The Infamous Frankie Lorde 1, page 14
“Lastly, we need to get costumes together,” I said quickly, hoping he’d at least let me finish before losing his cool. “We can go tomorrow after school to look for something. We shouldn’t rent anything, because it could be traced back to us—”
Ollie’s eyes had grown wide as I talked and he was fidgeting around like he needed to go to the bathroom.
“Let me do it!” The words burst out of him like a balloon that had been given one too many puffs of air.
I looked around to see if anyone else had heard Ollie’s outburst, but for once, nobody was paying attention to us. Still, I knew if I didn’t answer him, there would be more exclamations and it likely wouldn’t remain that way. So I opened my mouth to respond, only to be cut off before I could get anything out.
“Frankie, please let me do this,” Ollie begged. Then his face grew serious. “Look, you know all this thieving stuff, I’ll be the first to admit that. In that arena, you’re the boss. You make the rules. And I’m happy to be your faithful sidekick on that. But this? Fashion? Costumes? Dressing up? That is my life. Nobody can do a better job than me of creating a look.”
I cocked my head to the side. “But the point is not to stand out, Ollie,” I argued. “And I know you. You don’t do subtle.”
Ollie grinned at that. “But that’s the great thing about this. It’s a masquerade gala. The point is to go big, otherwise we will stand out. Get it? This is a fundraiser for rich people. And that means they’re going to have their costumes created by big-time designers and stuff like that. We can’t go in looking like we made our outfits in home ec, or they’ll know we don’t belong. We have to come legit.”
When he put it that way, I realized he was right. We’d have to step up our game in order to fly under the radar at the masquerade. And as much as I hated handing over any part of the plan to someone who had no previous experience with pulling off a con, I knew Ollie could get the job done.
Plus, I had to give him something to do. He wasn’t going to be involved that much in the rest of the operation, and this would keep him from bothering me about that. Which would leave me open to focusing on the rest of what had to be done.
The important parts.
“Fine,” I said, making it sound like I was conceding on something I didn’t want to. “But nothing too crazy. Keep it within the confines of the event, okay?”
“Deal,” he said, looking like a kid on Christmas day. Then he stood up and started prancing around as he talked out loud to himself about all the different options worthy of a high-class gala.
I took this as my chance to focus on my own stuff and pulled out my burner phone to compose an email. But before I could even navigate through the passcode to unlock it, I felt a spray of liquid hit me across the face and arms.
I inhaled sharply and jumped up, thinking that maybe a sprinkler had gone off nearby accidentally, but when I looked up, I saw that Ollie was standing there stock-still, arms outstretched, and with his back to me.
“What was that?” I asked him, trying not to shriek.
Then my eyes focused just beyond my friend and landed on a pack of girls standing about five feet away. There were four of them all together, and each held what appeared to be a now-empty paper cup. A variety of different-colored liquids stained the ground below. I looked at the brown, pink, and white spots decorating the area leading up to them, and as my gaze drifted upward, I noticed that Annabelle was holding the biggest cup.
“What the—” I started to say, but lost the words as Ollie turned around in slow motion.
That’s when I realized I’d barely gotten splashed. Ollie, however, had received the full brunt of their assault. With milk shake dripping from his eyelashes, he looked at me with such surprise on his face that I wondered whether he’d gone into shock. Which wouldn’t have been too big a stretch, considering he was covered from head to toe with the frosty treats.
“We don’t believe in wearing fur,” Annabelle said when my eyes finally met hers. “My family’s a supporter of PETA, you know. And those poor, defenseless animals didn’t deserve to be made into…that.”
She made a face as she pointed at Ollie’s jacket like it was a decaying bear carcass.
“Are you blind, Annabelle?” Ollie asked, still holding his arms away from his body. “This isn’t fur. It’s freaking wool!”
Annabelle squinted as if she could somehow see around the globs of milk shake to the material underneath. After a second, she just shrugged. “Wool still comes from an animal. Besides, I did you a favor. It was totes uggo anyway.”
I opened my mouth to say something but then paused. It wasn’t because I was afraid. Not of confronting Annabelle, and certainly not of what she might do to me if I did. It was more the fact that the thief in me was screaming not to reveal myself. If I stood up to Annabelle now, any cards I’d been holding that made the rest of the students see me as—well, nonthreatening—would be shown. They’d suddenly know I was smarter than them. Stronger than them. So much more than them. And that I’d been successfully hiding who I was the whole time.
And that would lead to them wondering what else I was hiding.
Which was the last thing I wanted.
Before I had a chance to make a decision on what to do next, Annabelle took a step toward Ollie and touched a sticky spot on his arm with one finger.
“Maybe you should think more carefully when choosing who you hang out with, Ollie,” she said, looking straight at me as she said it. “If you hang out with trash, you might be mistaken for trash. And we take out our trash here.”
My mouth dropped open as she tossed her cup at Ollie’s feet and promptly started to walk off. Each of the other girls followed her lead and deposited her empty drink on the ground near Ollie too.
By the time they’d disappeared, I was shaking with anger and cursing under my breath.
Ollie remained frozen in place for a minute but then slowly began to peel off his formerly beautiful jacket, which was now soaked in dairy. The white outfit he wore underneath was spattered with different shades of color, and not in a creative, this-was-the-look-I-was-going-for way.
His outfit, like his mood, had been destroyed.
And because I’d been more concerned about how it would all affect me, I hadn’t done a thing to stop it.
Entry Thirty
“The best pickpockets in the world are all about controlling people’s attention,” I explained to Ollie as he sat cross-legged on my bed, eyes glued to me.
I was pacing around my room like a teacher at the front of the class. I’d even brought out a whiteboard, where I’d written Pickpocketing 101 in big black letters, underlined twice.
Not that Ollie needed the reminder. He knew why we were here. He’d been talking about it all day long, totally psyched that he was about to learn one of his first practical thieving skills.
And I knew how he felt. The nervousness and jitters that bubble up when you’re about to do something wrong. Then the excitement of actually being able to pull it off. I still get that slightly queasy feeling in my stomach every time I do it, even though I have seven years of experience under my belt.
Ollie was learning the skills pretty late for a thief. I myself had been given my first lesson at the age of five. Dad had worked with me on a single grab-and-go for over a month. He’d refused to even let me try it out on anyone outside our circle until I’d successfully stolen his wallet ten times in a row.
But man, from my very first time doing it out in the real world, I was hooked.
After that, I’d practiced as often as I could. And I’d gotten good. Like, super good. I’d even managed to impress my dad, which was hard to do, considering he wasn’t exactly a slouch in that department himself.
But as much as I was an expert on the art of pickpocketing, I’d never actually taught anyone else to do it.
And truth be told, I wasn’t sure I’d be any good at it.
Luckily, Ollie just needed to know the fundamentals. I’d be doing the real work, after all. But it was still good for him to know how it all worked. If he knew what was going on, he’d be less likely to screw it up for us in front of Miles.
“If you can control a person’s attention, you can control the person. In fact, a great pickpocket is a lot like a really good magician. They’re all about sleight of hand,” I said, holding my palms up in front of me to show Ollie that they were empty.
“Misdirection,” I said.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I closed my fist, suddenly producing a paper clip as if out of thin air and holding it up for him to see. His eyes grew wide.
“And then making things disappear,” I finished, and blew on the paper clip, making it vanish as I held my hands up for him again.
Ollie’s grin widened and he began clapping for me with glee. I almost felt bad at how easy it was to trick him. But I had to admit, it did sort of feel satisfying to finally be able to show someone—outside of my family—what I was capable of.
I turned my back to Ollie and walked over to the whiteboard.
“Now, what I’m going to teach you today can work for stealing most things off a person,” I said. “A cell phone, a wallet, a watch—each of these items can be snatched using different variations of the same trick.”
Ollie nodded enthusiastically and leaned forward as if this would somehow help him figure out what I was going to do next.
“We’ll be working together on the grab-and-replace of Miles’s cell phone on gala night. I think it’s important for you to see firsthand how easy it can be to be stolen from. Even when the situation is one-on-one and you know what the person’s about to do. Stand up and I’ll show you.”
Ollie almost fell over in his haste to get off the bed but steadied himself as he made his way over to me. I could tell he was excited. Heck, I was excited. It had been a while since I’d worked on any of the tricks of my trade. At least six months now. Ever since Dad had been arrested and my life had been turned upside down.
But I knew it would be like riding a bike. You never forget how to do it.
“Okay, so we’re going to start with the basics,” I said, handing Ollie a watch, a wallet, and one of the burner phones. I walked absently in a semicircle as he slipped the timepiece around his wrist and then tucked the cell into his back pocket and the wallet into the left front pocket of his fitted jeans. “Make sure it’s all secure. All right, you ready?”
Ollie nodded and took a stance like we were about to play a game of tag—legs slightly apart, bent just at the knee, and arms up in front of his body offensively.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, his face blank.
“You’re standing weird,” I said, placing a hand on my hip.
“No, I’m not,” Ollie said, still posing awkwardly in front of me. “This is how I always stand.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You do not,” I said, annoyed. With a sigh, I stepped toward him and grabbed hold of his arms, forcing him to stand up straighter. Then, switching my grip over to just one wrist, I kicked apart his legs until he was standing like a regular person. “There. Now you don’t look like a linebacker ready to take me down. Wait, why is your collar doing that funky, tweaky thing…”
I reached across him to touch his shoulder and began to pick at the material there.
“What tweaky thing?” Ollie asked, and turned to see what I was talking about, just as I was finishing getting him straightened up. When I was done, I brushed off his shoulder and took a step back to look at him.
“There we go,” I said, nodding. “That’s better.”
“Okay,” Ollie said with a smile. “Now that that’s over. Show me what you’ve got, Lorde. No way you’re pulling one over on me.”
“Where’s your watch, Ollie?” I asked him.
“It’s on my—” Ollie began to say as he lifted his wrist to show me the timepiece he’d attached to himself earlier.
But there was nothing there.
When he looked back at me, I pulled his watch out of my pocket triumphantly and held it up for him to see.
“No. Freaking. Way,” Ollie breathed, like I’d just made the house around us disappear. “How did you do that?”
I tossed the watch back to him.
“Like I said before. If you control a person’s attention, you control the person.”
“Do it again,” he begged as he replaced the watch. “I bet you can’t do it again.”
“Ollie, we could be here all day, me just stealing from you,” I said, the thought sounding slightly fun but also tedious. “How about I just show you how I did it and we move on.”
Ollie nodded eagerly and I began to share my secrets with him.
“First off, the weird way you were standing was actually helpful. It gave me a reason to come into your personal space and make contact with you,” I said, stepping toward him and grabbing hold of his arms like I had before. “Now I have an excuse to touch you.”
I pulled him up straighter to show him what I meant.
“Then, while still remaining in physical contact, I slide this hand down to cover your wrist and watch while stepping back to look down at your feet. Keeping that constant connection with you is key, because it allows me to start working the latch on the watch without you realizing I’m doing it,” I said, wiggling my fingers around the clasp expertly. “And the reason you don’t realize I’m doing it, is because now I’ve changed the focus from what I’m doing up here to what I’m doing down there. That’s part one of the misdirection.”
Ollie couldn’t help but look down as I slid my foot in between his and kicked his legs apart slightly.
“See, your brain’s only able to focus on one thing at a time, so when I force you to focus on what I’m doing to your legs, your brain is completely ignoring the fact that I’m working one of my fingers under the watchband.”
As I revealed this, Ollie looked back up at his wrist and seemed shocked to see my finger stuck between the strap and his skin.
“Hey!” he said, surprised.
“And now we move on to misdirection number two,” I explained, leaning in and grabbing his collar with my free hand. His head instinctively followed my arm, even though he was already aware of what was coming next. As I continued to fiddle with his shirt, I finished unlatching the watch from his wrist but held it in place for the moment. “And finally I retrieve the item without you noticing anything’s amiss.”
I stepped back and held up my hands up in a sort of “ta-dah” moment. They were empty. But then again, so was Ollie’s arm.
He looked at me questioningly until I pulled the nicked watch out of my back pocket.
“Let me try! Let me try!” he said, jumping up and down.
I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help myself.
“Okay,” I said, giving in more easily than I’d planned to. The truth was, I could remember the excitement I’d felt when I was first starting out, and I sympathized. “But only a few times. We’re not even stealing Miles’s watch, so practicing this is a waste of time. A grab-and-replace is much more involved than a grab-and-go. And we have to make sure everything goes off seamlessly.”
“Ooooh, I want to see that one,” Ollie said, dropping the watch onto the floor, along with his interest in what I’d just shown him. “The grab-and-replace. Do it on me. Do it on me!”
“Down, boy,” I said, trying my best to calm him. Then, with a sly smile, I took another step toward him and prepared to show him my next trick. “Okay, this is how we’re going to steal from Christian Miles….”
Entry Thirty-One
“So what’s this kid’s last name again?” Uncle Scotty asked as he moved around the kitchen, pulling plates and utensils out and placing them on the counter.
It was Friday night and Ollie was coming over for dinner. It felt uncomfortably like when you brought a date to meet your parents for the first time. Only, there was nothing between Ollie and me except for what one might call a budding friendship.
It was still going to be awkward, though. I could just tell.
“Um, Santiago, I think?” I said, peeking inside the two large pizza boxes that had been placed in the middle of the table.
“You don’t know your friend’s last name?” Uncle Scotty asked, giving me an incredulous look.
“It’s middle school,” I said by way of explanation. “Apparently, we don’t exactly do formal introductions? I’m finding that kids my age operate more on a need-to-know basis.”
Which, if I’m being honest, is more my speed anyway. The less the other kids know about me, the better.
“Right,” Uncle Scotty said, though he didn’t seem to buy it. “So what do you know about this kid?”
“The kid’s name is Ollie,” I reminded him as I hopped up onto the counter to sit. “And I don’t know. He’s like, really theatrical. An actor. Or he wants to be, anyway. I’m not actually sure he’s been in anything before.”
“An actor?” Uncle Scotty asked, snorting. “Please don’t tell me he’s the James Dean type?”
“Who’s James Dean?” I asked blankly.
Uncle Scotty looked up at the ceiling and muttered something under his breath while shaking his head.
“I forget how young you are sometimes,” he said, barely loud enough for me to hear. But then he cleared his throat and spoke up. “James Dean was this actor from the fifties who was known for his brooding bad-boy behavior and too-cool-for-school attitude—”
“Ollie is not like that James guy,” I said, cutting him off there. “More like James Corden.”
Uncle Scotty raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t ask me to explain.
“So where does this actor, Ollie, live?” he asked, moving on.
“Don’t know,” I answered, kicking my legs as I sat on the counter. “Never been to his house.”
