Page 43 of Come As You Are

“I have yours.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. I stole that back like five days ago.” My jaw drops open, and he laughs. “Don’t worry; I didn’t smoke it. But I did give it to Jenna, so she and her friends have probably obliterated that by now.”

The mention of Jenna and her friends twists something in my stomach, but I push past it. “Well, then, that answers that. What else?”

“Lots of destruction of property. You wanna destroy some property?” His eyes take on a twinkle that says he knows I won’t, and if I hadn’t seen it, he’d be right; I absolutely hate the idea of trashing someone else’s hard work, especially if someoneelsehas to clean it up. But that’s Good Girl mentality, and this day’s got a purpose.

“I wanna destroy some property,” I say firmly. “Where do we begin?”

Chapter Eleven

“WHAT AM I EVEN SUPPOSEDto write?” I ask Salem as I stand poised in front of the statue of Martha Camden, wife of Camden Academy founder William Henry Camden, whose pedestal is covered with black-inked names. “Everything here is, like, initials in hearts. Is this a couples’ statue?”

“Supposedly,” Salem concedes, and I both do and very much don’t want to ask him if there’s anSG+JLon here somewhere. “But I figured it was a good baby step, considering about a thousand people got here first.”

“I don’t need baby steps,” I lie, putting my initials into a heart all on their own. Salem nods as if he believes me, then nods toward the accompanying Martha Camden bench and hands me his omnipresent uncurled paper clip. It takes me about ten minutes to carve a remotely satisfyingSKEEVYintothe polished wood, and while it is the worst nickname known to man, at least it’s a slightly less dead giveaway of whose vandalism is on display.

“Nice job,” he says with a nod as he takes back the clip and pulls out a lighter. “Wanna step it up?”

“I do not.”

“Probably a good choice.” He slips his lighter back into his pocket. “Cutting classes was another big one, but I guess a Sunday’s not a great day for that. Oh, I once got a week of in-school suspension for streaking across the football field. You could try that?”

Over my dead body.“Maybe next week.”

Salem drops onto the bench, kicking up his Vans as he considers other options. “Honestly, there’s not a whole lot to be done on campus, especially if you’re not up for smoking or arson. We might need to take a field trip. How would you feel about stealing a car?”

“Not great, especially since I don’t have a license, and neither do you.”

He swings his legs around and rests his elbows on his knees. “I mean. Youdidwant to do things I’ve gotten in trouble for before…”

“Not things that could potentially get me a record,” I clarify.

“Well, that doesn’t leave a whole lot. But since it looks like we’ll be taking the Camden shuttle, I think I know where we’re going. First, though, a quick stop at Rumson.”

“Okay, why?”

“Because it’s my turn to teach you how to dress for the occasion.”

“Candy store, candle shop, or Old Navy?”

My heart pounds in my chest as I consider my options. “Why just those three?” As if I want more. But I’m buying myself time.

“Because neither of us are interested in sporting goods and I thought the lingerie place would be awkward. Now, which one?”

The lingerie place certainly would be awkward, especially since it’s where his girlfriend and I bought matching lacy underwear. Hard pass. “Candy store.” Candy’s small, cheap, and mass-produced; whoreallycares if I walk off with a little bit of it in the strategically placed pockets of the outfit Salem selected for this purpose?

“Good call. Let’s go.” He holds open the door for me—nowthose etiquette lessons come in handy?—and I slip inside, my eyes immediately flying to the pink-shirted staff.

Not one of them is looking at us. Not one of them looks like they give a shit about anything at all. They’re probably just MCC kids, or even Pinebrook High students with weekend jobs. They don’t care if a package of Starbursts finds its way up my sleeve. They don’t. They absolutely don’t.

“Are yousweating?”

“Shut up,” I mutter.

“Jesus Christ, Skeevy. A pack of gum is like a dollar.”

“It’s still stealing!” I hiss, assessing the shelves for what I could most easily slip out of its colorful box. The glass jars on the central platform are out of the question, even though I’d kill for some gummy Coke bottles right about now, but there are cinnamints and Life Savers and a whole display of Airheads that looks promising. Or maybe the Tootsie Roll bins…

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