We sit in the office where the security guy goes through my stuff, as the attendant calls the police. He’s quite proud of himself for catching me, saying he succeeded in his plan of catching a thief even before entering the police academy, which he’s planning to do in September.

It is a slight comfort for my ego that this whole debacle came about not because my methods were inherently flawed, but because I didn’t count on a zealot looking for discarded security tags. The bigger comfort is that no one asked Abby anything. They didn’t frisk her, like they did me, and they didn’t ask her to turn over her bag. I’m praying that they won’t.

Another comfort is that the skull-shirt I stole earlier didn’t have a price tag on it. I can always claim that one was mine to begin with. They do find the two items I took from their store, and inspect them for damage.

“I will pay for those.” I try.

“Yeah you will. You damaged them.” The attendant says, whilst ripping the seam of the mesh shirt.

“Motherfucker! Why would you do that?!” I yell out, jumping up from my seat. The security guard roughly pushes me back, a large hand holding me down by the shoulder.

“To show you stealing is the worst idea.” He grins.

“Fine.” I say. “I’ll pay the fine, and the ruined shirts, and then we’re even. You’ve got the money and I’ve got nothing.”

“Doesn’t work that way, boy. The police will be here soon.”

The dread creeps in at his words. The fucking police. What will they do? What penalty will I need to serve? Oh my god they’re gonna call my parents…

I try and hold back my tears, but my eyes are already watering. I bite my lip and turn to Abby, in a last attempt to get her out of this. “Well then you better go home.” I choke out. “Sorry I ruined our day by attempting something stupid.”

“No.” Abby says, shaking her head. Then, to my complete horror, she opens her bag and places two items on the table in front of us. “I’ve stolen something too. I’m sorry. I guess you must arrest me as well.”

“NO!” I call out in shock. Why would she do that? Why the fuck would she go and do that? Anger is bubbling up inside, then grief, sorrow. I have no idea what to do now.

I don’t have to think about it long, because two police officers barge in.

After a short talk, in which the officers jot some things down, we are handcuffed together and led outside the building like proper criminals. People are watching as we are escorted to a police car parked right in the middle of the market square. They occupy the large terraces in droves, having a drink, all watching the scene unfold like some spectacle on TV.

“Don’t you dare make a run for it. We’ll shoot.” One of the officers threatens us. Abby lets out a yelp and presses closer to me. She’s terrified. I’m too, but not of these idiots shooting us. They wouldn’t dare fire a bullet at two kids running away in the middle of a market square. Even if they’re police officers, they can only use their guns in defense. Everyone knows that.

But running away isn’t an option anyway. We can’t outrun two trained officers whilst stuck together with handcuffs. And even if we succeeded, how would we get rid of those?

No. We’re fucked, and it’s all my fault. Maybe I could tell the police this, so that Abby won’t get punished as badly?

After our walk of shame, we’re pushed into the back of the police car. They put a hand on our heads as we enter the car, it feels like in the movies, but more dreadful.

I want to cry, but I need to be strong now. For Abby. She’s clinging to my side, crying silent tears. I wipe her face with my free hand. She turns her head to me and her eyes are pure blue pools of desperation. I need to do something to make this better. Anything.

I feel my hand sitting awkward in the handcuff. It’s not too tight, actually.

I clench my fingers together, and take it off. Oh my god, that worked!

I place my free hand over Abby’s and whisper. “See, we’re getting out of this.”

Then the most bizarre thing happens: the police car backs up a bit, and a large thud shakes the vehicle. Abby and I almost fall from the backseat. I clutch her close, wrapping my arms around her, and look out of the back window as the car pulls up and drives off. I see a line of short posts that line the square receding in the back.

“You’ve hit a post!” I can’t help exclaim, laughing as all the stress packed tight in my body is instantaneously converted into unstoppable hilarity. “Oh my god, Abby! They hit a post!” 

“Shut it, brat!” the policeman behind the wheel growls. But I can’t. I’m still laughing.

“Can’t drive, can’t put on handcuffs. Maybe we won’t make it to the station at all.” I tell Abby. Upon which a truncheon hits me in the head.

It hurts.

“Sorry! I squeak. I’ll put it back on!” I slide my hand back into the handcuffs and raise our joined hands. “See!”

I know I’ve just made everything worse, but at least Abby is now smiling again. That does count for something.

As soon as we get to the police station, we’re taken for questioning separately. The bearded man that hit me is my interrogator. I have trouble ignoring the lyrics of Anti-Flag’s ‘fuck police brutality’ running through my head over and over again.

I know the US had a whole other kind of police brutality than what I’ve just witnessed. But hell. I’m sixteen, it’s my birthday, and I got hit in the head with a truncheon. Of course that song is gonna be stuck in there.

The officer calmly tells me what to expect. I guess he ditched his anger somewhere along the way. He does sound extremely patronising, but I guess I deserve that.

He’s going to ask me some questions, then my parents will be called. Since I’m under 18, and have no prior arrests, I will have to report to bureau HALT, where I will receive an obligatory course, and also will hear my sentence, which will likely be the maximum for juvenile petty theft: 20 hours of community service, a fine and an apology to the store owner. They will take my story and cooperation into account though. So if my friend coerced me in any way to do this, I should tell him.

I tell him that Abby most certainly did no such thing. That I’m sure she’s never stolen anything before in her life, ever.

He goes on saying that he doesn’t believe me. That Abby is older than me, and that she was carrying a tiny pair of scissors that she used to cut the security tags from the clothing she stole. That mine were messily torn out instead (I DIDN'T!). They’re adamant I tell them how she influenced me to become her accomplice.

“Are you in love with her?”

“NO!” I all but yell. He doesn’t believe me.

What the fuck is 20 hours of community service anyway? I’ll fucking take it. “It’s the other way around. I influenced her. I’m the bad guy. Abby’s innocent.” I say.

“Do you know that if you’re a recidivist, or forcing other kids to steal for you, you can get a jail sentence of six months?” The officer tells me. “So are you really prepared to go to jail for your lover?”

This scares me. I really don’t want to go to jail. I only now notice I’m trembling. Is it cold in here?

“No.” I finally say. “I didn’t force her, and I didn’t steal before either. But I thought it would be cool to try. I didn’t want to do it alone, so I convinced her to join me. Abby thought it was a bad idea from the start. I think she only gave in because it’s my birthday.” I try my saddest, most regretful look. I don’t even have to act. Then the tears start falling by themselves, and a moment later I’m full-on sobbing.

I’m so mad. Mad at the shop attendant for catching me. Mad at him for tearing the clothing, making me look like an idiot and screwing up some perfectly good clothing he still could’ve sold. Mad at Abby for getting herself in this mess when she didn’t have to. Mad at myself for everything else. And the anger is coming out in a waterfall of sobs that I don’t have the power to hold back.

“This should be a learning experience, Ravi.” The officer states. “You’re in VWO, so you’re a bright kid. You can do better than this. Learn from your mistakes. Whatever punishment they’ll assign to you, do it diligently. Repent. Apologise to the shopkeeper, to your parents. Stay away from bad influences like that girl. And never steal again. If you do that, everything will be alright. This doesn’t have to affect your future.”

I know he’s trying to be nice, but I don’t want to hear it. Calling Abby a bad influence, when it’s all my fault.

“Abby’s not a bad influence. I told you, she’s innocent.” I sob.

“Sometimes we see what we want to see, Ravi. Especially when we love someone.”

I don’t say anything in return. He’s made up his mind, and I can’t change it. At least my statement was clear. I get a paper cup with water and drink it. Then the officer guides me up, and escorts me to a cell. Abby’s already there, staring at the bars in silence.

I sit down next to her on the floor. The benches at the side are slanted so you can’t properly sit on them. I think they’re used to torture people.

“Hi.” I say.

“Hey.” Abby says in return.

I take her hand. “How are you doing?”

“It was horrible. They thought I forced you to steal for me. They didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t. But then they asked me whose idea it was to steal, and I said it was mine. Because it was mine, right?”

“No Abby…” I put my arms around her. “It was all my fault. I told them that. Abs, I hate it so much that I got you into this mess. You really should’ve left me. Your parents already hate me, and now they surely…”

“It doesn’t matter.” She cuts me off. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

“But…”

“I’d never leave you behind. I love you, Ravi.” She hugs me tighter, warming my heart.

“I love you too, Abs.” I tell her.

She raises her head from my shoulder and looks at me, her eyes tear-streaked, but radiant. I realise I’m so glad she didn’t leave me behind. Happy to at least not be alone in this mess, but with the person I care about the most. That we’ll have consolation in eachother. Maybe, over time, we’ll laugh about this.

It was so weird, I think we will. I find the corners of my mouth curve already, smiling at my best friend.

My best friend who then leans in and kisses me.