K. J. Farnham - Dont Call Me Kit Kat

Dont Call Me Kit Kat

Copyright 2015 by K. J. Farnham

All rights reserved.

Cover design Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

Edited by Leah Campbell

Formatting by Karan & Co. Author Solutions

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts.

Version: 03-30-2019

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SUMMER/FALL

A re you ready?

I look down and scan my body as I debate Anicas question. Sweat drips down the small of my back. I dont know if the perspiration is a result of the three layers of clothing Im wearing, or because Im nervous about getting caught.

I think so, I say, certain that she can sense the fear in my voice. But I really dont care if Anica knows how scared I am because Im pretty sure we are actually friends. I worry more that she might tell her other friendsthe ones whose parents make more money in one year than my mom and stepdad have made in the past five. It is that money that allows them to live in the upscale Orchard Hills neighborhood. They are the friends who shoplift just for fun. They are the cool girlsthe ones I secretly wish I could be friends with, the ones I want to look and dress like.

She tilts her head slightly and whispers, Katie, are you scared? When I dont answer, she drops her Forever 21 bag, which contains mostly stolen items, and begins to lift the large sweater swallowing her petite frame. Lets just forget it then. If you look all nervous, well get caught for sure.

For a second, Im relieved because shes offering a get-out-of-jail-free card. But during the other half of that second, I picture Amy Bowiethe most envied soon-to-be eighth grade girl at Frank Lloyd Wright Middle Schooldecked out from head to toe in name brands my mother and stepfather would never be able to afford. I want to do this. I need these new clothes. Plus, Anica and the other Orchard Hills girls have done it a million times and never been caught. No, Wait. Im fine. I take a deep breath and unlatch the dressing room door. Lets go.

Its not like this is the first time Ive ever shoplifted. When I was eight, I lifted a Heath bar from Snyders Drug Store. While my mother waited at the pharmacy for her allergy pills, I poked around in the candy aisle. I knew she wouldnt buy the candy for me, mostly because she was always nagging me for being a little chubby. She had warned me that I wouldnt be able to fit into any of the hand-me-down clothes from the neighbor girl if I didnt slim down. Then I wouldnt have any new clothes for the school year that was beginning in a few weeks. I pocketed the candy bar more out of spite than a desire to eat it. Two years later, I went on to steal nail polish from the same drug store. As I removed the small glass bottle from inside the waistband of my jean shorts, it slipped from my grasp and shattered on the sidewalk outside my house. My eyes welled up with tears as I looked down at my brand new flip-flops, which had been splattered with the pretty, pastel purple polish. I figured the accident was Gods way of punishing me for stealing. And now, as Anica and I exit the Macys dressing room, I wonder how I will be punished for walking off with layers of stolen merchandise.

Anica and I make a point of hanging several items in the reject area near the entrance of the dressing room. Then, as we exit, we discuss our disappointment over not finding anything we likedrehearsed, of course. Oh well. Lets go check out the Gap, Anica says loudly.

Im supposed to respond, but suddenly I feel like I cant breathe. My torso is drenched in sweat and my palms are dripping. To make things worse, my shoes suddenly feel as though they are filled with lead. All I can do is focus on the shoe department up ahead, which is the last stretch of ground we need to cover before exiting the store into the hustle and bustle of the mall.

She nervously glances sideways at me. Maybe we can stop at Auntie Annes. You feel like a pretzel?

Sure, I murmur. I know that I am bombing in my role as an innocent, perky, just-hanging-out-at-the-mall thirteen-year-old.

We are so close to freedom when Anica stops to look at a pair of studded flats. These are so cute! She picks one up. Dont you think?

I breathe deeply as I pull my anxious eyes away from the relief that waits outside the confines of the store. I know that Anica is still playing her role. She wants to make sure no one is suspicious of us before we leave. I better play along, so I nod and say, Yeah. I can totally see you in those.

She hugs the shoe to her chest and lets out an obnoxious groan. I wish I had enough to buy a pair! With that, she sets the shoe back in its place and tugs at my sleeve. Cmon. Lets get pretzels.

I hold my breath as we step across the threshold, letting it out only when we are a good distance from the store. We look at each other and smile. Auntie Annes is two stores away and we are about to make a beeline when the unthinkable happens: A security guard steps in front of us.

You girls need to come with me, he says. Standing behind him is the woman who had been manning the dressing room in the Macys Juniors section.

Why? Is something wrong? Anica asks, trying to sound confused.

I remain silent. Even if I could think of something to say, it would be impossible for me to form the words right now. The stream of sweat that was starting to dry up is again dripping down the small of my back into the waistband of stolen leggings.

We know what you did. Lets not make this more difficult than it has to be. I need to take you to the security office where we will have to call the police and your parents.

What are you talking ab

Anica, just give it a rest, I whisper as a tearmasked by beads of sweatrolls down my cheek. The tear is not a result of us getting caught; instead, it is due to the fact that my budding friendship with Anica is ruined. After all, this is all my fault.

She purses her lips and glares at me.

Lets go, ladies. The security guard motions for us to follow him.

The room we are in is small, stuffy and musty. I wonder if they put us here as a form of punishment, as if being hauled away in front of dozens of shoppers wasnt torture enough. I avoid the death glare that Anica is giving me by closing my eyes and trying to imagine that Im home in bed, curled up under the covers. Instead, I picture Amy Bowie with her long, perfectly shaped legs that make her look at least sixteen even though shes only thirteen. The Orchard Hills girls are thin in all the right places. But so far, Amy is the only one who has the fully developed Barbie-doll curves that make the boys stare. I open my eyes and look down at myself. Anica and I were forced to strip down to one layer of clothing, so the only thing I am wearing is a gray ribbed tank from The Gap and jeans. It was so embarrassing to have to remove the stolen leggings from under my jeans in front of the dressing room attendant. The rounded pooch that extends from my midsection makes me blush with embarrassment. I try to sit up as straight as possible, hoping for the fat to flatten out some, but it continues to jut out.