Page 39 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

Behind us, the old man wheezed and yelled. "COME BACK HERE, YOU THIEVING BRATS!"

"I tried to explain!" I hissed at Ethan.

"Yeah, and I tried to get a normal snack, but life doesn’t work that way, Clark!"

"You committed a crime!"

"An accidental crime!"

"You still RAN!"

"Well, yeah!"

I had so many regrets. So, so many.

And the worst part?

Ethan was laughing.

Like this was the funniest thing in the world.

Like we weren’t being chased by an old man with a vendetta against snack thieves.

"Stop enjoying this," I snapped, nearly tripping over my own feet.

"Lighten up, Clark," Ethan said, grinning. "Live a little."

"I AM LIVING," I gasped. "I AM LIVING THE NIGHTMARE OF BAD DECISIONS AND CRIMINAL ACTIVITY!"

He didn't respond. Instead, he grinned as we took a sharp turn down an alley. I nearly toppled into a stack of crates. Damn. The old man cursed behind us, his footsteps slowing.

We reached a wall.

A very tall wall.

I turned to Ethan, still panting. "Fix this."

"I am fixing this."

"How?!"

Ethan smirked—and then, with the effortless grace of someone who definitely did illegal things on a regular basis, he leapt onto the wall and pulled himself up.

"What the—?!"

"Come on, nerd," he said. "Climb."

"I am not built for this!"

But the sound of the old man approaching made my decision for me. With every ounce of willpower, I grabbed onto the rough bricks, scrambled up like an oversized raccoon, and barely pulled myself over the edge before the old man reached us.

We landed on the other side in a heap.

The old man yelled something, shaking his fist. But thankfully, he didn’t follow.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

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