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She never even flinches. I watch her take in more than just my words, her eyes reddening. It’s like she gets it. I don’t know how… “What made you stay back?”
I stare at the carpet. “Everything your boyfriend said… fuck, I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right, scaring girls and babies… I know one of you has PTSD…”
She stiffens. “Wha…?”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I say quickly, realizing this is private information. “I promise. I can’t even remember who let it slip. Either Ryke or Loren shouted it at me. No one else was around.” I drop my head, and my bed-head hair falls into my eyelashes. “I think… you should know that I planned to go with my friends.”
I swallow a rock, struggling to force tears down.
Stop crying. I’m not crying, okay? I’m not. I just… I want to be someone else. I can’t live with this anymore. And I don’t even know what this is. Yeah I do…
This is me.
“I literally could not move my stupid feet,” I say, my voice shaking. “And there’s a part of me that wishes I was with them. That I got caught too.”
She says softly, “You did the right thing.”
I don’t think I did. I look up at her. “Did I? I can’t even say I’m sorry because it feels fucking stupid. Like…” I push my hair out of my eyes. “Like it’s not enough, you know? It’s not at all.” It’ll never be.
“This was enough,” she says. “I promise, it was.”
I try to let out a deep breath, and I try to believe what she’s telling me. I don’t think I can forgive myself, even if she’s forgiven me.
I rub my reddened eyes with my arm and exhale again. I scan the store once more, grazing over the shelves and superhero posters along the wall.
I’ve never had a place that felt safe, but this one does. It feels like more than that.
“Here, I’ll introduce you to Maya, the store manager,” Lily says. “She’ll have a better idea what positions need to be filled.” She guides me towards the checkout counter.
I figure Maya must be the one with short black hair since she takes charge and shows the other girl the register.
“Hey,” I say, nodding to the girls.
I startle the one with the loose braid. She bangs into the cash tray, overturning the plastic container. It lands on the floor, cash and coins spilling out. She freezes at first, blood rushing out of her skin, ashen and pale.
Shit.
“I’m so sorry,” the girl says to Lily. She pushes up her black-rimmed glasses, and it hits me all at once.
I know you.
She seems to dodge my gaze, kneeling to gather all the fallen money. Maya stays at the computer, typing on the keyboard.
“I can help.” I squat a little closer to this girl, hoping she raises her head and looks at me, just once. I want to know if she recognizes me too. If she knows who I am—if she hates me like almost everyone else.
Or maybe I just want her eyes to finally meet mine.
While I gather dollar bills, I keep glancing at her, watching as she picks up a few quarters and drops them in the same instant.
My lips rise, and I help her pick those up too. I can hear her breath shorten. And my fleeting smile fades.
Maybe she’s scared of me.
I remember her from that party over a month ago.
The girl searching for Loren Hale.
I also remember her from a recent article.
The girl who turned out to be Loren Hale’s cousin.
I still can’t wrap my head around why she was asking which house Loren Hale lived in when she should’ve had his phone number. Maybe their parents are estranged from each other—I guess it’s not an important detail anyway.
“Okay,” Lily says hurriedly, “now you’ve met Willow and Willow you’ve met Garrison. Meet-and-greet has ended.”
I haven’t met her yet, not really. She won’t look at me.
I rise to my feet at the same time as Willow, helping her fit the cash back into the register. “Are you new here?” I ask, kind of already knowing the answer based on Maya showing her the checkout counter.
Why won’t you look at me?
“Yep,” Lily says quickly. “Yep, everyone’s new. Willow, can you get my purse from the break room?”
Willow shifts slightly, keeping at least two feet between us. “Sure.” She tries to smooth down a stack of fives.
“I can do it,” Maya says, scooting closer.
Willow abandons the register and heads for the break room. She has on those same faded overalls and a mustard-yellow shirt. When she walks, it’s closed-off, tucked into herself—and a part of me understands that.
More than I ever thought I could.
She pauses midway to the door. “My backpack…”
I notice the old JanSport backpack, propped against the counter. “This?” I grab it and make my way to Willow.
