“You’re in so much trouble.”
“Let me guess: Your dad is a lawyer.”
“It’s three against one, your word against ours.”
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there? Call the harbor police and let them decide.”
He pulled his cell phone out, thumbed the 9 and the 1 then, with thumb poised, arched his eyebrow at us.
Did I mention we were naked and soaking wet?
Okay, so let me backtrack a bit and explain how we got there.
Point Paradisio is the most boring damn place on the planet.
I know, I know, you’re rolling your eyes here. How can a millionaires’ playground be boring?
’Cause millionaires aren’t teenage girls.
They want their privacy and security, so instead of a bridge we need to take a damn ferry across the marina to the mainland.
That’s like … an hour, y’know?
And the island itself hasn’t got much of anything. No cars except those stupid little electric golf carts.
Oh, yeah, a country club and a nine-hole golf course and tennis courts and wonderful ocean view and so damn boring!
Even as little kids—and by that I mean Shannon and Tiffany and me—Point Paradisio bored us out of our minds.
I guess that’s why we started stealing stuff.
We started around age five or six. Cute little girls, especially cute little girls with rich parents, can get away with murder, or in our case, petty larceny.
We’d shoplift candy from the island store or the club’s gift shop, and if they caught us we’d get a scolding but our parents paid for everything and besides, we never took more than a candy bar or a bracelet or some stupid little trinket.
I mean, we didn’t really need anything, right?
And if we really wanted something, all you had to do was ask Mom or Dad and bingo, there by the next delivery boat.
Shannon started us. Shannon’s the troublemaker, she’s always the troublemaker.
She’s the one who cooked up our more organized thefts.
Why did we do it?
I told you, because Point Paradisio is b-o-r-i-n-g.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, we got TV and games and videos and can go to the beach any time, but you can only spend so many hours basking in the sun, right?
What about guys? Oh, please. Bad enough they’re all handsy, but we wouldn’t mind a little bit of handsy if they actually cared about us instead of: “Well, enough about me, what about you? What do you think of me?”
I mean, all the boys on this island act stupid, just like their fathers. All they want is to get their rocks off then go back to boating or golfing or whatever else they do.
Most of the other girls our age act stupid, too.
That’s why we didn’t mind stealing from them.
Shannon and Tiffany and I hung out since kindergarten because all the other kids on the island act stupid.
I guess we’d be the mean girl clique in one of my dad’s dumb teen movies, but we never picked on other kids.
We just ignored them.
Maybe about ten or so we started stealing stuff from our friends’ homes.
Let me put “friends” in quotes, okay?
These other kids attended our school or hung out the club, but we really weren’t friends friends, know what I mean?
I mean, our parents forced us to associate with them because they socialized with their parents, and it just felt easier to turn your brain off and smile and nod and say “oh, how cool” when a brain dead kid showed you the latest thing they bought.
They possess the attention span of a gerbil, know what I’m saying? They gloat about their latest expensive toy or jewelry and we’d steal it from them as soon as they turned their backs and they never missed it.
I mean, like, out of sight, out of mind, you know?
That’s no fun! You could rob them blind and unless you showed them what you stole, they’d never even realize it!