Good Girls Are Bad Girls That Don't Get Caught

Chapter 1: The Man Eating Dog

As I pack, I can't help but dwell on the idiocy of the point of sirens. Realistically, I should tip my invisible hat in gratitude to the idiot who thought of giving police bright beacons of flashing lights and the obnoxious 'whoop whoop' of a siren for alerting us that you're on your way.

I truly, truly offer you my thanks; every teenager/criminal is in debt to you.

Shaking the bag to jiggle the multi-coloured cans I zip it up and hoist it onto my back, all the while my eyes zooming on the changing colour of the windows on the opposite side of the street. The rhythmic change of clout from blue to red making me stand from my crouched position and ready myself into a running stance.

"Let's go." Someone hisses, their fingers brushing against the ridges of my jumper that rest against my wrist. I straighten from my stance and follow behind as we step on the path; the only indication of my law breaking was the large smile that saturated my lips. My grin could have put the Cheshire cat to shame.

We didn't even make it to the end of the street when a cop car sped around the sharp bend, their headlights tamed on us like a spotlight. For some reason, it reminded me of the typical criminal caught in a beam of white light.

But still, it's not like the police could arrest us. I mean, how would they know that we had just done anything illegal without any witnesses? The only crime I see here is the boy beside me trying to pull off a pimp walk.

My smile falters when the car roles to a stop less than 50 meters away from us as if watching, waiting. I snort and tighten my grip around the straps of the backpack. As realisation dawns, my steps falter and my smile slowly falls. Of course, you don't have evidence Gwen...you just have a load of empty spray cans in your backpack.

Well, crap.

As if the police could hear my thoughts, a loud 'whoop' sounds through the air, the noise echoing back off the houses making me cringe.

Of course, who else would it be?

When the car lunges forward, I take one back, my fingers now a death grip around the flimsy material of the strap.

"Split up." Someone shouts from up front and as quick as the group of five had formed it departed with everyone splitting in different directions.

Like an idiot, I stand there for a second gathering my barons as I realise that I was to choose my own direction. I dart out across the road, seconds after the cop car steps on the gas. The burning smell of rubber and tarmac has my nose twitching as it stalls to a stop inches from my tensed legs.

Pinching my lips to hold in my laughter I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the bright flashing lights.

Oh, so that's why they have such bright lights, they like to visually impair their victims.

Stepping back away from the heat of the car, I quickly scanned the area, looking for an escape, the whole street was illuminated in flickering blue and red lights causing the windows from the houses to reflect back as if taunting me, making me believe that I had been caught and it would all be over.

The car shakes and I can tell the cops are about to leave the vehicle, the exact time I spot my escape route. Raising a hand, I offer them something special, something beautiful and reserved for the best people, I offer them the middle finger.

Gosh, so beautiful.

Not wasting any more time, I break out into a sprint towards the fence I would have to jump to enter the field.

Clutching the bag packs strap with one hand, I used the other to haul my fat ass over the fence that separated the field and the road. My feet landed with a dull thud and my teeth rattle painfully from the impact. I take a moment to glance back at the cop car in time to see a police officer climb out of the car. The lights flicker off his large frame and he angrily slams the door behind him before running towards the fence in pursuit of me.