My sensual criminals
News of a robbery

But Isabela is on a roll today. She's excited about prom, and her endless chatter about clothes, hair, and makeup is getting to me. I can't stand it. It's gotten increasingly annoying the last two weeks, and it's all incredibly boring. Maybe I'd be more interested if I went to the ball myself, but I'm not. Not that anyone has asked me, of course, but at this point, I don't care. Not when memories of James and Jack fill my mind.

"So, yes," Isabela breathes. "I'm thinking a tiara-what do you think, too much or just the right touch?" She mimes pulling her hair back into a bun and then sliding a sparkly tiara over her curls.

I stutter so hard I almost have milk coming out of my nose.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask as I try to dry myself. "Did you say a tiara?".

"Well yes," snorts Isa, looking at pictures on her phone. "Everyone wears tiaras these days - didn't you see Kate Middleton at the last state dinner? She looked stunningly elegant."

I try not to let out a giggle.

"But Kate Middleton is literally a princess," I say softly. "So a tiara is right for her. But this is only prom - don't you think a crown would be overkill?"

Isabela looks at me seriously.

"That's why I'm asking you Ari," she says. "So you think it's too much, do you?"

Oh, no. Isa really values my opinion, when I don't really have one.

"I'm sure you'll look gorgeous with or without the added decoration," I say quickly. "Or maybe some gaudy earrings would be enough, have you thought about that? I think you'd look great in five-centimeter diamond earrings," I say. "Hmm," says Isabela, mulling over the idea. "Maybe you're right. I'll go to the mall and see if they have anything good after school today," she says in a cheerful tone.

I smile and bite into my sandwich. I love my friend and hope she has a good time at the dance. In another time, I would have been upset that she didn't go. I would have been bummed that I didn't have a date, let alone how my curvaceous body would look in a prom dress. I would have compared my huge boobs, my wide ass, and my soft rolls to those of the skinny girls in my class.

But not anymore. Somehow, prom seems so insignificant now that I've hung out with two hot alpha males who touch me all over. They make me scream with so much joy, school activities seem so beneath me now. Dancing is for the kids. Suddenly, lunch is interrupted by a news item on a television in the cafeteria. I sit up abruptly to see two very familiar faces: it's Jack and James. What the...? My blood runs cold as the news broadcasts a segment about them.

"What's wrong?" asks Isabela, realizing I'm not listening to her story, but watching the TV in a trance, half-biting into my doughnut. I don't answer and she follows my gaze to the TV. "Ari?"

"Wait a second," I whisper, dropping the bagel without realizing I'm putting it back down.

"James and Jack Redames," the reporter says, "are the leaders of a notorious criminal gang notorious for dealing in stolen artwork. They have been incognito for years, but were recently spotted in Manhattan." The screen shows a black-and- white image, obviously taken with a closed-circuit camera. The twins' faces are not visible, though their imposing figure looks instantly familiar.

"After laying low for the past two years, the notorious professional criminals are back in business and have been striking all over the city," the reporter continues. "They've already looted millions of dollars, and homeowners everywhere are taking steps to protect their prized possessions."

"Um, hello?" asks Isabela, waving a hand in front of my face. "Why do you care about this?"

"Shh!" I hiss at her, eyes still glued to the screen. "Quiet!"

The television continues to buzz.

"We're here to talk to Mr. Anderson, who had a Monet stolen from his apartment last night," the reporter continues, joined by an older, gaunt man. My breath catches: I recognize him as the downstairs neighbor. Holy cow. "Mr. Anderson, can you tell us what happened?"

"Well, Ashley," says Mr. Anderson. "I was sleeping last night when, all of a sudden, I heard a noise. I woke up and saw two dark figures in my room, but by the time I turned on the lights, they were gone. And so was my Monet." "Any idea how they could have got it, Mr. Anderson?" asks the reporter, with a serious countenance.

"Not the slightest idea. One minute they were there and the next minute they were gone. Classic Redames brothers. It's like magic," complains Mr. Anderson. I try not to hyperventilate. Meanwhile, Isabela has been flipping through her phone, totally disinterested in this news.

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," says the reporter and turns to the audience. "We ask all art collectors to be alert. It is clear that the Redames brothers are on the loose and no one is safe. These are serious criminals, armed and dangerous, and determined to get what they want. Until we know more, all art collectors should be on their guard," concludes the journalist. "Amanda, I'll pass you the weather report," he continues. The program moves on, but I keep watching the news. "Your father's going to be okay, isn't he?" asks Isabela, looking up from her phone with disinterest. Huh? It takes me a second to realize that Isa thinks I'm worried about the news because my father is a multimillionaire art collector. "Yeah," I mutter, letting myself get carried away. "Harrison has crazy security."

"Speaking of your dad, have you asked him about the college fund yet?" asks Isa. I shake my head.

"No," I mumble. "And I don't plan to either."

"What?" exclaims Isabela, wrinkling her nose. "And why not, how can you give up so easily? What are you going to do after you graduate if you don't go to college?".

"Jesus, Isa," I say, rolling my eyes. "There's more to life than college, okay? I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll replace something. And Harrison's not exactly easy to deal with."