How to Rob a Bank by Tom Mitchell

Author:Tom Mitchell [Tom Mitchell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2018-12-21T05:00:00+00:00

Breaking the Law Isn’t Fun

And somehow it came to pass that there was a single week before school started. I had that terrible turning of my insides that I felt every time term was close, like a reduced version of Spider-Man’s Spider-Sense but one less helpful when fighting crime. I’d not spent any more time on my History coursework, so I was no closer to finishing my explanation of why America invaded Vietnam. I did still have 1,500 of the 2,000 words and a three-slide PowerPoint presentation with images of random soldiers and Americans and helicopters, which I’d knocked out in a week of June afternoon History lessons, though. It shouldn’t take too long to finish off. I just needed to find the time.

And we were meant to have read a novel, any novel, for English and, hello, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I was more likely to write one.

I could rob the bank when back at school. Being in Year Eleven might provide a convincing cover story because who’d commit crimes in their last year of GCSEs? But Beth’s deadline for raising a deposit coincided with the end of the holiday. All would be for nothing if I hadn’t managed to rob the bank before Beth was forced to move in with her hated aunt. She needed the money and she needed it now. The thought made me want to curl up under my duvet.

But no. Eyes on the prize, Dylan. I’d started the summer by burning down her home, I’d finish it by making everything right, by showing how much I’d grown since the destruction of the White House. No more Nepalese scented candles – that was Year Ten Dylan. Year Eleven Dylan robbed banks. Check him. This is what he’s capable of. He deserves respect, yo.

I jumped on to my bike next to the newly installed half-circle marker where next-door’s cat had been speared.

(Dad had crudely chiselled KEVIN, 200?–2016 into the stone.)

And off I cycled, thinking as I pedalled:

Today, the second Saturday of my employment at the bank, should really, probably be the day to install the hack code on the cash machine and no excuses. I don’t have the patience to go deep undercover and I’d get too bored to be a genuine sleeper cell.

Realistically, what with the spilt banknotes, the job wasn’t a long-term prospect. Don’t get me wrong, that was good because if working in the bank had taught me anything, it was that I didn’t want to work in a bank. It also taught me that I didn’t want to be distracted from studying hard in Year Eleven and getting grades good enough to do A levels. This is what I’d say to Mum and Dad when I got sacked/left by mutual agreement because it would prove I’d been planning for my future, something we’re told is important.

Jaz, looking like a vampire who’d not drunk blood for a while, and Tom, grinning, were waiting outside. A grey metal security gate, the sort you see over the entrances to takeaways, covered the doorway.

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