Read Online Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft by Catherine Nelson - Free Book Online Page B

through the windows, but the number of people and my
angle made it hard to differentiate anyone in particular.
    “Got your capture
papers?” Ellmann asked as he took his last bite.
    I nodded. “Yep.”
    “All right, then.
Let’s go get him.”
    We stood.
    “You can’t help me.”
    “I’m just going for a
cup of coffee.”
    We dumped our trash
and walked to the corner. The place was crazy. Every table I could see was
occupied. The line to place orders reached to the door. The line to pick up
orders was just as long. I attempted to politely make my way through the crowd,
but people pretended not to see me and didn’t move, afraid I was really trying
to cut in line. People tended to move out of Ellmann’s way just because of his
size—some instinctive fear of being flattened by a mountain. But I’d never
given Ellmann much room to play rescuer to me, and I didn’t think now was the
time to start. If I could save myself from kidnappers, I could get through a
little crowd, right? Instead, I used my elbows to shove people out of the way,
like I was making my way to the bar for a drink.
    There were a couple
gasps, a few curses, a couple return shoves, but I paid no attention. When I
was near the front, I could better see the baristas behind the counter. There
was one kid taking orders and two others making drinks. None of them were Cory
Dix. I worked my way around the store as best I could, searching for Dix, who
was now here if what I’d been told about his schedule was true. I pushed
through the crowd waiting for their coffee to search the small seating area
toward the bathrooms. And then I heard it.
    “Zoe Grey.”
    The voice like nails
on a chalkboard.
    I stopped. I didn’t
want to turn around, but I could see no other choice. It was too late to
pretend I hadn’t heard her, and I’d have to pass her in order to get out.
    Taking a breath,
standing up a little bit taller, and pushing my shoulders back slightly, I
turned.
    “Priscilla.”
    Priscilla Casimir had
started at the private K-12 school I went to in third grade. She’d declared us
mortal enemies on her first day because she believed our ancient Native
American ancestors to have been enemies. I’d declared her my archnemesis
because, in the third grade, I’d believed I was a superhero, and every
superhero has an archnemesis. Priscilla is mean, self-centered, ugly, and a
little bit crazy. Growing up, she’d looked a lot like Christina Ricci in the
movie Casper , with pale white skin and long, black hair. Except Priscilla
had weird (crazy) eyes, a huge forehead, which was always obvious because she
wore no bangs, and a pointy nose and chin. She’d always been tall and thin,
aside from having hips twelve sizes too big for her body, which I’d always
secretly hoped she’d never grow into.
    Now, I could see some
things had changed. Braces had straightened out her ugly teeth and, I
suspected, her jaw, because her chin wasn’t nearly so pointy. Her nose was
still pointy and slightly upturned at the end, but it had been softened by age
and the effect of her thick bangs sweeping across her forehead. The bangs also
hid her enormous forehead, which unfortunately helped her appearance
dramatically. She was obviously paying someone a lot of money to style her hair
because it was almost attractive (though I’d die before I admitted that out
loud to anyone). It was still long, but she’d added highlights and layers.
    She may have been one
of the tallest in school, but she’d done her growing early; she was only about
five-five barefoot. She was still thin, but the healthy kind, not the bean-pole
kind. I was devastated to see she had grown into her hips and that her body was
well proportioned. Sometimes life just isn’t fair. She was wearing an expensive
brown pinstripe pantsuit with a pink blouse and heels. Her jewelry, makeup, and
perfume were also expensive. She was carrying a brown leather briefcase with a
designer label. It was all the sort of stuff I