She called, over and over for hours as she paced about her room and her portion of the balcony. She then got a reply. Fucking finally, she thought.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m so sorry about the cops and getting mad at you. I am so sorry.”

  “It’s ok. They just let me go, saying it was a misunderstanding. But they’ll have to confiscate the so-called bomb. And, I was upset, I shouldn’t have gone radio silent,” he breathed in. “There’s something I hadn’t told you.”

  “I know, I know. You’ve been cooking me breakfast this entire time. It’s really sweet of you.”

  “Thanks, but—”

  “I’m going to get your synthesizer back. The police can’t just take it when the entire fiasco was made up. They’re clearly harassing you.”

  That piqued his curiosity, wondering how.

  “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

  “What do you plan on doing?”

  She raised a hand, flat palm facing him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  With a silent nod, he said. “I won’t worry about it.”

  They said bye, and as soon as the video of Timothy turned off, she rummaged through her closet. She looked for all the black clothes she could find and laid them all on her bed. Black long-sleeved blouse, black pants, black socks, black gloves, black shoes, and a black hat. A bandit outfit.

  She changed. “Easy.” Admiring her look in the mirror, she thought, the cutest burglar in history.

  She dressed up, grabbed the black eye paint football players put on under their eyes (Liam left it over once), and entered the garage. Her car was gone, and so were her dad’s and her mom’s. She walked back in and hollered to Bri.

  “You know what happened to my car?”

  “Lily took it for some reason.”

  With a few quick swipes, she saw the text from Lily, and She sent it while she was planning her burglar outfit. Lily is running an errand while her car is in the shop. That’s fine, Lily wasn’t aware. “Can I borrow your bike?”

  ***

  The epicenter of town was crowded, more so for a Thursday, so she parked the bike early where there was less foot traffic. Passing the confectionery store, the antique shop, weaving through art easels by the coop space, and after a glance at a bespoke clothing store, she made it to the Hickory Coffee Shop.

  A band played acoustic music in the far corner, and she took a spot so a particular flutist would spot her.

  Isaac noticed her, and his breath soared into the flute, causing a high-pitched squeal through the coffee shop. He quickly regained his composure and played along with the guitarist, the violinist, and percussionist. The music held a wonderful melody, and Sarah did nod along to it while drinking an Italian Soda.

  Once the set ended near closing time, Isaac glanced over as he put his flute away. She waved at him.

  “Not here for a math lesson, I take it?” He didn’t put his long black coat on, but instead draped it over the chair and placed his flute case carefully on the table.

  She’ll forgive him for taking a seat before she offered it. “Hi, Isaac.” Donning a long turtleneck, matching slacks, and dark dress shoes, the clothes looked great on him, especially with his combed dark hair. It interested her that he was more put together for his band than at school, sporting a clean shave as well. “I’ve been meaning to get around to seeing you perform. Some interesting oral skills you have there.”

  Isaac coughed. Now blushing, he said, “Funny enough, that was the name of one of my music classes.” He thought for a second. “So, how are you?”

  Sarah leaned in, placing her chin gently on the top of her interwoven fingers. “Good.” She looked deep into him, not wavering her attention.

  “I uh, heard you broke up with Liam.”

  “That I did. But forget him. Are you seeing anyone?”

  “N-no.”

  “Boys usually lie to me when I ask that.”

  Isaac placed a hand on his heart. “On my mother’s grave.”

  “Your mom is dead?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “No. But, if she were—” One of the band members slapped him on the shoulder and nodded bye. He nodded back and continued. “I work a lot. College isn’t cheap, so it’s hard to meet people studying and working all the time.”

  He sounded a lot like Timothy to her, and another reminder of her wealthy privilege. “Tell me more about college.”

  He nodded with a smile. “I’m studying engineering. I’m also taking music as a minor. I graduate in the Spring.”

  “Congrats.” She straightened. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  “Thanks. Well, I’m hoping for a job at Carr Ware.”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes.

  “That is not why I asked you out a few months ago.”

  “Yuh-huh.”

  “I’m seriously not asking for you to ask your dad for a job.”

  She chuckled. “I know, I’m just busting your balls.”

  He let out a breath of relief. “So uh, I kept looking for you every time we played, and figured you’d never show. What changed your mind?”

  She twirled her drink. “Tired of high schoolers.”

  “I hear ya.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  They continued speaking, laughing. He grabbed her hand for a moment during one of the said laughter bouts, but for only a moment. He offered to walk her around Main Street for a bit, and she accepted. With the two of them mainly wearing black, they looked like a couple who matched outfits.

  As they circled around Main Street, she intentionally waited until they made it back to the Hickory Coffee Shop, where he played.

  “I should probably get going,” she finished, an ice cream cone Isaac bought her.

  “Yeah, sure,” he sounded bummed out. “Where’s your car? I’ll walk you.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. Where’s your car?”

  “We’re right next to it.”

  The car was an old sedan with missing hubcaps, and the only clean part was where the window wipers wiped.

  “Well,” she stood right before him and looked up into his eyes, “see you tomorrow? I think I’ll need some tutoring.” She then opened her arms up.

  Isaac went in headfirst.

  “Woah,” she backed her head a bit. “I don’t kiss on a first date.” Instead, she went in for a hug.

  “Right,” Isaac tried to prolong the hug, getting a good whiff of her long blonde hair. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” and she turned and walked down the street. She overheard him say Jesus while performing air fist bumps. She took the first turn down a wide pedestrian alley and hustled. Her hand held a tight grip around Isaac’s keys.

  Sorry, Isaac.

  Back at her bike, she pulled out the hat that she had left in the basket, tied her hair in a ponytail, and slid it through the back of the hat. She started pedaling towards the school.

  It wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t so late on a school night. The late fall night was cold, and she picked up a sweat riding her bike by the train yard and the ranches. Moonlight illuminated the cows and horses who grazed in large fields of grass. The animals and the calmness of Clearspring revealed their charm under these circumstances. Not a single car drove by her. She rode by her dad’s company, and finally, the school.

  With Isaac’s keys dangling, she wheeled right up to the main doors. She held out the FOB to the panel by the doors. It beeped, but it beeped red. She tried again, it beeped red.

  Cursing under her breath, she spent all night flirting with him to steal his keys, and they couldn’t unlock the front door. Every staff member had such keys. She had to think. Where else can she get keys?

  Mr. Witman.

  Mr. Witman always kept his keys in his desk. Sometimes he’d pull them out to unlock the closet or use the fob to open the computer cabinet tethered to the smartboard. He does it every morning, and those keys are never in his pocket.

  She walked, wheeling the bike by her side over to the outer walls where her math class is. After pushing on each window with hopes one wouldn’t be latched shut, she found a large rock. And after a few test hits to keep her aim steady, she hit the glass as hard as possible, leaving a dent. Hit after hit, eventually, it shattered. The resulting noise was much louder than she anticipated. If this were a house, the neighbors would be calling the police or finding a gun. With the rock, she scraped more glass loose and brushed off the small debris on the ledge. She crawled partially in, using Liam’s chair for leverage, and pulled the rest of herself in with care. The glass crunched under her shoes, and she didn’t brush off Liam’s chair or sweep the glass away. She kinda hoped he’d sit in it. Sweat fell, she brushed her forehead with her forearm, and went to Mr. Witman’s desk. The keys were there in the drawer, and the desk wasn’t locked. She swiped them and sped into the hallway.

  With a silent glide, she moved along the locker-lined walls and went up the nearest staircase. Corner after corner, she poked her head out, expecting a guard with a flashlight, but it was all silent, her breath made no noise.

  Windows from ceiling to floor lined the music room for the entire hallway, and inside were music stands with a tripod setup and raised floors for each row of instruments for a concert-like setting. At the door, she tried all the keys, about a dozen or so, and tried each several times. Nothing. She hoped for a master key, but none did the trick. Cursing under her breath, she returned to the math room, grabbed the large rock left on the floor, and casually walked back. This time she walked down the hall as if it were a typical day in school. She broke the glass window on the upper half of the music room’s door and reached in to unlock the door from the other side.

  She walked through the large room and straight to the desk that sat near the podium. And certainly enough, his boxy, shiny grey synthesizer had been placed on the floor by it. The police never once thought it was a bomb, they didn’t bother to look at it. A simple ploy to harass Timothy.

  Ironic. Timothy has saved one of the town’s own. An act most police officers will never do. They only show up after the crime occurs and make arrests. Perhaps stop a domestic violence dispute. But a do-or-die situation. Most police officers won’t experience it. And here they are harming a boy and his reputation over a football game. A game. What is a game compared to Timothy? A human being. To a group of man-children, a game might be more than life.

  Then again. What is cheerleading? She’s been cheering it on her entire high school career, until recently.

  She shook off the thoughts and grabbed the synthesizer. The cube shape made it awkward, and it was heavier than she expected, carrying it with both hands under it while propping it against a hip a bit. Hustling back to the math room, she had to place the synthesizer on the desk to free a hand to open Mr. Witman’s drawer to return the keys.

  She opened the drawer, and instead of putting the keys in, she dropped them on the floor. Stunned. The keys had covered a photo she didn’t notice when she grabbed them. An older photo of a bearded man and a woman with a baby. The same photo was hung in Timothy’s room.