Page 66 of Princess of Thieves

“No,” I say. “It’s the most boring, completely legal kind of thing possible. My dad may have been a drug addict, but he kept his nose clean on the financial side of things. I guess he had enough training in the law to know that.”

Will sucks his teeth. “I see what you mean. They’d probably only call you in if, like, the individual teller recognized you or your name.”

My heart pounds in my throat. We’re cruising through rolling hills, zipping ever closer to the center of town. I have to make up my mind quickly.

“Do you think that’s likely?” I ask, looking from one to the other.

“Hell if I know,” LJ says. “Do people even read the news anymore?”

“They do the whole internet thing,” Will says, scoffing. “So if she’s gone viral—”

“I don’t think I have!” I rush in. “I mean, God. Shit, I don’t know. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.”

I recline back into the seat and rub one of my temples. “Stop,” I say. When the car keeps going, I sit up and say it a little louder. “Stop!”

Will’s eyes find me in the rearview as he signals and pulls to a halt on the side of the road. “You want to turn around?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, thinking fast.

I need this money to do anything or be anyone. I hate to say that, but it’s true. I’ve tried to escape too many times with nothing to my name, and it’s never worked. I’m smart and I’m resourceful, but scrappiness alone isn’t going to save me. It’s more than just being able to buy my own clothes, to maybe buy a car for myself, even though nothing can replace the Mustang. It’s about not having to rely on favors, pity, or the bare minimum of guardianship to survive. It’s about being able to make my own decisions, to make other people do what I say. That’s the one thing I’ve never really gotten in life.

“If you’re worried about the money,” Will says, looking over his shoulder at me, “you don’t need to. We’ve got more than enough to—”

“I know,” I say, cutting him off, “but I don’t.”

I have to say it. I have to say it out loud.

“I don’t want to be dependent,” I say. “Even though I’ve made up with all of you.”

“Made out, more like,” Will mumbles, but I ignore him.

“I just—” I sigh. “I can’t let myself be reliant on anybody else anymore. It hasn’t worked, and I don’t think it should work. I want to be my own person, and this is the only way.”

I chew my lip. “And besides, it’s not a guarantee that I’ll get found out here, right?”

“It’s not,” LJ agrees, “but that doesn’t mean you should be stupid.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I swear. I mean, I have this disguise,” I say, gesturing at the glasses and hat, although it strikes me now that they’re embarrassingly amateur. “And I’ll go in so quickly, sign whatever they need, get everything squared away, and then we peace out.”

“Peace out?” Will says, chuckling. “What is this, eighth grade?”

“You know what I mean,” I say, frustrated but still amused, in spite of myself. “I think I can thread the needle.”

“You’re a hell of a risk taker, Princess,” LJ says.

Will turns the car back on. “Greasemonkey...” he trails off, looking at me. “You sure?”

I nod. “I’m sure. Let’s just get this over with, and then I won’t have to take risks like this again.”

I ADJUST MY BALL CAPand tug my sunglasses down a little farther, feeling the edge of nerves crawling up my spine. Sherwood National Bank is built like a Disney version of a Greek temple, all marble and glossy brass dividers between the tellers. It’s too small, too bright, and I feel too exposed.

LJ stands behind me like a shadow, arms crossed, his presence saying more than his mouth ever does. Will leans against the wall a few feet away, outwardly disinterested, but his gaze sharp as a knife. Besides us, there’s only a few people milling around—guys in faded trucker hats from a local feed’n’seed, a mom with a stroller who looks exhausted and too sleep-deprived to recognize her own face in the mirror, let alone some girl from the news.

“Next?”

“Here goes nothing,” I think. I step up to the teller, a woman who can’t be much older than I am—if she is at all—whose nametag saysKimmyand whose smile is a little bigger than I’d like for this situation.

Kimmy’s eyes are wide as I approach the counter, her ponytail bouncing slightly as she stands straighter. She’s probably out of college, like maybe this is her first real job.

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