Daisy Dukes and Combat Boots

i. Crimeville, Population: Me

     CONTRARY TO POPULAR belief, burglary will land your ass in compromising positions. Lesson of the day: do not take things with long-term intentions unless, a: it is for the benefit of someone other than yourself, or b: the fate of the human population depends on it. And this had been Logic For Dummies, brought to you by Nemo Serrano.

I veered left, taking a sharp turn and almost trampling a rogue cat. The feline's hackles rose and it let out a bestial hiss before scuttling away. I would have laughed if not for the fact that my life was resting on how much attention I paid to my footing.  

“Run!” I clamored, sliding a hand through my sweaty hair. I was seriously questioning my decision to ignore my straightener this morning, because my now not-so-straight-hair was growing in moisture and not the good kind, either.

I should have chosen another day to wear a skirt. Who am I kidding? I don't even like skirts. This was simply a farewell gesture for my bag, which had just slid off my arm and smacked onto the asphalt below my fast-moving feet. Here was an internal dilemma: backtrack and grab the bag or abandon it forever and ever, until the end of time?

Whatever, it was a knockoff anyway.

Caleb pushed himself harder, sprinting along side myself and panting heavily. “You had to have the shoes, didn’t you, Nemo?”

I could hear our pursuer tailing us, his shouts superseding my growing fatigue. No doubt the police would be joining this little get together soon. I wasn’t sure I was in the best condition for a mug shot, however. 

“They’re designer!” I whined, clutching the shiny new sneakers harder.

“I don’t care if they’re made of freaking gold, this is totally not worth some crappy shoes!” I could feel Caleb’s energy slowly depleting, his footsteps crashing onto the gravel more sluggishly each passing moment. He never did have the best stamina.

No best friends left behind.

I slowed my pace, positioning myself behind him and placing either of my palms against his back, fingers spread apart. “Oh, like you didn’t steal anything,” I huffed, shoving him hard on the back so his feet would move more rapidly. He gripped his bag of loot defensively, giving a grunt of disagreement. 

This wasn’t normally the way my Monday’s played out, I promise. Usually they consisted of sleeping in until first period and then bustling to class like a mad woman. Occasionally, there was a constant stream of apologies aimed at the Janitor when I bounded across his freshly scrubbed tile-flooring. Today, on the other hand, I may have exhausted my fuse of sympathy from the clerk down at Maggie’s local department store. 

Apparently there’s a whopping difference between stealing a pack of bubble gum one day and a pair of Gucci shoes the next. I never got that memo. Besides, they were out of stock everywhere and the last pair happened to be in my size at this honkytonk of a store. If that isn't a plea from God, then I don't know what is. It would have been a crime not to snag them and flee.

I never looked a Gucci product in the mouth, especially not a five hundred dollar Gucci product.

“Stop you, hoodlums! You must pay for shoes,” the paunchy Asian man cried after our retreating figures, his thick accent ringing through the approaching morning.

I honestly wasn’t sure how he had made it this long. I mean, he didn’t exactly possess an athlete’s body. In fact, I was sure he could lay off some of the stir-fry. I came pretty close to snapping the guy’s chopsticks a few times. It isn’t exactly appetizing, nor sanitary, when the cashier decides to chomp on his lunch all over your purchases. Specifically, with soy sauce dribbling down his neck. Clean up on aisle Nemo.

“Do you take Monopoly money?” I called back to him, grinning. 

Caleb snickered. “This guy’s got backbone. How are we going to ditch him?”

As my eyes skirted along our surroundings, I became visibly aware of the fact that the city had seemingly disappeared from under our feet and was now replaced with – to put it quite simply – suburbia.

Quaint little town homes lined the curbs, each wearing a different shade of pastel. Not to mention the mini gardens situated in front of each. Roses, tulips, lilacs, sunflowers – they had the whole package. The only thing we were missing here were the white picket fences.