Idiot - Laura Clery Page 0,8

a row, most of which were just him saying “Helloooo, Clarice” in a Hannibal Lecter voice.

As soon as I got my driver’s license, our rebellious adventures entered a whole new realm. Driving us around in my parents’ convertible gave us our first taste of adult freedom! Since we were two people who tended to overdo things, I’d drive with the top down and Jack would scream random things at people.

We’d drive past the elementary school around the time school got out and Jack would scream, “SANTA’S NOT REAL!!!”

We were great kids. But in this particular instance, Jack saw this really serious-looking cyclist we were passing and chose to yell, “GET OFF THE ROAD, ASSHOLE!”

The man glared at him. “Jack! That’s mean,” I said.

“Come on. He could have scratched your paint.”

I kept driving. And then I noticed him. The biker. Following us. And he wasn’t just any cyclist, this guy was the real deal, decked out in a helmet, dark shades, and jacket. And he looked fucking mad. He sped up.

“Jack . . .” I whispered, trying to stay calm.

“What?” Jack looked confused, then turned around and immediately shrank with fear. “DRIVE, BITCH, DRIVE!”

We hadn’t just pissed off a random biker, we pissed off one who had apparently been pissed off FOR THE LAST TIME. Rage fueled his furious pedaling, and soon he was speeding up alongside us. I turned to try to lose him. He caught up. I turned again. There he was, pedaling on his ten-speed Schwinn, with murder in his eyes. This was the lamest car chase you’d ever see in your life. Two teens in an old convertible versus a bicyclist in the suburbs. And we were somehow losing.

I took one last turn . . . into a cul-de-sac. There was nowhere to go. The cyclist parked his bike in front of our car, and he kicked out the kickstand like a boss.

Jack, meanwhile, was hyperventilating. “Run him over! Hit him, Laura! Hit him!” And he wasn’t kidding. Underneath it all, Jack has got a heart of gold . . . it’s just really far underneath.

“I’m not gonna fucking hit him!” I yelled.

The cyclist slowly walked up to Jack’s side of the car. He whipped off his sunglasses. With no way to escape, Jack shrank down as far as he could into his seat and rolled up the window. Of the convertible. A car with no roof.

The cyclist stared deep into Jack’s eyes. Then said with raging intensity:

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Then he got back on his bike and pedaled away.

You may be wondering how a guy on a bike could have caught up to us if we were in a car. First, he was just really fast! Second, I don’t speed—okay? I might have cheated in school, smoked weed, and ditched class, but the speed limit is the speed limit, you guys! After that, Jack stopped yelling at people on the street.

* * *

Growing up, I knew we couldn’t afford things that weren’t, like, food and toothpaste and clothes to cover our bodies. But I was also a teenager that existed in the world! I wanted cool makeup and tacky jewelry sometimes. So I would steal it. BUT I always justified it. It’s not like I was stealing from your grandma. I would never do that! I’d steal from Walmart, a big capitalist corporation that wasn’t exactly known for its good deeds. I was ethical; I had morals! I was basically Robin Hood, if he stole lip gloss from the rich and then . . . wore it.

Things got a bit more out of hand when Jack and I teamed up. We would go to the department store, take clothes into the dressing room, and then layer on everything we wanted to steal. We’d put our regular clothes back on over them and just walk out. Jack was the worst shoplifter ever. When he was nervous, he’d get these anxious, shifty eyes as he waddled out of the store with three different-colored jean hems peeking out at his ankles.

But surprisingly, we never got caught there! We were invincible. It was possible that we felt so invincible because of all the weed we were smoking. When we were high, we were totally delusional. We thought we could do anything. But that’s just one theory.

One day, my mom gave us twenty dollars to go buy baby clothes for the neighbor’s newborn. Jack and I took one look at each other. Weed money! We went straight to