• It all started with this stupid bet. Yeah we’re teenagers and it was immature, but we still thought the idea was phenomenal. To believe it began with one rude comment by the snobs, Rants and Gene, makes this unbelievable. “Nerd,” the snobs teased as they walked by. That one, simple remark set off Rene. She wanted to prove who she really was, bold and audacious, but intelligent. So then started the bet.
    The bet was simple, to steal an extra-large bag of potato chips and a
    6-pack of Coke at Stevenson’s Grocery, the most uptight, secure grocery ever. Mr. Stevenson, the owner, hired five policemen to patrol the store. A rumor went around that Mr. Stevenson had savage German shepherds, but of course it was only a rumor right?
    Rene was the mastermind of the plan, while I was the one who carried out the plan. Rene and I, we were the dynamic duo. For days after she made the bet, she spent days drawing up a plan, holed up in her cramp, messy room, while I trained, running miles every morning.
    Three days later, the phone call came.
    “Gabe?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’ve got the perfect plan, come over, NOW!” I ran to her house as fast as my shiny blue Nikes would take me. As soon as I stepped into her room, she pulled me to her desk, where a deluge of papers with calculations laid, and pointed to the screen of her Mac.
    “This is the plan,” she declared proudly. I studied them.
    “Perfect,” I agreed. I could not find a single flaw. How I was so wrong.
    The day came faster than I realized. I sat in English, anxiously waiting for the bell to ring. Before I knew it, seventh period was over, but I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice.
    “Mr. Trent, seventh period is over.” Mr. David called to me. I suddenly snapped back to attention and realized that everyone had already left. I gathered my notebook and pencil and ran out the door to meet up with Rene. We walked to the grocery store. As we approached the front door, I bent down to tie the blue laces of my shoes, stuck the blue tooth into my ear, and threw on my small backpack. Rene and I walked separate ways; I, into the store, and Rene, into the alleyway, a block away from the store.
    Thirty minutes later, I was running out the door. Rene’s plan worked without a hitch, except there was one scenario she didn’t account for. Hot on my heels was the most prominent of the officers Mr. Stevenson hired, Captain James McCurdy. He had chains on his boots that made a clink sound every time he walked, and a gruff, booming voice.
    “Come back ‘ere boy and return the items you stole!” he shouted in his Texan accent. I sprinted even faster. I had been given the nickname, “Gabe Blue Streak” partially for my speed and partially for my notorious blue Nikes. I could hear Rene’s urgent voice through the blue tooth.
    “Gabe? Be careful and don’t get caught. Call me when you get back.”
    “Ok,” I screamed into the flimsy electronic and focused on ditching the cop. I turned corners and crossed streets without looking. I turned into an alley and hid in one of the empty, large trashcans. As I was catching my breath, I heard Captain McCurdy stopping for a rest, right at the alley that I was hiding at. He was breathing heavily, and I could tell that I had completely tired him out.
    To no one in particular, he shouted, “I’ll get you, I’ll find you . . . with this!” I didn’t understand what he meant, but I heard him walk back, sore from running. It smelled horrible in the trashcan and I was relieved to get out of it. I jogged home stinky, sweaty, and tired. I tossed my bag under my bed, called Rene to assure her I was safe, and then went downstairs for some grub. My mom was there, chopping some celery for dinner.
    “How was school, Gabe?”
    “Good, you know, the usual,” I grabbed some Gatorade and a granola bar and crashed onto the couch. I was flipping through the channels when the doorbell rang.
    “I’ll get it,” my mom called out from the kitchen.
    “Hello,” I heard my mom say.
    “Hello miss,” a gruff voice spoke and I heard the clink of shoes, “by chance, does Gabriel Trent live here?”
    “Yes he does, let me show him to you,” I heard them walk to the living room and I tuned around.
    “Hello, Gabe,” the man held up a blue tooth with my name written with Sharpie on it, “you are in a heap of trouble young man.” It was Captain McCurdy.