Trapped: Caught in a Lie (Secrets) Page 11

  I turn up my stereo, hoping to block out my thoughts with music. I don’t want to think about what’s going down today. I don’t want to obsess over what I plan to do. I’d like to imagine that I’m simply sleepwalking or a zombie, just going through the paces … and then I want to forget about it.

  That’s probably because I rehearsed the whole thing, over and over, in my head last night. I woke up at three and realized I needed to get it down. As a result I’m wearing a hoodie today. One with deep, thick pockets. The plan is that the first time I see any OxyContin out — and if no one is around to see — I will walk past and pocket it. After that, I’ll go clean the bathroom, and then I’ll transfer the loose pills into my jeans pocket. I wore a looser-fitting pair of jeans expressly for this purpose, so no one will see the outline of pills in my pocket.

  Then I will thoroughly cleanse (to avoid fingerprints) and dispose of the pill bottle, wrapping it in toilet paper like it’s a used tampon. If someone else finds it later, which I think is unlikely, it won’t matter. It will simply appear that a customer snatched it and emptied it in there. The trash won’t be taken out until tomorrow.

  I had considered taking some kind of substitute pills to work, switching them for actual OxyContin pills, and then giving them to the customer. But that worries me. What if the customer really needed them … and became sicker … and came back and sued my aunt and uncle? I couldn’t live with that. This way just seems simpler. And it does seem feasible that someone could sneak in and snatch a prescription from the high counter where they are placed when finished. Of course, it would have to be a tall person.

  And thankfully, although he talks about it all the time, my uncle hasn’t installed a real surveillance camera. He has a good fake one up and is under the impression that it keeps crooks at bay. But after today, he might want to invest in the real thing. And I don’t think that’s a bad idea.

  My heart is pounding hard as I go into the pharmacy, but I’m ready with a smile and a greeting. My aunt, decked out in a red-and-white Santa hat and completely oblivious to the diabolical plan up my sleeve, greets me back, telling me how my young cousins sneakily unwrapped a couple of the presents from beneath the tree.

  She laughs. “Good thing their gifts were still stashed in the attic. All they got was a shirt for grandpa and a tool set for Russ. Then they tried to rewrap them. Like I wouldn’t notice. When I brought it to their attention, saying that I have eyes in the back of my head, they almost seemed to believe me.”

  I make a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I remember when my mom used to give me that line too. Eventually we figure it out.”

  “Just wait until you’re a mom. You’ll use it too.” She hands me a Santa hat. “Here, let’s be festive.”

  Just as I’m putting it on, the phone rings and a customer comes in. It seems the morning has officially begun. Since it’s full-blown flu season now, there are more customers than usual, and it takes a while before I can take a breath, get my bearings, and remember my plan.

  Of course, it now occurs to me that there’s always the chance no one will bring in a prescription for OxyContin today. Although I doubt it. I think it’s one of the more common prescriptions. It’s like all the doctors are prescribing it.

  And sure enough, around eleven a customer comes in with a prescription for it. “It’s probably going to be about an hour,” I quietly tell her. This isn’t true, but it buys me time. “Do you have other shopping to do?”

  “I sure do.” She pulls out a list. “With Christmas less than a week away, who doesn’t?”

  I smile and hand her a candy cane. “Here. In case you get low blood sugar.”

  She laughs and thanks me. “I just might need that.”

  I keep myself busy, which isn’t hard to do, and after about thirty minutes, I see what I’m sure is the OxyContin prescription appear on the high shelf. But I go past a couple of times, looking closely, just to be sure. Meanwhile I wait on customers and try not to sweat.

  Finally it’s getting close to lunchtime, and I’m worried that I’m going to miss my opportunity. But Aunt Lindsey is still working away and in full view of the shelf so there’s no way I can nab it without risking being noticed.

  “I’m going to lunch in a few minutes,” I remind her, “in case you need a bathroom break first.”

  “Oh, good idea. Thanks.”

  And just like that she’s gone. With trembling hands, I walk past the shelf, glancing around to be sure no one is looking my way, and in one swift move, I snag the bottle and tuck it into my pocket. As I walk back over to the cash register, it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack. My heart is racing and it feels like I can hardly breathe. I hope I won’t pass out. How would I explain the pills in my pocket?

  “Where’s the first-aid aisle?” a middle-aged woman asks me. I try to calm myself as I lead her over, helping her find just the right elastic bandage for her husband’s sprained ankle. “Why he thought he should be playing basketball like that at his age is a mystery,” she tells me as I ring it up. “But I think he got what he deserved.”

  I just smile and nod, watching as Aunt Lindsey goes back behind her counter to work on prescriptions. “I guess it’s good we don’t all get what we deserve,” I say absently.

  Of course, I’m thinking specifically of myself. If I got what I deserved, I would probably be doing time in jail or juvi hall. This thought alone fills me with a deep sense of dread. What if that happened?

  “Time for you to go to lunch,” Aunt Lindsey calls out.

  “Oh yeah.” I nod nervously. “Can I pick you up anything?”

  “I’ll call in a sandwich at the deli, if you don’t mind. I didn’t have time for breakfast, so I’m starving.”

  “Do you want the first lunch?”

  “No, I need to finish these orders first. You go ahead. I’ve got a granola bar to munch on.”

  Still aware of the parcel in my pocket, I head for the bathroom. It’s not unusual for me to take a bathroom break before lunch. I turn on the fan to muffle the noise, then pour the pills onto some toilet paper, which I wrap tightly around them, then tuck it into my pocket. Then I wash and dispose of the bottle as planned. Nice and neat.

  I see my face in the mirror as I stand up straight, and it’s flushed with excitement. Fortunately, my aunt didn’t seem to notice. I remove the Santa hat, then go back out, hoping the woman with the prescription isn’t back already. Thankfully, she’s not. Now my only challenge is to pull off an innocent act when she returns for her pills. Can I do that?

  I go outside and take in some long, cool, damp breaths. If I thought I was nervous about cheating on those finals, I’m sure this is way worse. And I still can’t believe what I’ve done. It feels like my life of crime is off to a solid start, and I hate to imagine what else I might do now. I have a teeny-tiny thrill about pulling it off. But at the same time I’m really uneasy.

  I go to the deli and order a bowl of turkey bisque soup, but all I can do is take a few bites. My stomach feels like it’s full of hardened cement. I sit there by the window, watching shoppers hurrying along in the rain. Some are towing cranky-looking children behind. Some look merry, and others look harried.

  Suddenly, a chilly jolt runs through me. What if someone has already figured me out? What if, unbeknownst to me, Uncle Russ really did install a surveillance camera and it’s all been caught on tape? What if I end up going to jail? If I was worried about how my parents, friends, and teachers would react to the news of me cheating, how will they react when they find out I’ve stolen prescription drugs? How can I possibly explain my bizarre behavior? That I did it to maintain my grades? To get into Stanford?

  I stand up quickly, realizing that I’ve made a horrible mistake. A huge and stupid mistake. Really, I’m too smart to do something like this. What was I thinking? It would be far better to just take the consequences for cheating than to be caught stealing drugs. Isn’t it a federal offense?

  I pick up my aunt’s order and hurry back t
o the store. I know I’m early, but I don’t care. I tell her that I thought if I cut my lunch shorter, she could take her break sooner.

  “Oh?” She looks surprised. “Well, thank you. That was nice.”

  I want to ask her if the customer who ordered the OxyContin returned yet, but that would be a dead giveaway. “I’m going to run and wash my hands,” I say instead. “They’re sticky from lunch.”

  “You can use this sink,” she calls to me, but I’m already halfway to the bathroom.

  “That’s okay, I’ll just be a minute.”

  The next thing I know, I’m digging through the trash, trying to find that prescription bottle. Finally I locate it and unwrap it from its cocoon of toilet paper. I replace the pills, slip it into my pocket, and reemerge.

  “I’m going to the backroom.” She picks up the deli bag and peeks inside. “To put my feet up while I eat.”

  I put the Santa hat back on my head, trying to act natural. “Okay.”

  “Just yell if you need something.” She pauses for a moment, looking curiously at me, and suddenly I wonder if she knows what I did.

  I ease out a nervous smile. “Okay,” I say again, wishing she’d just go eat her lunch.

  “Are you all right, GraceAnn?”

  Now I remember my flushed cheeks and wonder if I look guilty.

  “You don’t seem quite like yourself today. Is anything wrong?”

  So, trying to cover my trail, I explain how I felt a little off last night and how my parents were pretty worried. “Dad even told me to take a sick day today.”

  “Oh?” She looks concerned. “Do you need to go home?”

  I shake my head. “No, I feel better. I think I’m just kind of worn out after finals week.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. How did it go?”

  I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  She chuckles. “Well, of course you’d say that. Still keeping up those straight As, I’ll bet.”

  “I don’t know about that. But I’m trying.”

  “Well, it makes sense you’d be tired. And since you took a short lunch break, maybe you’d like to quit early today.”

  I nod. “Sure. That would be nice. Thanks.”

  As soon as she’s gone, I replace the bottle on the shelf. Now if only the customer would come and I could ring it up and bag it and be done with it. Of course, I know this means I still have the Dirtbag to deal with. My only consolation is that school won’t be in session for a couple of weeks. Maybe I can figure out a solution before then. Maybe Dirk will get hit by a train. Or maybe I will.

  . . . [CHAPTER 13]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” Aunt Lindsey says as she returns from her lunch break. “Miss Julia called this morning to order a few things, and I promised you’d deliver them to her. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Maybe you could do it on your way home.”

  “Sure. How’s she doing anyway?”

  “She sounded better. But she says she’s still pretty weak. Poor thing.”

  “Maybe I could give her a hand with the housework,” I say absently.

  “Oh, that would be lovely, GraceAnn.”

  We get busy for the next hour or so, and the woman who ordered the OxyContin returns, pays for her pills, and to my relief is merrily on her way. I’m so glad I didn’t go through with my plan. But I’m still worried about how I’ll straighten things out with Dirk. However, I keep reminding myself that I have a couple of weeks before he expects anything from me.

  It’s almost four, and the pharmacy has no customers. I’ve finished cleaning the bathroom, and all the shelves look nice and neat. “Why don’t you head on over to Miss Julia’s?” My aunt hands me a bag. “I’m sure she would appreciate your company, and it’s pretty dead around here.”

  Relieved to get away from the pharmacy — and to put what I nearly did behind me — I gladly grab my coat and bag and tell my aunt good-bye. On my way out, I take a careful look at one of the video cameras near the front door. I think it’s still the old fake one, but I’m not sure. I’d like to ask, but that might make her suspicious. Better to just keep going.

  As I drive to Miss Julia’s, I wish my life would return to the way it used to be. I wish I could turn back the clock and do it over — the right way.

  “Come in, come in,” Miss Julia says cheerfully as she opens the door. “Always a pleasure to see you, GraceAnn.”

  I hand her the bag. “You’re looking much better.” And she is. Today she is dressed more like she used to dress. A neat pair of black trousers and a festive Christmas sweater.

  “Thank you.” She smiles and pats her hair. “I made it to the beauty parlor this week, and I almost feel as good as new.” She leads me to the kitchen. “I even made cookies.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Help yourself,” she tells me as she sits at the kitchen table and lets out a deep breath. “I’m still a little weak though. I tire so easily.”

  “Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, that would be nice.”

  So I put on the teakettle, and while it’s heating, I visit with her and clean up some of the cookie-making ingredients.

  “Thank you, dear,” she says as I bring over our cups of tea. “You are such a good girl. Such a fine example of a young Christian woman. Your parents must be very proud of you.”

  I shrug, looking down at my tea uncomfortably. “I guess so.”

  Now we both sit there quietly, but I can feel her gaze on me.

  “I did get accepted to Stanford,” I say, hoping to fill up the empty space. “That made them really happy.”

  “Are you happy about it as well?”

  I look into her faded blue eyes. “I guess so.”

  She purses her lips. “That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

  I try to seem cheerier. “Oh, I’m happy about it. I mean, it’s really great.” I tell her about my dad’s surprise of taking me to visit the campus last weekend. “It’s really pretty.”

  She frowns. “Is something troubling you, dear?”

  I shrug and look away.

  “I’ve been told I have a good sense about these things. I think perhaps it’s a gift that the good Lord gave to me, but I can tell when a soul is troubled.”

  I bite my lip now, worried that I might actually start crying.

  “Are you still pining away for that boy?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Would you like to talk?”

  I consider this. I have a feeling I can trust her. And I really do want to talk to someone … someone who won’t be devastated by what I need to say. Oh, I know she’ll be disappointed in me. Who wouldn’t?

  “I am very good at keeping a confidence. I’ve heard lots of secrets over the years. I’ve never divulged any of them.”

  “Oh, Miss Julia,” I blurt out. “I’ve done something really, really bad.”

  She reaches over and places her wrinkled, pale hand over mine. “Go ahead, dear, tell me all about it.”

  I begin by telling her about the pressure I’ve felt to get good grades. “And it used to come a lot more easily,” I say sadly. “But I’ve been taking some really challenging classes … and then I went through that breakup with Clayton, and I kind of fell behind.”

  “In your classes?”

  “Yeah. I started getting some really terrible grades, and even though I studied and tried to bring them up, it was like I was stuck. I knew that my grade point average was going to go down, and I got worried about college acceptance.”

  She just nods, waiting for me to continue.

  “I’d heard that some kids were cheating. And then I actually saw a girl cheating.” I tell her about the bracelet and how I took it from her.

  “That was probably a good thing to do.” She nods with approval.

  “It seemed like it at first. But then …” I take in a deep breath, wondering if I can really admit this out loud. “But then I u
sed it myself. I asked to retake the test, and I cheated.” I swallow hard, looking at her. But her expression hasn’t even changed. She simply nods.

  “And then what happened, dear?”

  So I tell her the entire story, right down to Dirk’s threat of blackmail if I don’t provide him with some OxyContin.

  She blinks. “What a horrid-sounding young man.”

  “He is.”

  “So tell me, what are you going to do?”

  Tears are trickling down my cheeks now. I decide to just disclose the whole ugly thing, and I tell her about how I stole the pills today.

  “Oh dear!” Her eyes grow wide as she hands me a napkin for my tears.

  I quickly fill her in on how I returned the pills. “And the customer picked them up and everything’s okay.”

  “That’s a relief. Oh my, GraceAnn. You do not want to do something like that. It could get you into all kinds of trouble.”

  “I already am in all kinds of trouble.”

  “Yes … yes, that’s true. But you know two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  I nod, blowing my nose on the napkin.

  “So, dear girl, what are you going to do about this?”

  “That’s just the problem. I have no idea what to do. I don’t know how to get out of it. I’ve gone round and round in my head, trying to think of a way out.”

  She looks evenly at me now. And I’m sure I know what she’s thinking — that I should simply tell the truth and take the consequences.

  “If I confess, I’ll get into serious trouble. I’ll probably get suspended, and I might not even be able to go to Stanford. My parents will be so disappointed. My friends will be shocked.”

  She just nods. “That’s true.”

  “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go through all that.”

  “Killing your pride is a difficult thing, GraceAnn.”

  “Killing my pride?”

  “That’s what God expects us to do. Sometimes it happens over time. Sometimes it happens in one swift blow. But eventually, if we truly want to serve God and honor him, we have to let our pride die.”