The thing was, she hadn't been shoplifting... If she had been, she wouldn't have been caught. That much Albany knew for certain. She wanted the sweater, it was a great fit and the exact look she needed for hanging out and trying to catch the eye of Sue Parr. But that damn price tag. There was no way she was going to pay fifty bucks for this when on the same rack there was an almost identical garment marked down to half price. Well, when she said almost identical, she was ignoring the few minor differences like the length, the material, the colour and the cut. But those were minor things The simple fact was that the sweater should have been marked down too. So she had mentioned this to the shop girl, who told her quite rudely (Allie thought) that it was on the wrong rack and the price was correct.<br/><br/>The row that developed between them had Allie in such a rage that she was seeing visions of smashing the young woman's face into a bloody pulp. At that point the counselling she'd received in school clicked in. Back in seventh grade she'd totally lost it and beaten another kid unconscious. The other boy had started it and had been a ninth grader, and so the school had kept it quiet. But they had insisted that she attend an extra class to help her deal with what they called "anger management issues". The classes had helped, surprisingly. At first she'd been sullen and resentful, but then her native intelligence and cunning had kicked in and she had realised that this stuff they were teaching her would ultimately help her get what she wanted out of life. Soshe had attended the anger management classes and had listened and had applied stuff they taught her. Stuff like, when you feel like hurting someone, walk away, go outside and get some air, count to a hundred and then go back and apologise, even if you don't actually mean the apology.<br/><br/>Allie had seen the danger signs in herself that morning, had closed her eyes for a few seconds, said, "You know what? Forget it..." And walked out of the shop. It wasn't until the security guy put a hand on her shoulder that she realised that the insistent bleeping was the shop's security system and that the damn sweater was still in her hand....<br/><br/>The ride home from court was sullen and silent. Mom was clearly in one of her moods. It wasn't Allie's fault. It was totally the shop's fault for not putting the damn sweater on the right rack.<i>WHY</i>could no-one else see that? The fact that she hadn't intended to steal the sweater was totally ignored by everyone. The fact that her first words to the security guy had been, "Well it serves them right for overcharging" probably hadn't helped that, but when she thought about it, it<i>did </i>serve them right - or would have. And the irritating thing was, she still didn't have the sweater! Agreeing to three months of "house arrest", as her mom's attorney had successfully argued, seemed like a nice easy slap on the wrist. The ugly little spud of a man had explained to Albany in no uncertain terms that she was very lucky to be getting off so lightly. He was at great pains to point out that he was a corporate lawyer not a criminal lawyer and if the DA's office had wanted to, they could probably have run rings around him.<br/><br/>A first offence, though, and overcrowded prisons, meant a fine and three months confinement to home and work. At first that had made Allie smile. Until they put that damn ankle-bracelet on her. She had glared at it, then cheekily asked if they could give her another one to match it for her other ankle. That had earned her a look from the court bailiff. She had smiled and shrugged.<br/><br/>And now they were home and her mom all but exploded from the car, having done Allie's shoulder some serious harm (or that's what it felt like the way the seat belt cut into her) by the way she raced into the garage and stomped on the brake. Mom had stormed inside and Allie had followed more sedately. At least she had the internet to keep her company for the next three months...<br/><br/>But apparently, mom had other ideas about that too. "What? NO!" Allie  Followed her mom into mom's bedroom. This wasn't part of the deal. "Mom, you can't. It wasn't my fault. Why doesn't anyone<i>listen!" </i>She could feel the heat rising in her head again. The blind rage that would do something stupid. The teenager turned and stomped off towards the front door, intending to get on her bike and ride down to the mall. She stopped. "FUCKITFUCKITFUCKYFUCKYFUCK! And double FUCK on top!" She couldn't leave the house. Instead she turned and headed for the back yard, threw herself into one of the chairs there. Closed her eyes and breathed hard and deep. The sound of a bird singing in a tree a short way away quickly began to get on her nerves though. As did the sound of a couple of brats a few doors down throwing a ball around. "AAAARRRRGH!" It was a yell of frustration more than anything. Allie stormed back into the house and up the stairs to her room in the attic, threw herself face down on the bed and thumped the pillow hard. "Shit!" What had she got herself into? "Not my fault!" She muttered again.<br/><br/>Well there was one thing her mom hadn't taken. The MP3 player still sat in it's dock. She turned it on and turned up the volume. Mona's<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DBuFrAmdWveY&amp;hash=27dffe5feb8d89bce5860a98aadfab77" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BuFrAmdWveY" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Kiss Like A Woman</a>began blasting out, the rock song loud enough to probably fill the house. It was not that different to the type of music her mother enjoyed, the lyrics actually relatively subtle: Kiss like woman, talk like a man. But the video made it very clear what the song was about. Albany had never officially "come out", she'd just not made any real secret of the fact that she was gay. She kind-of assumed that her mom would get the message. As far as Albany was concerned, who's face she sat on was her own business.<br/><br/>The song ended and Beth Ditto's "Fire" replaced it. Allie was calm again. The music really did help. She pulled the list of instructions for the tracker from her bag and read them. Cutting the strap apparently would break a circuit that would set the alarm off. Well there were ways around that, she was pretty sure. It just needed a little bit of patience and careful investigation. But not right now. Right now she needed to get her phone back.