my bike under a puffy oleander bush to the right of the gate. It wasn’t the greatest getaway vehicle, but without an accomplice it was going to have to do. I smoothed my hair back and pulled my hoodie over it. I was wearing a carefully chosen thieving outfit: black zip-up sweatshirt, gray jeans, and pink high-top Vans. Should I have been wearing all black? Probably. But even crooks have to have some fashion sense. Besides, they were the best shoes I had for running.
I looked up again. The house was strangely unfamiliar from this distance, like it could have been anybody’s. Maybe I’d just never stopped to look at it quite this way. I thought of all the times I’d been here before: that party when I first met Tre; the night we watched movies sprawled out on the leather sofas in the gi-huge-ic media room; the time we snuck into her dad’s wine cellar to sample champagne that probably cost five hundred dollars a bottle.
I thought of all the sick stuff in her closet, rows and rows of clothes and purses and shoes that had just been given to her, stuff she’d never even use, stuff she didn’t even know she had.
At that particular moment she was probably three vodka tonics to the wind at the island party—whatever it was called. She’d be sucking face with Chip or some other frat guy who’d be forgotten as soon as her hangover hit and/or she met the next distraction with a six-pack.
And then I remembered the smug look on her face
when she discovered that Sierra was hooking up with her gardener. All the horrible things that had been posted online.
That was all I needed. I put on my gloves, hopped the gate with a running jump, and sprinted toward the house, making my movements quick and light like Tre had taught me.
Target: the back door.
Of course, the Richardson estate had several back doors. But the other day when I’d cased the joint, I’d found that the kitchen entry had the simplest lock—a standard moderate-security key-in-the-knob jammy. It was also, conveniently, the closest to the driveway. In and out.
I stood with my back to the stone edifice of the house, making myself as tiny as possible. With a flick of the wrist, I reached up to the security camera mounted above the door and wiped it with a smear of Vaseline-coated tissue I’d balled up in my pocket.
Now I was officially unspottable.
I set to work on the lock. It gave easy, with the quick swipe of a screwdriver in the jamb. I smiled to myself, feeling the satisfaction of my skills, my good planning, the righteousness of my mission. I was good at this. Really, really good.
Then it was just a matter of entering the code into the keypad, which disarmed the security system with two beeps.
5-8-2-6-1, baby
.
Inside the house was quiet—but not dead quiet. More like a vibrating silence that let you know people had been here not too long ago. The Richardsons had left for Italy a few days before. Florence, the housekeeper, was also on vacation, visiting family in Tucson. I flicked on my pocket flashlight for a better view. A few glasses and plates were piled up on the marble kitchen island—probably Kellie’s. The appliances buzzed softly behind their camouflaged panels. I was tempted to grab a Coke Zero out of the fridge, but I knew that I couldn’t risk it. Besides, I wasn’t there to rob her parents.
Although I have to admit, the thought crossed my mind. Weren’t they partially responsible for turning Kellie into the hollow shell of a person she was today?
Kellie’s room was at the end of the left wing. I crept down the hall in the dark. Her door was, of course, unlocked. I turned on the flashlight again, directing it around the room to see what goodies she’d left for me. For someone with a live-in housekeeper, it was surprisingly disheveled. In the light’s roving eye I spotted a pile of books and papers on the floor, discarded outfits on her bed, a jumble of makeup on her vanity—and then the dresser, carelessly strewn with jewelry.
“Jackpot,” I said softly.
I grabbed handfuls of necklaces and bracelets studded with diamonds and rubies and emeralds, and a few pairs of dangling earrings. By the weight in my hands I knew they had to be real, and I was sure they were
from Tiffany or some other fancy place. I decided to leave behind the gigantic studs I’d seen her wearing on the first day of school and many times since. For some reason, it felt like too much, like that would be going too far. They were kind of a signature Kellie item. Besides, I already had enough jewelry for a stretch Hummer full of debutantes.
On to the closet. I opened the door and looked down the long aisle of hanging clothes and the heels and boots and sandals lined up on shelves above them—everything that a no-limit credit card could buy. I eyed up the Prada purses hanging on the wall hooks, but decided they would take up too much room. Instead I grabbed a Hermès scarf and whatever cashmere I could find. The backpack was taking on a satisfying heft.
The closet smelled like Kellie’s perfume—Guerlain Vol de Nuit, which was spicy and floral. It was like a ghost of her hovered over the racks, and I realized just how personal this space was. If Kellie had any private thoughts, this is where she had them. My conscience pulled at me a little—for invading her territory, for violating her trust.
But then I reminded myself that every item I was taking was going to be put to good use. They could get Jocelyn her tutor, and maybe some new shoes. Kellie would never miss them—and even if she did, they were all pretty much replaceable. Besides, she’d set herself up for this. All of those rumors she’d started, all of the
cruel comments online, all of the times she’d gone on and on about the Busteds and how pathetic and skanky they were.
Look in the mirror
, I wanted to say.
But this—goodwill and revenge wrapped up together—was so much better.
Kellie’s iPad and a brand-new laptop she’d shown me just last week were lying in a neat stack on her desk. I scooped them up, too. Who knew what sorts of nastiness were encoded in her computers’ caches? That pretty much did it for my bag capacity.
I took one last look around the room to make sure I’d left things as I’d found them. It wasn’t my style to ransack. But I did want to leave a signature of sorts. I stood in front of her mirror and picked up a lipstick from her vast collection.
I had to let Kellie know that it wasn’t who she thought was behind this. So I wrote something she would know only I knew, spelling out the message in waxy fuchsia script on the glass: