Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

Three: Strawberry Pop Tarts

"Get the strawberry pop tarts."

I have been so lost in my thoughts, trying to decide between the plastic wrapped cookies and the chocolate bar that I hadn't even realized he was standing next to me. I manage to keep down a startled scream but I can't help but jump slightly at his deep voice that I wasn't at all anticipating. I didn't realize he followed me into the hallway of this bus station.

Taking a deep breath and rolling my eyes at my reaction, I turn to face him. He's leaning against the drink vending machine that's next to the one I was staring at moments ago. He smirks at me, obviously happy with himself for causing my startled reaction, and laughs quietly as I glare at him.

"It's your best option," he continues. "Probably the only thing in there with a fraction of nutrition. I doubt that gives you anything close to a daily serving of fruit but it has to be better than the Snickers bar."

"I hardly doubt that the processed sugar in the pop tart is much better than the stuff in the Snickers."

"True," he laughs. "This vending machine is really lacking to be honest. Would it hurt them to put in something remotely healthy? Are fresh fruit vending machines a thing? If this carried bananas or maybe even an apple, I'd be all over it."

I nod my head in agreement. I don't mind the candy filled machines and this one is much better than the one at the last bus station I was in. But some real food, that doesn't come in a plastic wrapper, sounds incredible after the last few days and my reliance on junk that doesn't cost more than a few quarters.

I go to reach in my wallet, pulling out my change from the back pocket, and count the silver coins in my hand. Looking up to the machine again, I read A5 where the strawberry pop tarts currently sit. $2.50. I count the coins in my hand and realize I only have enough for the packet of gum at the bottom.

"Here," Harry reaches into his own pocket, grabbing a handful of quarters. "How many do you need?"

"You don't have to do that," I shake my head, denying his kind gesture.

"No," he fumbles with the change in his hand. "It's not a problem. Just share a little with me. You like strawberry pop tarts, right?"

I nod and he smiles. We count the change in our hands and he mumbles something about the vending machine being a rip off because $2.50 is far too much for a package of poptarts. I laugh, agreeing with him before grabbing them from the bottom of the machine.

We walk back to the main room of the station, my backpack slung on my back, his bag slouched on his shoulder and sit on a bench in the corner of the room. I open the package, breaking one of the pop tarts in half and we sit in silence eating our make shift breakfast.

"Are you sure you thought this running away thing through?" he asks quietly, sticking the last piece of pop tart in his mouth. "You're already running out of quarters... that can't be a good sign."

"I have plenty of money," I respond quickly. He raises his eyebrows at me, which isn't surprising since he just had to lend me some for something as cheap as vending machine food. "Just low on change is all. The machine said it took twenties but I didn't really feel like carrying around three pounds of quarters."

"But then you could have used it for future vending machine purchases."

"I guess so," I smile.

I think about his original question. Have I really thought this running away thing through?

The answer is both yes and no. I have in some way been planning this for months now, researching bus routes around the country, finding small towns in the middle of nowhere, not daring to spend money on anything unnecessary in attempts to have it when it really mattered. Not that saving money was all that difficult considering I've been doing it since I was kid.