Free Stealing Popular by Trudi Trueit Page B

don’t cry is when you weep.
    You pretend to care,
    Tell me you’ll always be there.
    And then you turn and go away. And then you go.
    Just go.
    Had she written it? It was probably on the CD she’d let me borrow. I should have listened to it. Feeling asting of regret, I vowed to listen to it tonight.
    I wonder what Her Fabulousness and the Royal Court would say if they could hear Liezel sing? I’d love to be a bug on Venice’s pointy, black hat for that little discussion. No one—not even a Somebody—looks good in green.
    My breath caught in my throat. The singing had stopped. I flattened my back against the wall. Our locker door slammed.
    Go the other way! Please go the other way.
    I strained for footsteps. I stayed glued to the wall, forcing myself to silently count to thirty. Liezel did not walk past. Slowly, I inched my face along the wall until I could just barely see around the corner. There was no sign of her, or anybody else. I raced to my locker, opened it, and exchanged my coat for my leadership notebook. I shut the door, bumping my shoulder against it as hard as I could, then I was off again, charging down the hall and taking the stairs two at a time. In sync with my chant, my backpack bounced against my spine.
    13-22-44.
    13-22-44.
    At the top of the stairwell I glanced right. Then left. No one. My mission was going perfectly. So far.
    I scurried to locker 229. The corner locker was easy to find, thanks to Dijon’s heart-shaped beauty board Velcroed to the side. Stacking my stuff on the floor, I cracked my knuckles in preparation for the most difficult part of the operation. I spun the dial to the right to clear it, then lined up 13 with the red mark. My brain was whizzing at top speed. My fingers were icicles. My wrist was shaking so much, I had to hold my left hand under my elbow to steady it. I spun the knob left, passing 22 once, then stopping on it the second time around. Finally, I turned the dial to the right, to 44. This was it! I placed the metal handle between my thumb and index finger. And lifted. The door didn’t open.
    I jiggled the handle. Nothing. I jiggled harder. It wouldn’t budge.
    Had I gone too fast? Did I have the right combination? What if I’d memorized the wrong numbers? Or the right numbers in the wrong order?
    A monster wave of fear rolled through me.
    What should I do?
    Try again?
    Give up?
    Every second I debated it increased my chances of getting caught.
    You can do this. You have to do this.
    For Fawn. For all the Nobodies.
    I shook out my arms to get some feeling back in my fingertips. I twirled the dial five times to the right to be absolutely sure I cleared it, then inched the 13 up to the red vertical mark.
    Keep going. Calm. Calm. Calm.
    I turned the knob to the left, passing 22 once, then ever so carefully sneaking up on it on the second time around.
    One more. You’re almost there.
    I nudged the knob twenty-two clicks to the right. This was it—44. I rubbed my fingertips together.
    Coco Sherwood, if you ever had any magic in you. . . .
    â€œAbracadabra,” I whispered, reaching for the handle.
    â€œ What do you think you’re doing?”

Twelve
    I whipped around. “Évian!”
    Tipping her head, she wriggled her fingers at me.
    â€œSo what am I doing? What am I doing?” With one foot I scooted my backpack behind me. “Well, I . . . um . . . actually, I was just, uh . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI was about to . . . Well, I mean . . . I was thinking of . . .”
    â€œUh-huh?”
    By her mocking grin, it was clear she was loving my misery.
    I couldn’t turn to mist now. I was going to have to tell her the truth and beg for mercy. The odds of me getting any weren’t good. The Royal Court never cut anybody an inch of slack. I had a vision of myself hanging upside down from the flag pole out front below the big St.