“Good call. Let’s go.” He holds open the door for me—now those 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 you sweating?”

“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 …

“It’s not the fucking Louvre.”

“Pardon me for not having cased the joint in advance.”

“I will not pardon you for having used the phrase ‘cased the joint’ at all, in fact.”

I accidentally step on Salem’s foot. Twice.

“The longer you stay here browsing, the more familiar you’ll look,” Salem points out when he’s done cursing me under his breath. “Your hair does not exactly blend into the scenery.”

“I said I should wear a hat!”

“The only thing more conspicuous than your actual hair is your hair sticking out like a clown wig mashed down by a hat. Now pick something and let’s go.”

“Okay.” The loose saltwater taffies look easy enough, so I scoop up a couple and slide them into my T-shirt pocket, which is strategically hidden by the plaid button-up I’m wearing over it. I wait for a shout that never comes, and then add a couple of Bit-O-Honeys, which are, in my opinion, extremely underrated. Finally, a pack of gum makes its way into my bag too easily. Then I kick Salem in the sneaker and we head toward the exit while I try to keep my breathing under control.

And then, magically, we’re outside. No alarm goes off. No one calls after us. We’re just … free. And so is the candy.

We keep going down the hall and around the corner, and I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding since I picked up that first taffy.

“Holy shit,” I manage, panting. “I did it. I shoplifted.”

“You did!” Salem says with a proud smile. “How’s it feel?”

I take a second to consider my answer. “Super shitty. I really do not like stealing. Did you do this a lot?”