It shatters violently. Glass tumbles like a waterfall. Everywhere, a horrendous sound that echoes around the town common. Mannequins fall. Stubborn shards stuck to the top of the casing fall a few seconds later like an afterthought, as if they’re melting icicles of death.
“Ho-ly shit … ,” Lucky mumbles.
What.
Have.
I.
Done?
My chest hardens like cooling lava as shock floods my limbs. This isn’t just any old window. It’s a local legend. People come from miles to see the live models who pose in it every fall and the lavish orchid displays at Easter. Every December for almost a hundred years, people have gathered around this sidewalk to see the unveiling of the annual holiday display.
OH MY GOD. I RUINED CHRISTMAS.
I don’t have time to wallow in this realization, because when the last big shard of glass falls, shattering on the concrete with a terrible crash, an even worse sound follows on its heels:
The store’s security alarm.
It roars to life, a sleeping bear that’s been poked, emitting a harpy-like screech that sounds as if it’s a civil defense siren warning the entire town that an atom bomb is incoming.
Panic roots me to the sidewalk. RUN! I tell my legs. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, RUN. But all I can do is stare in a stupor at the broken window.
“Josie!” Lucky shouts, pulling my arm. “Get out of here. Come on. On my bike.”
But it’s too late. A security guard appears from nowhere, beaming a flashlight over the broken glass … and then into our faces.
I’m toast.
BEAUTY POLICE, ALWAYS ALERT: A no-frills carved wooden sign with a giant open eye guards the lone law enforcement station. Six double jail cells can accommodate up to twelve prisoners comfortably—but rarely is more than one cell in use on any night. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)
Chapter 4
The Beauty Police Department is a model of small-town efficiency. An hour after my shortsighted moment of rage went sideways and fell on its ass, I’ve already been scared straight, given a Breathalyzer test, and hauled off in the back of a cruiser to await my fate here. Any moment, I’m sure I’ll be mugshot-ed like a badly behaving popstar after a drunken weekend of strippers and fast cars in Miami.
But I’m not alone. They hauled both of us into the station.
Me and Lucky.
Now that we’re here, we’ve been shepherded into a holding room together. I don’t think the door’s locked; guess they believe we’re no flight risk. But hey, joke’s on them, because that’s exactly what I’m thinking about right now—running right the hell out of here the moment I get a chance. Run and never look back. Forget high school, the Nook, and my family. It’s too late to salvage any of that now. I’ll have to change identities and sneak aboard a ship bound for Iceland. Josie Saint-Martin is dead; long live Jamie San-Miguel.
Even the fluffy-haired woman running the front desk, Miss Bing, looked me over when the officer brought us in and shook her head slowly, as if to say: Oh … It’s the Saint-Martin girl. Can’t say I didn’t expect this. And you know, with my family’s track record and all the rumors swirling around town, in a way, can’t say I didn’t either.
I just didn’t think it would be me doing the screwing-up.
Being both seventeen and very much minors, Lucky and I aren’t being straight-up arrested and charged with a crime—at least, not yet. It’s all very confusing. The security guard back at the department store couldn’t get in touch with anyone higher up in management, what with it being a weekend and so late, so we’ll have to wait to find out what’s going to happen … I think? It’s been a blur, and they aren’t exactly keeping us in the loop.
All I know is that for the moment, we have to sit tight until our parents arrive. Lucky was able to reach his folks on the first try. Of course my mom didn’t answer. Where is Winona Saint-Martin at midnight? Good question, and despite all her promises to cool it with the online dating, I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s doing right now. But, hey. It’s hard for me to be righteous in the middle of a police station.
And wherever she is, I finally got Evie to answer, and she tracked Mom down, so I guess I won’t be locked up in the slammer all night. Small miracles.
Right now, I’m sitting next to Lucky in an uncomfortably hard blue