The Adventures of a Teenage Con-Artist

Chapter One: The Beginning

Man I really hated this town. Even its name –Silverlake – was bloody boring.

It was painful spending every day seeing the same people and talking about the same things, especially since they insisted on calling me ‘Nicky’no matter how old I was.

My name is Nicole, not Nicky, not blossom, and absolutely not darling.

Just Nicole, or Nic for my friends and family.

I couldn’t stay here; I wanted more for myself than living in a town where the most common phase was ‘I could’ve been something once’.

I’m not kidding about that either. I swear if you googled the definition of a soul sucking small town, you’d find Silverlake nestled between a blog about multicoloured gnomes and a depressing song by John Mellencamp.

I mean, sure, Silverlake wouldn’t be so bad if you liked Friday night bingo and conversations about how Sally was pregnant again or how Jim was taking over the local pub.

It just wasn’t me. I wanted excitement, adventure and success.

I wanted a life, damn it!

Every morning as dawn set in, I’d walk through Merchants’ Alley, a street made up entirely of family built businesses, to go to school. The street was already filling with early bird shoppers hoping to find a bargain. It was still fairly dark, so I almost missed the custard yellow posters that were plastered on every window and power pole in the street. Seeing an advertisement that didn’t have anything to do with the usual weekly town events was a rare sight.

I walked over to the closest one and squinted at the messy print:

 

SHOP TILL YOU DROP!

Bellvale invites you to enjoy their latest addition to

the town’s ever growing infrastructure, the Bellvale

Mall! Built last winter, the Mall has over 250 new stores

That promise you will never be bored again!

I don’t think they could have written a lamer sign. Bellvale was another hell hole fifteen minutes from here.

How could I have forgotten that the opening was today? When construction began just before the winter holidays last year, I knew it was a horrible idea. Besides my parents nagging me about spending money, this new mall would be the only thing I’d hear about for a long time.

I was staring at the posters, when a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Hey, loser.”

That voice could only belong to one person.

“Ugh, it’s you.” I scrunched my face as though I had just witnessed an eighty-year-old man streaking.

Libby, my very best friend and the most important person to me, poked her tongue out and quickly wrapped her arms around me in a hug.

Libby was more than just one of those best friends who you told all your problems to or you could talk about boys with. She was the type of best friend who knew exactly what you were thinking just by looking at you. This particular skill would have made everyone want her for a best friend if she wasn’t borderline offensive and unapologetic most of the time. Snarky comments were her defence mechanisms and inappropriate jokes showed she was comfortable being around you.  Of course, these were the kind of quirks that I grew to love about Libby Andrews.

We broke from our hug and I pointed towards the poster.

“Well, today’s going to suck hardcore.”