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“It’s still stealing,” Jay fussed.
“Listen, are you coming shopping or not, Jay? I damn sure didn’t hear you complaining when I got you that Louis dress to wear to your awards ceremony last week.”
“Ugh. You’re right. I’m enabling you by going along with this. Also, your constant need for high-end designer shit is obsessive.”
“Blah, blah, blah…”
“I’m serious, Ju. It’s practically kleptomania at this point.”
“Oop. Not the K-word,” I sighed. “Meet me at Starbucks in twenty. Bye bitch.” I ended the call because once Jay started diagnosing me, I was over it. She knew I stole. She knew I was good at it. She also benefitted from it so her whining fell on deaf ears.
I decided when I was twelve that I would never be broke again. I had to wear thrift store clothes, shoes that had holes, and coats that were always too small or too big and never warm enough. I got made fun of all through elementary school and middle school until I realized I had a knack for stealing shit that didn’t belong to me.
I took one of the older girls’ Ralph Lauren tops and wore it with a plaid skirt I’d gotten courtesy of the angel tree the group home did every Christmas. I looked flawless. She would have never found out I was the one who stole it if someone hadn’t snitched on me like a little bitch.
I wore the hell out of that top too. Back in 2008, I was going for the whole preppy Gossip Girl vibe. Don’t judge. It was a strange time.
When the girl confronted me about stealing her shirt, I found out quickly that I also had a knack for beating bitches until they bled. I was little but I was vicious and fast. I didn’t play fair and one of my many foster sisters from New York showed me how to hide a razor under my tongue. I sliced the girl’s face up and spent my first night in juve.
Now, I was so slick with stealing that I never got caught. I made sure that nobody was around to snitch and I hit in areas that people wouldn’t think to look. Like old bank accounts left sitting.
When I walked into Starbucks, the baristas greeted me by name because I have a habit. I’m not ashamed either. Starbucks is life.
“Sugar-free, iced chai, and a croissant warmed up, please.” I smiled, bouncing on the balls of my feet. My Chuck’s squeaked on the shiny floor in response.
Even though I had a serious obsession with high-end everything, whenever I was out and about, I always dressed like a tom-boy. I cleaned up good but I was most at home in chucks, a tank top that showed off my tattoos, and a pair of distressed jeans or shorts. I kept all my designer shit for when I needed to stunt on everyone. They were like collector’s items to me.
Though sometimes I did like to shock the old white people that ran through my bank when I wore vintage Chanel. As long as it covered my neck and full left sleeve of tattoos, I’d wear it to work and watch their expressions when they saw that a young black girl knew the ins and outs of fashion.
“No cake-pop?” The barista serving me asked, a frown on her face.
“Nah, not today. I had like four last week. Gotta cut back somewhere.” I shrugged then slid down in the line.
“Jupiter, you weigh like ninety pounds soaking wet. What are you trying to cut back on exactly?” She laughed.
“I’m one-twelve. Thank you. And just because I look like this,” I said gesturing to all my beauty. “Doesn’t mean it comes easy.” I patted my flat stomach and moved down another few inches. The girls behind me could be heard smacking their lips and rolling their eyes at my words.
I looked over my shoulder and smirked without it reaching my eyes. “Sucks to be stuck looking like that when I look like this…doesn’t it?” I winked and grabbed my chai tea while the barista turned red with second-hand embarrassment. “Remember, to not get publicly dragged in the future, it costs zero fucking dollars to mind your business.”
I walked my smart-mouthed ass to a seat outside where I could spot Jay when she walked up. I was quick and sometimes unnecessary with my mouth I could admit that but I didn’t like giving anyone the chance to say something slick about me and catch me off guard. I was always guarded and I never let anyone in.
Jay didn’t count. She was my sister and the only other person who knew what it felt like to grow up in a group home, never getting chosen for adoption while watching your friends go to loving homes. Or even worse, watching them go somewhere horrible then never seeing them again. I had to stay ready so I didn’t have to get ready. Nobody else had to like my attitude, but that’s the behavior that saved my life many times.
“Juju!” Jay walked up to me, her Stuart Weitzman heels clicking on the pavement. She looked damn good for someone as overworked as her who just rolled out of bed. Her loose chestnut curls were gathered in a half-ponytail while the back flowed in a shiny tumble down her back. She had on an outfit that I remembered buying with a debit card I made from one of the accounts in my Rolodex. It was a cream blouse with shoulder cut-outs and a cute navy skirt that flared a little and hit just above her knee.
She sat across from me and took a sip of my nearly finished tea. “You look good in those stolen clothes, bitch.” I lifted my eyebrows and gave her a quick once over. Her hazel-green eyes widened and if she hadn’t gotten so tanned and bronze this month, her cheeks would have given off that subtle pink glow. She always blushed when I called her out on morally crooked shit.
“Lower your voice, Ju, damn,” she huffed, folding her arms.
“What? I’m just saying. You read me the fucking riot act on the phone. Now you want to come out here all cute and fashion week ready in stolen clothes.”
“Jupiter,” she hissed through clenched teeth. I shrugged my shoulders and fluttered my lashes. “Okay, I’m sorry for getting on my high horse.” She knew all I needed from her was an apology. If I didn’t get it, I was just going to bitch at her until she got pissed off.
“All is forgiven, Doc. Now go get your own fucking drink because I didn’t pay for you to sip on my drink with my thieving ass.” I rolled my eyes and Jay glared at me, those light eyes of hers glowing.
“You said all was forgiven, Ju. Don’t be a bitch.” She stood and aimed a slender finger at me.
“I can’t help it. Being a bitch is like a muscle. If I don’t work it out every day, it’ll get weak. Then I’d be like you.”
