Chapter Two
~a year later~
It was morning. June 5. Abby had been living on the streets for almost twelve months now. She had also been stealing for eight months.
The dumpsters had started to run out of food.
Abby stretched and yawned. She was unbelievably tired. It had hailed the night before; and Abby had learned a couple of times before, the hard way, that under a bridge wasn't the best place to be during a hailstorm.
But, no matter how tired she was, there was food that needed to be stolen and a stomach that needed to be fed. Early in the morning was the best time to get it, when stores weren't busy.
Abby shivered as she stood up. The temperature was rapidly rising, as it was June, but Abby's brown blanket never helped much to keep her warm at night. She grabbed her now battered trunk and wedged it in between two rocks she had managed to move to store her belongings in when she left the bridge.
Just another day, she thought as she grabbed her violin case and walked out from under the bridge. She climbed the steep hill leading up to the road, waited for the cars to slow down, and ran across the road, tangled hair waving in the breeze.
Abby had forgotten her hairbrush when she ran away from home, but if there was ever a time in her life when she needed one, it was now. Of course, she could have stolen one, but she figured that she didn't really need one, and Abby only took what she needed for her survival. A hairbrush wasn't of any real use. Not on the streets, at least.
She could finally see the big, bold Kroger sign. This was where Abby always stole her food from, unless it was a busy day. Then, she would walk into a nearby gas station to swipe some crackers until a few of the Kroger customers cleared out.
The door automatically opened for her.
Why does the brainless door have to help me? Abby asked herself. I'm stealing! Don't these people know what that means?
Abby's conscience was always nagging at her.
Aisle five, she whispered. Bread's on aisle five.
It was there, as it usually was. Rolls, buns, loaves. Abby would always steal something different, depending on what she felt like eating, and lived off of it for a week. Or as long as it would last.
She grabbed a pack of rolls this time and sneaked back to the restroom, as she always did. Abby walked in, chose a stall, locked the door, and set her case down. She unzipped her jacket (Abby always wore her baggiest clothes on stealing days) and stuffed the rolls inside. Making sure none of the plastic covering poked out, Abby zipped up her jacket and unlocked the stall door. She picked up the violin case and headed out of the restroom.
Once she was out of the door, Abby stopped dead in her tracks and looked up.
She was face to face with an officer.
* * *
"H-Hello, Officer . . . ?"
He pointed to his tag and then said, in a gruff voice, "Stinson. Officer Stinson."
"Well, good morning, Officer Stinson," Abby said with a smile. She felt a bit more confident now, and she offered her hand. When the officer didn't take it, she frowned. "I-Is there . . . something wrong?"
He nodded towards Abby's violin.
"What's in the case?"
"Oh," Abby laughed. "This?" She held up the case. "This is my violin."
Officer Stinson didn't look the least bit satisfied with her answer. "And this is my assistant." He motioned for another man in uniform to come closer. "Officer Hastings."
"Good morning, Officer Hastings," Abby repeated, but this time, she didn't offer her hand.
Officer Stinson muttered something to Officer Hastings, but Abby still heard. "Search her."
As Officer Hastings nodded and approached Abby, she made a run for it. But before you could say "handcuffs", they were already on Abby's wrists, the cold metal biting into her bones as well as her skin. Officer Hastings' hands ran up and down her legs, then her arms, and then he unzipped her jacket. The rolls fell onto the tile floor.
"Aha!" Officer Stinson said with a smile on his bearded face. "So this is what you were hiding?" He held up the bag of rolls as Officer Hastings continued the search on her case.
Abby's eyes narrowed, but she nodded all the same.
"And how long have you been stealing? From here? From anywhere?"
"About eight months."
"You do know that any kind of shoplifting is illegal, right?"
"I'm not stupid," Abby said.
"Oh, really?" He turned back around to Officer Hastings. "Got anything in the case?"
"No, sir."
"Well, if you don't end up in jail," he said to Abby, "you can have your violin back---"
"Jail?" Officer Hastings interrupted. "She looks more like a Camp-Green- Laker to me."
Officer Stinson looked Abby up and down, and then he chuckled to himself. "You're right."
Abby looked at the two men with an odd _expression on her face which made the officers laugh even more. "I've never heard of Camp Green Lake," she said. But she was about to wish that it didn't even exist.
~a year later~
It was morning. June 5. Abby had been living on the streets for almost twelve months now. She had also been stealing for eight months.
The dumpsters had started to run out of food.
Abby stretched and yawned. She was unbelievably tired. It had hailed the night before; and Abby had learned a couple of times before, the hard way, that under a bridge wasn't the best place to be during a hailstorm.
But, no matter how tired she was, there was food that needed to be stolen and a stomach that needed to be fed. Early in the morning was the best time to get it, when stores weren't busy.
Abby shivered as she stood up. The temperature was rapidly rising, as it was June, but Abby's brown blanket never helped much to keep her warm at night. She grabbed her now battered trunk and wedged it in between two rocks she had managed to move to store her belongings in when she left the bridge.
Just another day, she thought as she grabbed her violin case and walked out from under the bridge. She climbed the steep hill leading up to the road, waited for the cars to slow down, and ran across the road, tangled hair waving in the breeze.
Abby had forgotten her hairbrush when she ran away from home, but if there was ever a time in her life when she needed one, it was now. Of course, she could have stolen one, but she figured that she didn't really need one, and Abby only took what she needed for her survival. A hairbrush wasn't of any real use. Not on the streets, at least.
She could finally see the big, bold Kroger sign. This was where Abby always stole her food from, unless it was a busy day. Then, she would walk into a nearby gas station to swipe some crackers until a few of the Kroger customers cleared out.
The door automatically opened for her.
Why does the brainless door have to help me? Abby asked herself. I'm stealing! Don't these people know what that means?
Abby's conscience was always nagging at her.
Aisle five, she whispered. Bread's on aisle five.
It was there, as it usually was. Rolls, buns, loaves. Abby would always steal something different, depending on what she felt like eating, and lived off of it for a week. Or as long as it would last.
She grabbed a pack of rolls this time and sneaked back to the restroom, as she always did. Abby walked in, chose a stall, locked the door, and set her case down. She unzipped her jacket (Abby always wore her baggiest clothes on stealing days) and stuffed the rolls inside. Making sure none of the plastic covering poked out, Abby zipped up her jacket and unlocked the stall door. She picked up the violin case and headed out of the restroom.
Once she was out of the door, Abby stopped dead in her tracks and looked up.
She was face to face with an officer.
* * *
"H-Hello, Officer . . . ?"
He pointed to his tag and then said, in a gruff voice, "Stinson. Officer Stinson."
"Well, good morning, Officer Stinson," Abby said with a smile. She felt a bit more confident now, and she offered her hand. When the officer didn't take it, she frowned. "I-Is there . . . something wrong?"
He nodded towards Abby's violin.
"What's in the case?"
"Oh," Abby laughed. "This?" She held up the case. "This is my violin."
Officer Stinson didn't look the least bit satisfied with her answer. "And this is my assistant." He motioned for another man in uniform to come closer. "Officer Hastings."
"Good morning, Officer Hastings," Abby repeated, but this time, she didn't offer her hand.
Officer Stinson muttered something to Officer Hastings, but Abby still heard. "Search her."
As Officer Hastings nodded and approached Abby, she made a run for it. But before you could say "handcuffs", they were already on Abby's wrists, the cold metal biting into her bones as well as her skin. Officer Hastings' hands ran up and down her legs, then her arms, and then he unzipped her jacket. The rolls fell onto the tile floor.
"Aha!" Officer Stinson said with a smile on his bearded face. "So this is what you were hiding?" He held up the bag of rolls as Officer Hastings continued the search on her case.
Abby's eyes narrowed, but she nodded all the same.
"And how long have you been stealing? From here? From anywhere?"
"About eight months."
"You do know that any kind of shoplifting is illegal, right?"
"I'm not stupid," Abby said.
"Oh, really?" He turned back around to Officer Hastings. "Got anything in the case?"
"No, sir."
"Well, if you don't end up in jail," he said to Abby, "you can have your violin back---"
"Jail?" Officer Hastings interrupted. "She looks more like a Camp-Green- Laker to me."
Officer Stinson looked Abby up and down, and then he chuckled to himself. "You're right."
Abby looked at the two men with an odd _expression on her face which made the officers laugh even more. "I've never heard of Camp Green Lake," she said. But she was about to wish that it didn't even exist.