Tags

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes—fast.” Alma pulls me into her bedroom, locks the purple door behind her.
“What for?” I laugh. She lets go of my arm and begins tearing at the zipper of her denim jacket. Dizzy and breathless, I slump against the wall, rest my head against a poster of Justin Timberlake and Lance Bass posed back-to-back. “That was so much fun,” I pant. “You’re so bad.”
“Cut it out,” she whines. She frees one arm from the jacket. The ink tag catches on the sleeve of her blouse and she fumbles with it for a few moments before throwing the garment to the floor with a snarl. She gives it a kick for good measure.
“You cut it out,” I giggle, snatching up the discarded jacket and tossing it onto her bed. “Don’t get it dirty. You gotta wear that tonight.”
“No,” she barks. Alma tugs at her braid and twirls it around her finger. She stares at the jacket, its rhinestone embellishments.
I recoil, confused. “Why go through all that fuss if you ain’t even gonna wear it?” I demand.
For a moment, Alma doesn’t answer. She kicks off her scuffed sneakers and shimmies out of her black leggings, also new. Then she tears her pink blouse over her head, one of those cute ones with the low necks, long sleeves, and too-short tummies that show off your bellybutton. She tosses them all to the floor.
“Don’t be stupid,” I scoff, gathering up the garments that lay like fallen soldiers across her maroon carpet. “Who’s gonna know? Ain’t nobody at Penney’s chasing after us.” I snatch up the clothes and spread them across my lap. I dig in my purse for a moment, draw out a plastic wedge that looks almost like one half of a broken stapler. Alma watches as I detach the ink tag from the jacket, then the shirt, leaving only small puncture holes behind. I smooth them out with my thumb.
“They’ll know,” she finally says. She slumps into a chair by her vanity. “My parents will know when they see my new digs and wonder how I paid for them with no money.”
“They don’t give you no allowance?” I ask.
“You know they don’t,” she whines. “And they know I spent the last of my money this weekend at the fair. I had to ask for cash just to pay my library fines the other day.”
“Well, how ‘bout this,” I say. “I’ve got a job. Just tell them it was a present from me.” I grin.
“Our parents talk,” she spits. “They know you’ve got just about as much spare cash lying around as I do.”
My smile falters. “Jeeze, why you gotta be such a buzz kill?”
“Shut it, Carly. What we did was stupid,” she blurts. Her braid spins round and round her pink-polished fingernail. “And wrong,” she adds. “We should return them.”
I feel my cheeks burn hot as I stare at Alma. She sits with her legs drawn up in her chair, wearing nothing but white panties and a training bra. My fists clench around the wad of new clothing in my lap. For a moment, I think of taking them for myself, but they’d fit me about as well as a sheep would a snakeskin. “You asked me to help you,” I say quietly. She bites her lip. “You didn’t seem to think what I did was very wrong when you asked me to risk my job at Penney’s so you could have something nice to wear to Jake’s party. Don’t call me wrong because I know how to take things.”
“That’s not what I—“
“At least I use the things I take.” I’m almost shouting now. I stand, allowing the wad of pilfered clothing to fall to the floor. I start to turn to leave, but as I sling my purse across my shoulder, I notice a white stub of cardstock poking through the folds of denim. I stoop and yank the tag free of its clear plastic wire. I ignore Alma’s shouts of, “Hey! What are you doing?” as I free a similar tag from the blouse.
I stuff the tags in my bag. “This one’s on you,” I grumble. “Wear them or don’t. You’re a thief. Same as me.” I leave and let the purple door slam shut behind me.