The Thief's Gift

                “Now Julia, you will not leave this classroom until you have written out ‘I will not swear’ 99 times. Understood?”
         “Sweetheart,” Julia spat at the ground.
         “What was that Julia? Do I need to make it a clean hundred?”
         “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, but you’re still a sweetheart,” Julia picked up a little piece of chalk from the tray and began scribbling angrily as her teacher marched out of the room. She cursed whoever thought to use the pleasant white stuff as a writing utensil of all things as dust made her cough and the earsplitting screeches it made every time she drew a line on the board made her cringe.
         It wasn’t the first time Julia had been stuck after class writing lines; in fact, her average was once a week, but this was under the most unfair circumstances she had ever seen. All that happened was she slipped and said, “Thanks” when Arianna lent her a pencil, and she got landed with detention for it! So she let one nice word pop out of her mouth when she wasn’t paying attention, this was high school, not kindergarten. If mommy’s little demon was too sheltered to handle a little kindness without crying, it wasn’t Julia’s fault.          Of course, Ms. Carpen was one of the strictest teachers at the Benview Freshman Containment Facility at Borden High when it came to behavior, and Julia’s kind personality had gotten her into trouble plenty of times during advanced multiplications over her many years at the BFCF. Anyone else would have let it slide, which was infuriating. Fortunately, as a fourth year freshman, she’d be heading to the upper school soon, and if all went well, she’d be one of the few, lucky smartalecs who walked away from Benview with an actual diploma instead of  the “effort degree” most people got.
         After writing ten sentences out, Julia figured that was good enough and began trudging through the March sludge towards home. She could’ve just called and her mom would’ve come pick her up, but then she’d have to deal with a good ten minutes of lecturing about appropriate school behavior, so she ditched the idea. Water seeped into her black boots as she thought about all the homework that lay ahead of her, kicking at piles of snow absentmindedly. She had a test the next day too, on the start of the New Leaf Laws in 2011. Basically, since the government couldn’t get everyone to like each other, and people were being discriminated against, the legislature set up new laws switching the roles of kindness and cruelty, and had the schools teach children to be mean. That way, no one could complain that someone was being mean to them, because everyone was being mean to everyone equally. Inevitably, the plan backfired, and people started complaining about being treated with generosity. So, by 2030, the feds just kind of gave up and told everyone it wasn’t their problem anymore. That was about eight years ago.
         Suddenly, some guy sporting sunglasses in an import car with a pair of tennis shoes hanging off the rearview pulled up beside her.
         “Hey there, sexy devil. What’s your name?” The man had a scruffy goatee and waggled his bushy eyebrows really pleasantly as he greeted her.
         “Go drive your shiny car off a cliff, gorgeous!” Julia always seemed to attract good boys like him, and she was in no mood to deal with it.
         “Wow, you’re a feisty one! Know what? I think you deserve a present,” he said as he leaned over and rummaged through the passenger’s seat. “Here you are! Careful with it! Very fragile.” He shoved a box lined with holes into her hands and sped of before she could say anything.
         Julia stood in stupefied shock for a moment before curiosity took hold, and she cautiously lifted the lid of the package. A pair of big, yellow eyes in a furry face stared up at her and yawned. Julia dropped the lid back in place and set the box down on the ground, stepping away from it. She knew that white, spotted fur and bestial ugliness from the zoo. There was a baby snow leopard sitting in a box two feet in front of her that a complete stranger had given her because he was perverted and thought she was feisty. When she heard sirens in the distance coming closer, she took off running, leaving the leopard behind.
         Julia burst through the front door, panting and clutching her chest. Her mom was leaning against the counter, gazing dreamily at two pictures taped to the side of the fridge. One was of the huge, ancient-looking castle mansion she wanted to live in, the other of an overly extravagant vacation to Hawaii she’d fantasized about for years. It was all because Julia’s mother once heard on TV if you can see your dreams, they’ll come true, and took it way too seriously.
         “Hey, dorkus, you’re late,” she called.
           “Think I don’t know that? What’s for supper?” Julia replied.
         “Dunno. Ask me again and you don’t get any.” Julia’s mom was always in a bad mood when it came to cooking. Julia often bragged to her friends that her mom’s food tasted like dirt.
         There were five big, brown paper bags sitting on the kitchen table.
         “What’d Dad drag in this time?” Julia asked, peeking inside the closest one excitedly. Her dad was a shoplifting addict. He brought home the stupidest stuff. He’d never once been caught, either. Julia thought he was a total idiot.
         “We got a crummy bunch of free clothes from downtown,” her mother replied.
         “Oh, that sucks!” Julia exclaimed. She pulled out a horrible pair of jeans and held them up. They looked to be about her size.
         “So, dipstick,” her dad strolled in from the living room, “anything interesting happen to you for once?”
         Julia’s mind immediately flashed back to the tiny feline that was most likely still sitting in its box, out in the cold, all alone. It would probably starve, or maybe it would freeze, or maybe some clean-freak passing by would throw the box away without bothering to check if there was a living, breathing animal inside it first.
         “Jules? What’s wrong?” His voice echoed into silence as Julia’s mind was overcome with the image of those wide, golden eyes, the yawning face. Guilt consumed her at abandoning the pathetic little thing. She turned on her heel and sprinted out the door, kicking up slush and splattering the side of her father’s old truck in her haste. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her to the place she had met the stranger and left the gift he’d given her. The box was still sitting on the sidewalk untouched. Julia grabbed the top and wrenched it off, to reveal an empty piece of cardboard with an unusual hole clawed through one corner. Julia glanced around at the barren neighborhood around her, then dropped the lid and slowly made her way back home.