The packaged tube of mascara in the kangaroo pocket of my sweatshirt seemed to burn a hole in me. My frantic heart pounded as I tried to look casual, walking towards the change rooms with clothes on hangers I was going to pretend to try on dangling from my clammy hands.

“How many?” The clerk asked. She was loud with a very nasally voice.

“Uh, three.” I said, pretending to count. She eyed me curiously, but still unlocked a change room for me and hung a little ‘3′ hanger on the handle.

“How did they fit?” She asked. This girl was young, probably only a couple of years older than me. She was bleach blond with a very high-pitched voice.

Trying to be calm, I responded, “I’m going to buy this one, but these two didn’t fit.” And handed the two shirts to her. I didn’t have enough to pay for the pants I was actually just going to ditch somewhere in the store, but I couldn’t afford to have anyone else suspicious of me.

“Okay,” The clerk said with a smile. “Thanks for shopping at Wal-Mart!”

I smiled and hurried away, around the corner, where I hung the pants on a lingerie rack., where there was a little girl sitting and crying. I asked her what was wrong, but she said nothing. I was in too much of a hurry to help this girl, no matter how selfish it might be, so I hurried toward the exit.

At the exit I hesitated, imagining my whole life changing because of a stupid experiment. The alarm sounding, authoritive voices, my parents’ disapointment. But I had to do it. I had to show Sienna I wasn’t a baby anymore. I wasn’t a goodie-goodie, and once I did something like this, even though I knew how wrong it was, she would never taunt me about it again.

I exhaled deeply and was about to walk through the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Excuse me.” It was the voice of authority, just what I was afraid of.

“Yes?” I turned around. It was security.

“Have you seen this girl?” He asked.

I exhaled deeply. I wasn’t in trouble, and I had seen her. “Uh yeah, I saw her by the, uh, the lingerie rack…” I mumbled.

He muttered a quick thank you and hurried away, and I walked out the door. Nothing beeped.

I made it. I was safe. And I felt like crap.

Once in the change room and hearing the clerk busy talking to someone else, I fished the mascara from my pocket as quietly as I could and fumbled with the packaging, all the while looking at a little sign on the back of the door, feeling guilty. ‘Shoplifting is not a joke, it’s a crime. Shoplifters will be prosecuted.’

When I finally got the packaging off, I had no idea where to put it. I looked frantically around the change room when I noticed a loose screw on the vent. I got up on the bench, unscrewed the bolt and shoved the packaging in the vent as quietly as I could. By the time I had the bolt screwed halfway back in, I was sweating. Terrible thoughts were racing through my head. Would the clerk notice how long I was in here? Would I get caught? I couldn’t just put it back now, anyway.

My heart was pounding, but I couldn’t stay in the change room forever.. For good measure, I took all the clothes I was ‘trying on’ off their hangers and put them back on so it would look like I tried them. Gathering all my things, I inhaled and exhaled deeply. I walked out casually, up to the desk, which was thankfully occupied by a different clerk.