Remember, you’re a badass thief. Now act like one.
The cat pauses, his lime-green eyes wide. Then he cocks his head and meows and oh my God he’s so friggin cute I want to take him home right now.
My heart puddles into a pile of goo. Animals for me are like Louboutins for most girls.
Dogs are better, of course. No debate there.
As if the cat can hear my thoughts, he suddenly hisses.
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
I didn’t mean it! I mentally think. You’re better than a dumb dog, probably smarter too.
The cat stops growling and licks its white paw, watching me intently. There’s judgement in his eyes.
“Technically this isn’t stealing,” I whisper to the cat.
Honest to God, the cat rolls its eyes.
What am I doing? I should be elbows-deep in fruit loops and spaghettiOs right now, not chatting it up with a friggin cat.
Summer, you are officially the worst thief ever.
“Okay,” I admit. “I’m about to steal from your dickwad master. But I have four hungry kids to feed. Man, kids eat a lot. And you look like you would sympathize with that . . . anyway. This food was supposed to go to them in the first place, so I’m just reclaiming it.”
The animal goes completely still, as if he understands me. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking they actually can.
“You might be wondering how I ended up responsible for four children,” I continue like the lunatic I am. Man, I should probably get out more.
The cat’s ears point in my direction, and it makes a tiny chirping noise I pretend is a response.
“Long story short, I was homeless on the streets of Dallas. You would not like it there. . . anyway, two wonderful women rescued me, and I’ve been doing the same ever since. Rescuing kids orphaned by the Fae. Only once they’re here, I have to find a way to feed them. That’s where this food comes in.”
The animal and I lock eyes and I swear something passes between us. An understanding.
Then the tomcat pads over to me and rubs against my leg. After stroking his back for a sec, I get to work.
Everything on my mental list gets hefted or lugged to a pile near the back door.
When I’m done, I’m breathing hard and sweat drenches the top of my tank top. I tick off the list to make sure I have the important things, because after this break-in—or break out, if we’re being technical—this place will turn into Fort Knox. Powdered milk. Check.
Ramen noodles. Check.
Three crates of eggs. Check.
Giant bag of pinto beans (yuck). Check.
Cheetos (for Jane). Check.
Tampons (for me). Check.
Charms lollipops with gum in the center. (Because they make life better.) Check.
A few items, like toilet paper and razors, are impulse grabs.
My loot ends up being twenty items total. The pallets are sent by the government outside the tainted borderlands, so everything is family size.
I glance over my wimpy arm muscles. This could take a while.
A quick check outside the window above the door shows the coast is clear. The light is fading, the world outside a silvery-gray.