Stolen

This happened when I was in the 4th grade. I had this weird attraction to books. You can say I was a voracious reader at a young age, I read everything I could get my hands on, including candy wrappers.

Anyway, I came from a public school. A fast-food chain was holding some sort of “Reading Drive” where they would give a class a cart of storybooks and a booklet that contained questions about the book you read. You were tasked to read 50 or 60 (?) books and do the process over and over. I think I’m a fast-reader, I finished before anyone else in our class. So there I was, during English time, re-reading the books. It was the best feeling ever. It was the only subject I looked forward to (and was the main reason why I was ecstatic to go to school everyday).

Then came a time when I felt that reading in the classroom was not enough. We weren’t allowed to take books home, it was not a library, obviously. But something inside me made me do it. The book devil made me do it. So after cleaning the classroom, like a ninja, I stashed my favorite books in my bag. The deed was done. I skipped jollily home. My smile was like a crescent moon.

It was a joy finally getting my hands on the books I loved. Reading them every morning, before I go to school and before going to bed. Returning them never crossed my mind. I had no intention of giving them back. Possessive much? I know. They weren’t even mine to begin with. Well, they’re mine now! Ha ha!

I stole “borrowed” a total of five books. Five and I already felt like some bad-ass. I’m not a kleptomaniac, believe me! Or maybe I think I am.

The Crying Trees was my favorite, The Kingdom With No Stories came to a close second. Mary Ann Ordinario-Floresta was my Jane Austen. Celia Studious and Conrad Cat was also great, that hipster Celia.