Free The Life and Crimes of Bernetta Wallflower by Lisa Graff Page A

out a couple. “Say you’re the cashier and I’m the customer, and—”
    â€œWait,” Bernetta said. This was all going so fast. “Just hold on a second.”
    â€œWhat?” Gabe asked. “What is it?”
    â€œIt’s just . . .” Bernetta traced her finger over a crack in the table. “I mean, okay, I get it, you’ve seen a lot of movies. But have you ever actually”—she lowered her voice—“
stolen
anything before? Because it’s probably a lot different from in the movies.”
    Gabe leaned forward. “I already told you,” he said. “We’re not gonna be stealing. It’s
conning.
And anyway, yes, I have stolen stuff before.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Bernetta gulped.
    Gabe set the bills from his wallet carefully on the table. “Okay, so with the shortchange,” he said, “what happens is you pay for something with a ten-dollar bill and get a twenty back as change.”
    Bernetta tried to wrap her head around that. “Wait. You mean, I can buy something and get more money back than I paid in the first place?”
    â€œSure. You have to know how to read people, though. The best way is to try it on someone who’s new at their job or really busy or something.”
    Bernetta nodded slowly. It was a lot like working at the magic club. You wanted to catch people off guard. Make them check up your sleeves for the ace when really you had three hidden in your coat pocket. “Got it,” she said. And then she paused. “Wait.”
    Gabe frowned. “Yeah?”
    â€œWhat’s your deal anyway?”
    â€œMy deal?” Gabe asked.
    â€œYeah. I mean, I’m here because I lost my scholarship, but what about you? Why do
you
want to be a con artist so bad?”
    â€œOkay,” Gabe said. “I guess that’s a good question.” He shuffled the bills around on the table as he spoke. “See, my family’s rich. Completely loaded. I’m like Veruca Salt in
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
But well, when I was little, I hardly ever got to see my parents. I just had to hang out with the nanny all the time. So
now
”—he looked up at her—“now I steal stuff because no one ever loved me.”
    Bernetta took a good look into his chocolate brown eyes. “Is that true?” she asked.
    He grinned. “Maybe.”
    â€œAll right, fine,” Bernetta said with a laugh. “Show me this shortchange thing. I’m the cashier and you’re—”
    â€œWait,” Gabe said. “I have to ask
you
a question now.”
    Bernetta was pretty sure a smile was creeping its way onto her face. There was nothing she could do about it, really. “You do?”
    â€œYes, I do. Two of them actually.”
    â€œWell,” Bernetta said, folding her arms in front of her in mock annoyance, “what are they then?”
    â€œOne. What’s your name?”
    â€œMy name?”
    â€œYeah, you never told me.”
    â€œBernetta.”
    â€œBer what?”
    â€œBernetta. That’s my name.”
    Gabe stared at her for a moment, and Bernetta couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “
Bernetta?
” he repeated.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWow,” Gabe said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNothing,” he replied, but then he laughed, a quick chortle that started in his throat and came out his nose.
    â€œ
What?
”
    Gabe shook his head. “It’s just the most terrible name I’ve ever heard, that’s all.
Bernetta?
Man, that’s rough.”
    Bernetta probably should have been offended by that. But she wasn’t. She’d hated her name her whole life. Most people tried to tell Bernetta her name was “unusual” or “dignified,” but that didn’t fool her. At least Gabe was honest.
    â€œMy great-uncle Bernard died three weeks before I was born,” she