Page 3 of Mad Rivals
I rummage through my purse just in case I stuck it in there without remembering, and…
Wait a second.
I rummage some more.
Dammit.
Great. Just freaking great.
My wallet is gone, too.
There was a twenty-dollar bill in there—the one my best friend Clem gave me yesterday to pay for tonight’s dinner, which I only now remember I was supposed to pick up on the way home. Apart from that, all I can think of that might have beenin there is the membership card for the gym I’ve been trying to cancel for months and my license. I use my phone to pay by credit card, so I took those out ages ago.
Oh, and that old photo of Clem and me from our freshman year in college.
Replacing my license will be a pain in the ass since I don’t exactly have all the free time in the world to report this crime to the police and spend half a day waiting around at the DMV.
What an inconvenient way to make a bad day a little worse.
I glance around at the other passengers on the bus, and they’re all wrapped up in their own little worlds. The thief probably lifted my shit and got off at the next stop with nobody here the wiser. I wouldn’t be any wiser to it happening right beside me, either—especially not with my eyes closed.
This isn’t the life I envisioned for myself when I took a stand against working for the family business.
I wanted to earn my own way. I wanted to experience the journey of making myself out of nothing. I stubbornly didn’t want to rest on the silver spoon I’ve been fed with since the day I was born.
But this? Getting robbed because my meager paychecks can only afford half the rent in a shitty part of town that’s a full hour-long bus ride away from work?
This isn’t exactly the stand I was trying to make.
This is dangerous. I was robbed on public transportation today.
Clem and I don’t go out for walks after dark.
We know it’s dangerous, but we take the proper precautions. Or, we usually do. Closing my eyes on the bus isn’t exactly a precaution, I guess.
Shit.
I blow out a breath as we approach my stop, and I stand and start moving toward the front of the bus. I usually get on and off without a word to the driver, but not today.
“My wallet and Kindle were stolen,” I say.
The look he gives me makes it clear that there’s nothing he could care less about.
“On this bus. Sometime between when I got on and now,” I amend.
“Report it to the transit authority and the police.” His voice is gruff. He isn’t going to do anything about it, not that there’s anything to do, but it would be nice to feel like he cared that someone stole something from another passenger on his bus.
He doesn’t. He just wants me off the bus so he can continue on his route and get through his day.
It’s all any of us are doing anymore. Survival. And you know what? I’m getting real fucking tired of it.
There’s a solution. The little voice in the back of my mind is whispering to me.
I know there is, I snap.
Then take it.
I heave out a breath as I walk down the steps, and I trip as I make the transition from the bottom step of the bus to the curb.
