brushed aside the do not disturb sign that hung from the doorknob, noting with satisfaction that it had been swiped from a Marriott.
See, I thought as I cut across the room and opened the closet door. I'm not the only thief.
I stood there for a minute, absorbing the colorful terrain that was Kylie Frank's wardrobe. There were tiny pleated skirts and satin skinny pants, plus about a dozen pairs of jeans. The whole spread looked like an "after" snapshot from a Seventeen closet makeover. I could just picture the article in my head: "Go from Forgettable to Fashionista with Just a Few of These Must-Haves!"
Shoving aside the hangers, I tucked myself in between a navy coat and a bright red wrap dress.
And then I waited.
It was actually really boring. I mean, in the movies, break-ins are always these heart-pounding, nail-biting affairs, filled with Mission:
82
Impossible-style music, Brad Pitt look-alikes and leggy, leather-clad brunettes. But here I was, sitting at the bottom of someone else's closet (sure, it was one of the more fashionable closets I'd seen, but it was still a closet) trying desperately not to nod off.
The scene was hardly movieworthy. It was barely even soap opera material.
I was braiding my hair for the tenth time when, finally, the energy in the room seemed to shift. There were footsteps in the hall and then the door swung open.
"I'm so sorry!" Kylie Frank was saying as she breezed in. I could hear her footsteps on the car- pet, then a thud as she dropped something-a bag, maybe-onto the floor. "I wanted to meet you, but Tanner had a game. He gets really upset when I don't watch him play. Then he wanted to work out afterwards, so I got stuck at the gym..."
I peeked through a crack in the door. Kylie stood over her bed, iPhone at her ear. "I know, I know. You should definitely hate me. It's just I'm so busy all the time. I really have to get a grip." She paused for a response, then sighed. "I swear, we'll hit the mall tomorrow, okay, Ellie? Listen, I gotta go. I'm all sweaty and I've got, like, a million hours of homework. See ya."
Kylie pressed a few buttons on her phone, then tossed it onto the bed. I watched anxiously
83
as she unpacked her leather hobo bag (three notebooks, a sweater and a makeup case the size of a Honda).
"You have sixteen new messages," chirped the voice-mail woman.
Whoa. Sixteen? How was that even possible? We'd only been out of school for, what, three hours?
"Hey Kylie, it's Matt. Just calling to say hi. Hope the move went well ..."
Matt Kane. The guy Kylie had dumped for Tanner. I thought back to that other morning in homeroom. What had Ella said? Matt really likes you...
Based on his tone, I had to agree. I barely knew Matt-and I was sure he wouldn't know me if I fell on him-but I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the guy. It was obvious he was trying to leave one of those light-and-breezy sort of messages. But what was even more obvious was that he was completely head-over-heels for Kylie Frank. His voice was a dead giveaway.
Kylie reached for the phone, snapping it shut with a groan. When she turned around, her expression caught me off guard.
She looked sad, not annoyed.
Scooping her bag off the floor, she fished out a framed picture. I couldn't make out what it was, but it seemed to cheer her up.
84
"I'm just feeling sorry for Matt," Kylie said to the picture as she placed it gently on her night-stand. "But that's stupid. Matt sounded fine. Great."
Are you hearing-impaired? I felt like asking. The guy actually sounds like a lovesick puppy.
There was a knock on the door, and then Mrs. Frank poked her head into the room. Her platinum hair was twisted into a knot and she wore a tan suit with chocolate suede pumps, just the sort of outfit I'd imagined she owned during our first meeting.
"Hey," Kylie said, turning to face her mother.
Mrs. Frank's gaze slid from the pile of notebooks scattered across the floor to a neat column of boxes stacked in a
See, I thought as I cut across the room and opened the closet door. I'm not the only thief.
I stood there for a minute, absorbing the colorful terrain that was Kylie Frank's wardrobe. There were tiny pleated skirts and satin skinny pants, plus about a dozen pairs of jeans. The whole spread looked like an "after" snapshot from a Seventeen closet makeover. I could just picture the article in my head: "Go from Forgettable to Fashionista with Just a Few of These Must-Haves!"
Shoving aside the hangers, I tucked myself in between a navy coat and a bright red wrap dress.
And then I waited.
It was actually really boring. I mean, in the movies, break-ins are always these heart-pounding, nail-biting affairs, filled with Mission:
82
Impossible-style music, Brad Pitt look-alikes and leggy, leather-clad brunettes. But here I was, sitting at the bottom of someone else's closet (sure, it was one of the more fashionable closets I'd seen, but it was still a closet) trying desperately not to nod off.
The scene was hardly movieworthy. It was barely even soap opera material.
I was braiding my hair for the tenth time when, finally, the energy in the room seemed to shift. There were footsteps in the hall and then the door swung open.
"I'm so sorry!" Kylie Frank was saying as she breezed in. I could hear her footsteps on the car- pet, then a thud as she dropped something-a bag, maybe-onto the floor. "I wanted to meet you, but Tanner had a game. He gets really upset when I don't watch him play. Then he wanted to work out afterwards, so I got stuck at the gym..."
I peeked through a crack in the door. Kylie stood over her bed, iPhone at her ear. "I know, I know. You should definitely hate me. It's just I'm so busy all the time. I really have to get a grip." She paused for a response, then sighed. "I swear, we'll hit the mall tomorrow, okay, Ellie? Listen, I gotta go. I'm all sweaty and I've got, like, a million hours of homework. See ya."
Kylie pressed a few buttons on her phone, then tossed it onto the bed. I watched anxiously
83
as she unpacked her leather hobo bag (three notebooks, a sweater and a makeup case the size of a Honda).
"You have sixteen new messages," chirped the voice-mail woman.
Whoa. Sixteen? How was that even possible? We'd only been out of school for, what, three hours?
"Hey Kylie, it's Matt. Just calling to say hi. Hope the move went well ..."
Matt Kane. The guy Kylie had dumped for Tanner. I thought back to that other morning in homeroom. What had Ella said? Matt really likes you...
Based on his tone, I had to agree. I barely knew Matt-and I was sure he wouldn't know me if I fell on him-but I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the guy. It was obvious he was trying to leave one of those light-and-breezy sort of messages. But what was even more obvious was that he was completely head-over-heels for Kylie Frank. His voice was a dead giveaway.
Kylie reached for the phone, snapping it shut with a groan. When she turned around, her expression caught me off guard.
She looked sad, not annoyed.
Scooping her bag off the floor, she fished out a framed picture. I couldn't make out what it was, but it seemed to cheer her up.
84
"I'm just feeling sorry for Matt," Kylie said to the picture as she placed it gently on her night-stand. "But that's stupid. Matt sounded fine. Great."
Are you hearing-impaired? I felt like asking. The guy actually sounds like a lovesick puppy.
There was a knock on the door, and then Mrs. Frank poked her head into the room. Her platinum hair was twisted into a knot and she wore a tan suit with chocolate suede pumps, just the sort of outfit I'd imagined she owned during our first meeting.
"Hey," Kylie said, turning to face her mother.
Mrs. Frank's gaze slid from the pile of notebooks scattered across the floor to a neat column of boxes stacked in a
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