New Girl in Town

Chapter 11

"The plan's simple," Jennie explains, as we turn the corner onto Oak Street and the 7-Eleven comes into sight on the corner. "They always understaff this store. I'll distract the cashier, you grab the champagne. We'll be in and out. No problem."

"Do you do this a lot?" I ask, opting for casual, but feeling my stomach churn a little. I've never stolen anything. I don't even remember taking candy when I was a kid.

She shrugs. "Fake IDs can be kind of hard in a town where everyone knows everyone."

"Is that why you and your friends were running away from that club the day I met you?"

She smirks.

"They got through the bouncer, but the bartender saw right through them. Never taking Rosie's word on a 'solid ID' again, let me tell you. Jisoo's still kind of pissed at me for ditching her."

"I mean, I would be, too."

"Ouch," Jennie pouts. "Mean."

"Getting left behind sucks," I say, and I cringe as soon as I say it. Too much truth.

"Aw, did someone leave you behind?" she asks lightly and almost sarcastically.

When I don't answer—I can't; I won't; not here; probably never—her head tilts and her cheeks flush.

"Shit," she says suddenly, too knowingly. "Who would leave you behind?" It's so earnest it makes me wonder....

But no. No. That'd be crazy.

"So you'll distract the cashier, and I'll grab the booze. Got it. Simple. Easy. Let's do it."

"Lisa..."

"I'm cool," I say, leaning my bike against the cement pole that holds the 7-Eleven sign. I ignore the worried sound she makes. "You're right. It's not really hanging out without refreshments. Come on."

She catches up with me at the door, leaning forward to grab it and open it for me. Her shoulders square as she sweeps inside, heading right to the cashier as I head to the back.

My palms are damp even though I'm right next to the cool air of the drink fridges. I wipe them hastily on my jeans. If I grab a bottle and it slips, we're done for.

"Can you help me?" I hear Jennie ask the cashier.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

I edge open the fridge, scanning the wine and beer. Shit. I hadn't asked her what she wanted. What if I choose wrong? Will she laugh at me?

"This is really embarrassing," Jennie says. "But do you carry tampons?"

On the last word, she fake-whispers it.

I grab a bottle of champagne, tucking it under my jacket, heading toward the end aisle.

"They're on aisle seven," the cashier tells Jennie, who bats her eyes as she says, "Could you show me where that is?"

Shit. That's my aisle. I reverse course, pretending I desperately need to look at the lighters for a second before putting them back and heading in the opposite direction, away from Jennie and the approaching cashier.

"You're so sweet," she's saying to him, one eye on me.

I turn quickly down aisle five, my focus on Jennie instead of where I'm going, and it's only dumb luck that I don't crash right into the WET FLOOR sign.

The bottle of champagne's tucked under my arm and I keep it tight against my side as I skid to a halt right in front of a girl holding a mop, her headphones plastered over her bleach-blond hair done up in little alien buns all over her head, exposing her dark roots. It should look messy, but it kind of works on her the more you look at it. Her orange name tag says BLAKE on it. She stares at me, chewing her gum; her unfocused eyes make me wonder if she is at least stoned, if not a little faded.