Hey guys(:
Enjoy. And tell me you don't love the song! I love Maroon 5 for making it<3
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I threw on my jacket, zipped up, and rushed out the door, calling, "Landon, I'm out!"
He appeared at the door behind me, instantly. "Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously.
I raised my eyebrows. "Out with my boyfriend."
There was a slightly irritated expression on his face. "Don't come barging into my house in the middle of the night."
"Right." I walked out the door. Michael waited outside. He greeted me with a peck on the cheek and a blank smile.
"Hey."
"Hey," I said, with a lot more enthusiasm. "I missed you!" Before he could get in the car, I hugged him tight. Michael was stiff for a moment, then he hugged me back.
"Missed you, too."
I slipped into the the passenger's seat. "Liar," I said with a quick smile. He winked. "So what's this house like?"
"Easy," he told me confidently, "you'll have no trouble. Just watch out for the dog."
"What kind?"
He smirked. "Pitbull."
"Pitbull?" I shrieked. I lowered my voice to a hush, "Pitbull?"
"It's...small."
"Do you want me to die?"
"If I answered that question," Michael parried seriously, "I'd have to kill you myself."
I rolled my eyes. "Like you don't attempt that all the time?"
He grinned, shaking his head. We sat in silence for a few minutes, the world flying by as we sped past. We stopped eventually, in a cul-de-sac. The entire area was empty. It was barely ten, so, of course, the lights were on. People moved in the light. Michael and I waited for about half an hour. Eventually, the lights went off - all except one - and six people climbed into a car. Twenty minutes later, I was in the house, sliding in from the back door. It was one of those upper-middle class American houses: two stories, five bedrooms, three-and-a-half bathrooms, two living rooms, a family room, den, kitchen, and game room. The backyard was large, filled with a pool, barbecue, and eight-seater patio table.
Nice.
I made my way up the stairs quickly. I was wearing ballet flats. I had spent hours wearing them down with sandpaper, to get rid of the clicky heel.
"Wow," I breathed, taking in the sight. "This is what I call rich." The entire hallway was filled with relics, with gold and silver plaits and ornaments. I inhaled deeply through my nose. This would be enough to pay off Michael, for the first month.
Unbuttoning my trench coat, I pulled out the woven black sack I had tucked into my inner pocket. Lithely, I crept forward and shoved everything I could find into the sack. Once the hallway had been cleared of all valuables, I moved into the bedrooms. The first was a guest. There was nothing interesting there. The second had a Macbook. I slid that in. The third had some expensive-looking jewelry and an iPad 2. My sack grew.
By the time I was done - which, thanks to my speed - was only an hour after I had come in, I had raided all of the rooms in the house and my sack was bulging and my arms were sore. Heaving it over my shoulder, I slipped out of the house, down the side, to the door that lead me back outside.
Unfortunately, a low snarling prevented me from reaching that door.
I froze.
The snarling grew louder.
Oh, dear.
"Pitbull?" I squeaked. Shoving my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a flashlight. I never used it, because I had great vision at night, but, now, I couldn't see anything, and I preferred to look death in the face, before I go.
Flicking on the light, I positioned it right where I assumed the dog would be: around my knees. Unfortunately, my precision was off.
I had to raise the light about three feet up, till it met directly with the dog's eyes. I swallowed hard. It was almost the same height as me! It wasn't saying much but still! My hand not holding the light flew to my throat, smothering my pulse. My breathing was deep and uneven.
I couldn't help myself; for the first time in my life, I threw caution to the winds: "Michael!" I wailed loudly.
Almost immediately, I heard a car door slam. The pitbull eyed me viciously, it's gray pelt matching it's eyes. His gaze focused on me, with an intent look in his eyes that matched no humans. My shoulder strained as I shifted the sack uncomfortably. I didn't want to move, hoping against hope that the dog would think me a statue or something.
No such luck.
Out of nowhere, the dog lunged his jaw snapping up. Dropping the sack with a loud clunk, I scurried to the left. His eyes glinted in the darkness. I realized I had dropped my flashlight with the sack.
There was a low whistle. I froze, thinking the owners had come. But, no, Michael would have warned me. A muted call. "Camille!"
I heaved a hefty sigh of relief. "Michael, thank God. Come save me from this beast."
I heard a quiet laugh. "I'm on it." There was a pause. "Come here, Rumble," Michael said in a coaxing voice.
Rumble?
Rumble?
"Are you joking with me, Michael?" I hissed, backing up. The glittering eyes glanced once at the door, where Michael was.
Another whistle. The dog yelped and jumped to the door. A light flared, illuminating the pitbull. Michael turned the flashlight up, highlighting his broad grin eerily. He scratched the dog behind the ear and it whimpered, pushing it's head farther into his hand and wagging his tail.
I rolled my eyes. I already understood what had happened. Of course, always being prepared, Michael had warmed up to the dog. He was just that lovable. I frowned. Although Landon didn't like him. Half an hour later, Michael and I were in the car, coasting around the city, our haul in the backseat.
"I thought it was illegal to have pitbulls," I told Michael thoughtfully, reflecting on Rumble.
"It is in some counties, but not in California," he explained. "I wanted to start a campaign against it, but, as you know, we don't exactly have the smoothest background." He glanced wryly at the stolen goods in the backseat.
I grinned. "You don't think they'll appreciate your talent at B&E and theft?" I shook my head. "A shame."
Michael laughed and mussed my hair. "You're so cute, Cam."
I tried to slick my hair back down. "Thanks. I knew it already, but it never hurts to hear it." I winked.
Eventually, we stopped at a Vons. It was somewhere around one AM. I was glad it was open twenty-four-seven. Michael pushed a cart towards me. "Get in, Cammy."
I made a face. "Again? Last time they called security on us." He laughed, seeming to remember the occasin fondly. I didn't, seeing as how they asked me if I was even in middle school. Still, I climbed into the cart, drawing my knees up to my chest and pulling out my phone.
Then, a song came on that made the cart start twitching suddenly, from left to right. I braced my hands on each side and looked around incredulously. "Michael? Oh, my god."
He was swaying from side to side and, consequently, swaying the cart from side to side: AKA, me.
Closing his eyes and grinning, Michael began to hum the tune, first.
I hissed, "Michael, stop. Please. I will do anything."
"Think about it every night and day." A few people glanced at us. His voice grew louder as his grin broadened. "Spread my wings and FLY AWAY!"
I buried my face in my hands. "I hate you at the moment." I couldn't help peeking through the cracks in my fingers, though.
His voice lowered dramatically. "I believe I can soar. I see me running through that open door! I believe I can fly." A crowd was gathered now. They began humming along with him. This was not a church choir. A worker stared at us bemusedly. "I believe I can fly. I believe I can fly."
"I wish you would fly off a cliff," I bit out to him. Michael's eyes opened a slit and he grinned right at me. I rolled my eyes.
I turned back around and set my chin on my knees as he sang behind me, pouting. At that same moment, a boy around my age walked past me down the hall. He took one look at me in the cart, Michael behind me, singing, and snorted, laughing and rolling his eyes.
I ground my teeth in embarrassment. Another cute boy walked behind him. He took in the scene and grinned at me, winking.
My eyes grew.
That was weird. Cute, but weird.
"Excuse me." I looked to my left. A girl was standing in front of me, chewing her gum and blowing bubbles obnoxiously loud. She was also wearing the bright red vest that meant she worked there.
I raised my eyebrows. "Yes? Can I help you?"
"How old are you?" She popped a bubble.
I gave her one scornful look and turned back around.
"What you're doing is illegal," she told me.
"Great to know," I breathed, still not looking at her. I was trying to avoid getting in a fight. Considering the crowd amassed behind me, and the fact that I wasn't quite sure what my police record said - I knew I had one though. As a matter of fact, Michael and I had a plan to go sneak into the office a few blocks away next week.
"As in, get out, before I call security. The maximum age is seven, not eight."
And there went my patience! This beezy was not going to call me eight and then get away with it.
"Look," I said, turning to face her, "you have two options right now. Either one, you run away, as fast as you can. Or two, you stand here while I punch your face in. You're choice." I checked the time on my bare wrist. "You have five seconds before I go with option one." I barely noticed the music stopping behind me as Michael stared at me, already understand what was going on.
"Five."
She was staring at me challengingly, one eyebrow raised.
"Four."
Her upper lip lifted in a small smirk.
"Three."
I stepped carefully out of the cart and stood to face her. Despite the fact that I was nearly a head shorter than her - she was freakishly tall, I swear - she stepped back. "Two."
I twisted my wrist, unlocking my joints. Drawing my fist back, I grinned and said, "One."
And then I punched her in the face.