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The SweaterFacebooktwittergoogle_pluslinkedinmail

Bob and I are seventeen and shopping at the mall. We’re not actually shopping since we hate looking for clothes or any other products, most of them useless. The girls do love shopping, and they’re why we’re here. I know I probably won’t talk to them but am excited knowing they’ll be strolling around and maybe somehow I’ll meet one without having to say much. Bob’s better at stuff like that, though he doesn’t have a girlfriend, either.

Those two girls walking this way are a year behind us but I don’t kid myself, they’re more mature and probably too pretty for me. Maybe Bob can swing it. As they move by, pretending not notice us, I look at him and motion with my head to go after them. He says no. He’s holding a light blue sweater and ducks his head into it, pulling it on and using four fingers as a comb.

This is a weekday afternoon and there aren’t many girls here and I say we should probably come back on the weekend. Bob agrees and says let’s go. We walk through silent aisles push open the door. A few steps later we hear, hey, you guys, and a big security guy in a uniform shirt about the color of Bob’s new sweater grabs him from behind, pushes him against the store windows, and says, did you pay for that.

Yeah, says Bob.

Let’s see the receipt.

Probably together we could take him but don’t try.

I lost it, Bob says.

Liar, he says. An older female employee, at least forty, walks out and asks, what’s the problem.

Call the police, says the security guy.

She does, using the cell phone already in her hands, and it’s embarrassing the two girls from school walk out, sensing conflict, and stand staring at Bob and me. I feel like saying I didn’t do anything.

The police soon arrive and handcuff Bob and put him in their back seat and start to handcuff me before the security guys says, he didn’t take anything. The police act like they don’t believe that but get in their car and take Bob away, to juvenile hall, I guess.

I don’t know what happened, I say to the two girls.

They spin and walk away. How conceited, I think, but what great asses.

This entry was posted in Clothes, Crime, Romance, Teenagers, Theft.