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God, he’d looked like such an idiot.
Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she’d pick him to screw with. His abilities drew people to him. He was just used to the heckling, fist-swinging type of attention. He’d been dumb enough to think this would turn out differently.
Besides, he had other things to worry about.
Like finding a way to earn money. It would cost a fortune to fill his gas tank, and if he had no transportation, he was sunk.
His mom hadn’t even called to see if he was okay.
He felt like he shouldn’t care—she’d let his grandfather throw him out—but he did.
A lot.
Stop. Focus.
He could fill out applications. How hard would it be to find a job?
Three strip malls later, he knew the answer: hard.
He wrote his personal information so many times that he started to bore himself. At first he was meticulous, knowing that he only had one opportunity to make a first impression. He knew to make eye contact, to shake hands, to speak confidently.
Regardless, it was like a fist to the gut when bored workers would take his completed application and fling it in a box.
It was a slap in the face when he was told he couldn’t complete an application because of how he looked.
This was at a little café on Ritchie Highway. The hostess had frowned when he asked for an application—reminding him of his grandmother’s constant look of disapproval—and said, “No piercings, no long hair, no tattoos.”
He’d nodded and thanked her, figuring it was just a fluke. An old people’s place.
Then two more stores said the same thing.
Like what he looked like would matter if he was washing dishes or stocking boxes in the back.
By three o’clock, he was bitter and jaded and starving again.
And exhausted. He’d slept in the car all night, but he hadn’t really slept.
His phone chimed, and Hunter immediately thought of Kate.
No. Becca.
You ok? Why aren’t you in school?
His thumb hesitated over the screen—but then he remembered her brush-off, the way she’d whispered about him with Chris. The way she didn’t trust him anymore.
His car was down to a quarter of a tank of gas. He spent a dollar fifty on a bottle of water and told himself it would have to suffice until dinner.
Less than ten bucks left. And he was starting to run out of options.
Home Depot sat with two other big box stores off the main road, but they had a NOW HIRING sign out front.
The man behind the service desk was counting cash in a drawer. He didn’t glance up when Hunter asked for an application.
“You’ve gotta be eighteen, kid.”
Hunter had heard this one before. “I am eighteen.”
The guy’s eyes flicked up and his hands went still on the money in his hands. “Sure. Prove it.”
