Lying About Licorice  I walk into a Target store with my friends Tim and Niles Zelling. I take a bite of red licorice, which may taste bad, and toss the rest of the stick of licorice on the floor. It slides up next to a cash register. The man at the register angrily asks the people in his line who put the licorice there. We walk behind his register through a different checkout lane. As we pass he asks us loudly if we put it there. I walk back and look down, as if I didn't' know there was licorice there, and then say no. I see my junior high crush Erin Jacobs, who may have braces, as I walk by the checkout. I look at her and smile cockily, like I am somehow better than her: superior in my thinking. We walk to an aisle with licorice on the right side. Niles picks up a small bag of black licorice. I want a flavored licorice, like apple. There are big 20-pound bags of licorice, like bags of charcoal. A manager woman comes up to us. She is mad! She asks us about the licorice on the floor, and I deny it, as does Niles. I yell at Tim and ask him about it, and he says he didn't put it here. I'm lying. The woman threatens to question us at the checkout when we leave. I ignore her, asking myself how they'd know it was I. The licorice may be a starburst when I go look at it.