The Lies We Steal by Monty Jay

 

Briar

We are all thieves, Briar. I just got caught.

That’s what my father used to tell me every time he was whisked off in the back of a police car.

To an extent, he was right. We're all thieves.

We steal air from the atmosphere so that we can breathe. We steal happiness. We steal lighters, there is no such thing as, “Hey man can I just borrow your lighter?”

If you believe they are going to give it back, well, you’re just an idiot with one less lighter.

But most of us, all of us really, we steal time.

We aren’t owed any set number of minutes on this earth, yet we take it anyway. Every day you wake up, is another day yanked from the inside of the hourglass.

I was eleven by the time I learned how to pickpocket. Nearly a professional, I’d mastered the art of seven bells within six months and soon I’d become a criminal prodigy.

So while my mother was flipping burgers, my father would set up mannequins all dressed in men’s suits, strewn with pockets, and they would be rigged with seven strategically placed bells.

My goal was to pick the mannequin clean, without ringing a single bell.

I was his mini-me. His pride and joy. His little criminal.

I had dexterity, speed and I was agile.

Pickpocketing, lock picking, safecracking, all the things to make a perfect crook I’d excelled at by thirteen.

Other little girls learned ballet. I could break into a firesafe without breaking a sweat. I mean hell, there wasn’t a lot I couldn’t do. Even when he’d first started guiding me, I knew it was wrong. Stealing was bad. Everyone knew that.

But those moments I spent with my dad? Those late nights perfected my technique and were the best time of my life. His profession kept the lights on, food on the table, it kept my family together.

Yeah, some families probably bonded over board games, mine bonded over larceny.

“There is honor among thieves, Briar. Honor among us.”

I’d been used to him going in and out of jail, spending a few months here and there, but he always came back to me. He promised he’d always come back to us.

But one day he didn’t.

My moral compass never did have true north. Maybe it was why I was always so curious about things I shouldn’t be. I was aware that my behavior is not socially ethically, but I didn’t regret anything I’d ever done. I did it for my mom. I was working with the skills I’d been given.

When life gives you lemons, steal a fucking juicer.

“Are you excited about this fresh start? It’s a huge deal they accepted you, even with my recommendation. They like to accept locals only.” My uncle Thomas, my mother’s brother, speaks to me for the first time since the plane ride.

He’s shy like that. My mom says it’s because he was born crooked, all that knowledge and no social skills. I’d always liked him though since he gave great Christmas gifts. Instead of talking he was always paying attention to the little things.

“It sounds more like a cult than a school, T.”

It probably was a cult. Actually, I know it’s a freaking cult. It’s the only university in the states with enough money and power to only accept people in the area, alumni students or children who came from extremely wealthy families.

Everyone with their head out from under a rock knew about Hollow Heights.

How does a thief with a record, split ends and barely two dimes to rub together get accepted? That’s a good damn question.

It had little to do with my 4.0, high test scores and extensive athletic ability. And everything to do with the fact Thomas was the biology professor and had been for the past three years.

My uncle was somewhere in his late thirties, the youngest of the two siblings. My mother and him had grown up poor all their life, just like me. Except when Thomas turned eighteen he tucked tail and ran far away from his family. Came back years later with a snazzy degree, and a Rolex.

No, I didn’t try to steal it.

“It’s not nearly as pretentious as you are imagining. It’s surprisingly down to earth.” He says, with a smile.

I scoff, “The brochure included an entire segment on how a prince, an actual Scottish prince graduated from there. It looks like every single ivy league school came together and had an orgy.” I yawn a bit, “You’re gonna look at me and tell me that place isn’t filled to the brim with entitled rich kids with Amex cards?”

I cross my arms across my chest, staring at him with one eyebrow raised.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful to be attending. The education I’ll receive from here will guarantee me a job after I graduate. I’m just not excited to be the ‘scholarship’ kid. It’s a lot like being the brown paper lunch bag kid, or the one who picks their boogers and eats them.

It’s not a good look.

“Don’t be so judgmental. There might be quite a few people here who don’t have a ton of money, Briar. This is going to be the greatest four years of your life, I promise.” He reaches over squeezing my hand reassuringly and I wasn’t aware how badly I’d actually needed that.

The longer we drove down this unending entrance way towards the imminent black gates the worse my nerves got. While it was a dream to be accepted, this place looked a whole lot like a nightmare.

I stared out of my window at the baby rain drops that clung to the glass. I inspected the rows and rows of pine trees. At any moment it seemed they would reach forward and grab the car.

The sun used the wet clouds as a guard so that every single moment here felt gray. Void of all colors. Vacant of warmth.

It seemed, to me, anyway, these kids were paying a shit load of money to live inside a Stephan King novel.

I cleared my throat, sitting up a little straighter, tugging my hoodie up on my head and placed my headphones in my ears trying to settle my stomach. The eerie silence that had settled around us was giving me serious haunted house vibes.

Even with the music playing, I could hear the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he continued to drive inside the campus. The first piece of the college you see, welcoming all new students and returning ones, was a large weathered brick arch with a mocking metal plaque bolted to the front. The rust and ivy attempted to shield the written words on it, but it was no use.

Hollow Heights University

Est. 1634

“We invited success.”

The name was engraved boldly, bearing its name to all who enter.

Where the leather-bound books whisper in dead languages and the empty marbled hallways creaked with defiance. The light never touches the ground, a constant blanket of fog dances through the towering pines.

The infamous university for wealthy boys and girls. One of the most secluded and elite colleges in history. It’s rumored to have homed some of the wealthiest young minds in the country.

Hollow Heights insured parents would not be disappointed after their child completed the program here, they would return after graduation diplomatic and refined. Ready to take on any job thrown their way.

The college was situated on the coast of Oregon, three hundred acres of Victorian architecture that felt older than dirt. I’d toured it online, but the computer didn’t do it justice.

The town it was built in was Ponderosa Springs, known for, you guessed it, the pine trees of the same name. I didn’t know a lot of its history except that it was filled with wealthy families, you had to drive through it in order to reach the campus, and it wasn’t very large.

Whether it was on purpose, or by accident, the architects of the school had made this place feel miles and miles from any real type of civilization. It was like its own world beyond the trees built on somber wetland, that made me queasy. Ya know, like after you eat gas station sushi?

“Your thing is freaking me out again with its beady red eyes.” Thomas says, as he pulls up to the drop off spot for the dorms.

I peep down at the small animal in my hands, her pure white fur soft underneath my fingers and her little nose stuck up in the air smelling her surroundings.

“Her name is Ada and she is not a thing. She is an albino dumbo rat. If you call her a thing again, she’s gonna bite you.” I warn, even though I know and so does Ada, she wouldn’t harm a fly.

When my dad let me pick out a pet when I was young, I chose a rat. Not because I was trying to be different or outside of the box, but because there was just something über cool about rats. I’d had three, each of them living to their expected life span of two-ish years before they died. I waited a few months to mourn, cried every time, and then I started looking for a new companion.

Ada and I have been going strong for about a year now.

“Do you need help gathering your bags to your room? Or do you think you can manage?” He asks from the driver seat.

I look out at the dorm, Iruine District, where all the lowerclassmen stayed. A circular water fountain rested in the center, a large saint I believe doubling as a water spit. The cracked marble made me feel he’d crumble at any second.

Crows squawked from above, their black wings darting through the haze. My eyes trying to count the number of gargoyles that stood guard on the top of the pedestals and pilings.

I wave him off, “I can handle it. Thanks though.” I open the door, tucking Ada into my hoodie pocket where she stays most of the time when she isn’t in her cage.

I automatically wish I had thrown on a pair of jeans instead of these athletic shorts, I’m not used to the cold. Texas didn’t have cold weather, or this much fog.

Walking to the trunk of the car, I lift it up, placing my book bag on my shoulders, grabbing my suitcase.

A cold gust of wind runs across my back, like something had ran across my back. I turned my head slightly, gazing over at the buildings expecting to see someone standing there. Expecting to see someone staring in my direction, but I was only met with students shuffling across school grounds, lugging their suitcases inside.

“You alright?” Thomas asks beside me.

“Yeah,” I shake my head, smiling, “I’m good.”

“This is going to be really great for you. I just have this feeling.” He rubs his hands together, “Here is your dorm key and lunch card. If you need anything you have my number, my apartment is off campus in town, but it’s a short drive so don’t hesitate to ask.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving me the most awkward side hug in history.

“Thank you, Uncle T.”

Affection wasn’t something I was huge on to begin with. You can’t be poor and soft.

I shoulda been nervous walking towards a school that makes Harvard look like a backwoods community college.

But I wasn’t.

It wasn’t in my nature to be nervous or scared. When you live the life I’ve lived. The one where you have to fight for your survival, the meals on your table, the roof above your head? You don’t have time to be afraid of anything.

You do what needs to be done.