Cassie by Barry Jonsberg

again.
    Demi shrugged.
    â€˜It will be,’ she said. ‘Everyone has a birthday. We’re just getting in early with our presents.’
    Holly had heard how a sudden realisation could feel like a blow from a hammer. This didn’t feel like that. It felt like a bomb.
    â€˜You stole these,’ she whispered.
    Demi made a tutting sound.
    â€˜Theft is such a harsh word, Hol,’ she said. ‘I prefer to think we liberated them. But if you have a problem with that, you can always return them. Mind you, you’d have a bit of explaining to do.’
    Holly just stared. After what seemed fifteen minutes she started to chew again, but her mouth was dry and she had to force a solid wad of food down her throat. Her hunger had gone. Suddenly she felt like everyone in the food hall was staring.
    â€˜Put them away,’ she hissed.
    The girls laughed, but they folded the clothes up and returned them to the bags. They didn’t hurry. When the table was cleared, Demi rested her face in her hands and looked into Holly’s eyes.
    â€˜Just one more thing,’ she said. ‘And I think our work here will be done. Make-up.’
    Holly’s brain had turned into cotton wool. She couldn’t gather her thoughts. The words came out with a laugh. But even then she knew this wasn’t in the slightest bit funny.
    â€˜Which I guess we’re going to steal as well!’
    The girls didn’t reply. They just looked at her and smiled.
    Holly
    My name is Holly Holley and I am a thief.
    My heart is about to burst out of my ribcage. It’s hammering so hard, I am amazed the staff can’t hear it.
    I think about the advice the girls gave when I insisted on doing this myself. Act confident. Keep a look out for cameras. Be quick and decisive when pocketing the items. Don’t rush from the store. Always walk. Buy something small.
    But as I queue at the checkout my face burns. Guilt is oozing from every pore. I reek of it.
    â€˜Hi, how are you?’ says the girl at the checkout.
    â€˜Good. You?’
    â€˜Good.’ She scans the nail polish that was hugely reduced. ‘Three dollars ninety-five, please.’
    I hand over a five dollar bill I’ve already taken from my handbag. My handbag is packed with lipstick, eyeliner and foundation. Items Demi identified as essential to my new look.
    â€˜Can I check your bags?’ says the girl as she passes me the change. My heart stops.
    â€˜Sorry?’
    The girl looks confused. ‘I said, “Have a nice day.”’
    A pounding in my ears tells me my heart has lumbered into action again.
    â€˜Oh, thanks. You too.’
    And then I am out. The girls are sitting on a bench in a walkway around the corner. I hurry towards them. My feet don’t seem to touch the floor. I am still terrified. But nestling in the dark heart of that terror is a small and shining nugget of pride.
    Ivy
    â€˜Police, please.’
    Fern had made a cup of tea, but Ivy hadn’t touched it.
    She had waited two more hours after discovering from Amy that Holly had wagged her last class. A fact Amy had been very reluctant to reveal. Ivy wasn’t sure if the wagging should make her more worried, or less. And somewhere deep in her gut she was vaguely aware of a niggling superstition that ringing the police would somehow usher in her worst nightmare. She’d kept thinking that any moment, Holly would walk in with an explanation. Something Ivy had forgotten. A meeting of some kind. ‘I told you about it, Mum.’
    But Holly hadn’t walked in.
    Ivy knew she should have rung the police straight away.
    How could she forgive herself for her delay?
    â€˜I want to report a missing person.’
    It was the last two words that did it. As soon as they passed her lips, Ivy’s face crumpled, as if by speaking the words she had made them true. Wagging. Late. She could cope with those. Missing. The word sliced and slashed like a blade.
    Fern took