“Oh my God. How many do you think there are?” Trevor asks me.

“Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I’ve never seen so many!”

“I wonder why they had all of these,” he says. “I mean, with the internet and all.” We both giggle.

“We’re gonna need like ten duffel bags,” I say, picking one item up. It’s hard to see any of the print, but I can still make out the images of nude bodies. Thousands upon thousands of nude bodies. In this recycling box, the strippers had tossed out more magazines than I had ever seen in my entire life, and it was all… porn.

“We can get my gym bag and my book bag. You brought a bag over, too?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah. That’s three. Let’s grab ‘em!”

We sprint behind the house and through their backyard to my back door. That leads us into my kitchen, and just around the corner are the stairs that lead to my upstairs bedroom. It’s a small house, but I have the upstairs all to myself. It’s one bigger bedroom connected by a small room that’s more like a hall or entryway than an actual second room. Small, but all mine.

Picking up my gym bag, I toss out my red and white P.E. clothes. I don’t do any sports at our school, so gym class is hell for me. I enthusiastically dump my books out of my book bag. Trevor reaches into the bag he brought and throws his overnight clothes on the floor. Good, I think. You don’t need those anyway. The thought of Trevor sleeping in nothing but his underwear in my bedroom makes me grin.

“What?” he asks.

I laugh. “Nothing,” I say and look away. Those are the kind of thoughts that could get me in trouble.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Hell yeah.” We take the three bags and run downstairs. Mom’s in the kitchen this time, putting some dishes in the sink.

“Hi, Mrs. Mayhurst,” Trevor says.

My mom opens her mouth to say something back, but we’re already outside before she can return the greeting.

Leaning against the back of my house, we peer around the corner to make sure nothing has changed in Stripper Land.

“Won’t your mom question us bringing in three duffel bags?” Trevor asks.

“We’ll have to avoid her. Or… or maybe we hide a couple outside and just sneak one in for tonight,” I say.

“That’s a good idea. Getting three big bags in and then out the next day will catch someone’s attention,” he says.

“What do you mean out?” I ask.

“Okay, maybe not all three, but some are coming home with me!” We both laugh, and I lean in close to Trevor. I’m using the night and our sneaky little treasure hunt as a reason to whisper, but it’s just an excuse to be close.

I lean in, pretending to look beyond his beautiful face. “Do you see anything? I mean, nothing’s changed, right?” I ask.

He turns to look, and I move just a bit closer. My face is as close to the back of his neck as possible without touching, and it makes my heart race.

“Looks good,” he says softly.

“Let’s get our treasure,” I say.

We nearly skip across the yard and bounce through the driveway up to the recycling bin. Opening our bags, we reach in and grab stacks upon stacks of dirty magazines. We throw them in our bags, to the point where they won’t even zip back up. Quickly, we reach for more, eager to have as much as possible.

That’s when we hear the sound of a car approaching.

“Shit!” Trevor says. “Let’s get outta here!”

We run and giggle, and adrenaline rushes through our bodies. A few magazines fall out of my bag and land on their driveway. One falls out of Trevor’s bag and hits the ground in their backyard, but we don’t turn around for them.

We can’t. The car turns into the strippers’ driveway, and we rush to the back of my house. We push our bodies into the wall, hoping to disappear.

Then we hear a car door open and shut. And then footsteps.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” Trevor asks.

“The door makes too much noise. They’ll hear us. Quick—behind the garage,” I say.

We leap down into my backyard, where an unattached garage makes for perfect cover. My back door screeches when opened, and it would be a dead giveaway.

Trying to quiet our breathing, we listen for movement or any sound at all. It’s probably only a minute, but it feels like forever. Soon, we hear the car door open and shut again. Then it starts up and drives away.

We wait a bit longer, and then creep out from behind the garage. The magazine Trevor dropped in the yard appears to be gone.

“They must know someone took their magazines,” Trevor says.

“Yeah,” I say. “But they don’t know it was us. Right?”

Trevor shrugs.

“Let’s get inside,” I say. We run through my back door, stopping at the kitchen to make sure my parents aren’t there. Then we dart upstairs. Tossing the bags on my bed, we erupt in laughter, and Trevor puts his arm around my shoulders.

“Look at all that,” he says.

“We’ve got old-school porn for life,” I say.

“Now what do we do?” he asks.

I can only imagine how wide the smile on my face is. “I’ve got an idea,” I say, and I just hope Trevor’s up for it.