The Choice

    The next morning, I was getting dressed for school. I reached into the back pocket of the jeans Mom bought me at the thrift store and felt something round. I pulled out a ring. A real ring! 

    At first I thought it was cheap and plastic. But when I held it up to the window, it sparkled in the light. The ring was gold, with a diamond in the middle. And not just any diamond. A monster-sized diamond surrounded by emeralds and rubies. 

    My mom knocked on my bedroom door, and I closed my fist. “Ready for school?” she asked. 

    “Yes?” I squeaked.

    “You OK?” 

    “I’m fine.” My voice came out higher than normal.

    “Pants look OK?”

    “Great.” Again with the high and squeaky voice.

    “You know, Zander,” my mom called through the door, “no one knows where we bought them.”  

    I closed my fist tighter.

    For the next few days, the ring was all we talked about. The three of us looked up the value of diamonds. We became experts on diamond weights and color and shape. We decided that my ring was real. And that it was worth thousands of dollars. 

    After school, we’d sit in my bedroom with the ring on the floor between us. We’d eat spicy potato chips and dream about all the things I could buy with that money. 

    Well, Xavier and I dreamed. Yuri did his best to squash our dreams.

    “A car? Dude, you’re only 12,” he said one afternoon. “And a new skateboard? You hate skateboards!”

    Xavier gave him a sharp elbow. “Nicole skateboards.”

    Yuri elbowed him back. “What about the person who lost the diamond? What if it belonged to some grandmother? What if it was the last thing her husband ever bought her?” He pointed to Xavier. “What if the owner was your grandmother?”

    I spent the next few days staking out the thrift store. I watched people go in and out. I was trying to find a person who looked worried or sad. An old lady hobbled to the door. A grandmother type. It wouldn’t be so bad returning the ring to someone like that. I imagined standing next to her while the newspaper took our picture. She’d tell me about her grandkids. They would all thank me for finding it. 

    The old lady left the store a few minutes later, her arms filled with bags. Then a fast-walking guy with a leather jacket hurried through the door. Maybe he’d spent weeks working overtime to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend. They’d be so happy, they’d invite me to their wedding. It would be a different type of thank-you, but that would be OK. 

    That’s when I got the idea. Instead of giving the ring back to some stranger, I could give it to my mom. That wasn’t keeping it exactly, but it wasn’t giving it back either. A perfect compromise.

    But there was no way my mother would keep it. After 12 years, I pretty much had her figured out. She’d search for the person who lost it. For my mom, this would be an easy decision. A no-brainer.

    I wished it were easy for me. 

    The more I watched people go in and out of the thrift store, the closer I moved toward the door. That’s when I saw the sign in the window. It was old and faded. It had a picture of a ring. Large letters spelled out “Lost.” In even larger print, it said “Heartbroken.” Someone had crossed out the phone number and written “Inquire within.” 

    I waited for the store to empty out before I stepped inside.

    Weird Counter Guy was wiping down a display case with a dirty rag. I stood and waited for him to notice me. He didn’t look up until I coughed. 

    Yep. Every . . . single . . . part of this was going to be hard. 

    I decided to do it fast, all in one breath. “I need to speak to the person who posted that sign about the ring. I think I found it.”

    Weird Counter Guy reached under the counter and pulled out a glass jar filled to the brim with diamond rings. They all sparkled. He tossed one in my direction. 

    “Did it look like this? They’re fake. Got them from a friend a few years ago. Don’t feel bad, kid. They fool everyone.” He grinned. “You could say I’m a student of human behavior. I hide the rings in clothes sometimes to see what people will do. It’s been a while since someone turned one in. Most people don’t.”

    I reached into my pocket and pulled out the other ring. My ring. It was exactly like the one he had just given me.

    I threw them both on the counter. They rattled on the glass. “Do you know what you put me through? For nothing?”

    Weird Counter Guy shook his head. “Not for nothing, kid. You learned something. There are two types of people in the world. The Keepers and the Returners. You never know which type you are until you’re put to the test.” He pointed the rag at me. “And you, kid, are a Returner.” He handed me a ring. “It’s yours. You’ve earned it.” 

    “It’s worthless. What am I going to do with it?”

    Weird Counter Guy shrugged. I bolted out of there.

    I stopped running only when my lungs ached and my muscles hurt. I leaned up against a garbage can, gasping for breath. The ring. The stupid ring. But instead of throwing it away, I put it back into the pocket of my jeans. 

    Maybe I’d keep it. Maybe I’d give it to my mom. There was no need to hide it anymore. It might be a fake ring, but it has a real story to go with it.