My name is Poppy Colegrove. I know Poppy sounds like a nickname, but it’s my honest-to-goodness, birth certificate name. So, like I was saying, my name is Poppy Colegrove, and I’m in a shit ton of trouble. Two weeks ago, my friend Winter, Winter Wysong, and I were chilling at Lake City Mall. Winter’s got this problem. She’s rich, or at least her parents are, but she hates to pay for anything. No, that’s not quite right, she’s more than happy to pay for things; but she loves the thrill of shoplifting.
And she’s got me hooked on it too. Two weeks ago, though, that habit blew the fuck up on us. We were slipping out of Brandy Melville, each with a couple of tops stuffed in our pants. That was a bad choice because that place only caters to thin girls, and we looked like we had baby bumps on our way out. Mall security was on us in a flash.
We ran, yet another bad choice. And they pursued. I say they, because there were two of them. Those chicas were