Page 5 of The Disasters of Dating
People are openly gawking. I can’t even imagine how many peoplemight be missing flights because they are standing here in the middle of the terminal staring at this weirdo girl hanging off my backpack. I’m pretty sure this will end up on the internet somewhere because there are definitely people videoing it. Don’t they need my permission? I’ll Google that later.
“What in holy hel—,” the security guard blusters. His glare moves from me to Poppy and then back to me. He grunts. “Unhand him, Miss Ashcombe.”
She hops up and straightens her flowy skirt and shirt. “I was trying to delay him until you got here, Joe. It took you long enough. I pressed the silent alarm, like, ten minutes ago. He could have been on a plane by now.” She sounded very put out. What did she have to be put out about? She wasn’t the one being wrongly accused of theft.
“Come into the store and stop making a scene. You know how much they hate it in security when there is a scene. Everyone gets all jumpy and on high alert.” The security guard says to us.
She looks at him with wide eyes. “Then next time don’t take your jolly sweet time in getting here.” She smiles pertly at him. Yes, pertly. I have never before used that word, but that is the exact word for it. The “I-told-you-so,” “I-know-better,” and “You’re-going-to-be-in-trouble” looks, all rolled into one. Pertly.
He sighs and motions for me to go ahead of him. “After you, sir.”
I close my eyes and walk back into the store—the scene of the not crime, as it were. “This has all been a big mistake.”
Joe—can I call him that when he is about to falsely arrest me? Or is it Officer Moody? Anyhow, Joe nods his head, but the smirk on his face makes me think he doesn’t believe me. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”
I tug my suitcase along beside me and clutch the strap of my backpack. I’m suddenly wishing I had just waited for the plane to empty with the old guy. That had to have been better than this, right?
“Now, what seems to be the problem, Miss Ashcombe?”
Miss Ashcombe—she seems too mean to have a cute name like Poppy—lifts her brow. “I watched this man slip gum into the side pocket of his backpack. When I asked him to pay for it, he denied it and refused to pay. He was trying to flee?—”
I cough out a grunt. “I’d hardly call that fleeing.”
Both Miss Ashcombe and Officer Moody give me bland looks.
“Anyway,” she says. “He was trying to flee when I stalled him until you got here.” She looks rather pleased with herself.
Officer Moody shakes his head. “Yeah, we’ll discuss your stallingtechniques after I deal with him.” He frowns at her, and she frowns right back.
“Are you kidding me? You’re going to reprimand me?” She shakes her head. “I should have listened to my horoscope and called in sick today.”
Officer Moody’s lips quirk up. “Maybe it’s because you listened to it in the first place. You shouldn’t put so much stock in that garbage.”
She glares at him. “It’s not garbage.”
He waves her words away and turns toward me. “Will you consent to allowing me to look in your bag?”
I want to say no, out of principle. But I just want to get out of the airport. The Mexi-nese fusion food is starting to make me nauseous. And my head is throbbing. “Yeah, whatever.”
I swing my backpack onto the checkout counter and take a step back.
He sticks his giant hands in the side pockets and withdraws my lip balm. He holds it out to Miss Ashcombe. “Where did you say he put it?”
She frowns. “Maybe he moved it to his pockets?” Her voice holds less confidence than it did a few moments ago.
They both look at me. I pull my pockets inside out to show them they are empty.
“Or maybe he slipped it inside the backpack.” She lifts her hand and rubs her thumb over the purple stone at her throat.
The security guard casts me a look, and I shrug. He goes through my backpack and, after checking everything, unzips the small compartment where my gum is. He looks at me.
“I brought that with me,” I say.
He looks at her. “Did you see him open the backpack?”
She looks like she is rubbing the stone even harder. Maybe that is how it got so smooth and shiny. “No. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t.” She reaches forward and grabs the phone off the counter. Thrusting it forward, she swallows. “Here, I recorded it all.”
Joe’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re not supposed to do that,” he whispers. “Both for security and privacy reasons.”
