Chapter 1: Sugar Routes

Chapter 1: Sugar Routes

San Antonio, 1998

The sun was a burn mark in the sky, pressing down on cracked sidewalks and rusted chain-link fences. Cicadas screamed from the trees like old radios stuck on static. On a busted Schwinn BMX, Nathan coasted down Commerce Street, front wheel rattling every time he popped the curb.

He wore cut-off jeans, a faded Looney Tunes tank top, and Airwalks with the soles flapping. His eyes were sharp, always scanning—like a lookout, not a thief. But today, he was both.

Mitchell waited by the side of EZ Mart, his Mongoose leaning against the ice machine. He was the one who had scoped out the clerk’s routine. “Every time she takes her smoke break, we slide in, snatch from the back racks—bubble tape, Now and Laters, maybe some Reggie’s gum if it ain’t stale.”

Nathan wasn’t sure. He never was. But Mitchell always had that grin. The kind that said, trust me until you shouldn’t.

Inside, the clerk was bent behind the counter lighting a cigarette near the register. That was the cue.

They moved like muscle memory—Mitchell first, Nathan trailing. They didn’t run, didn’t speak. Just ducked behind the soda fridge, slid to the back aisle where the candy was half-stocked and crooked. Mitchell grabbed a pack of Warheads and some gummy worms. Nathan hesitated, then reached for a sleeve of Reese’s Cups and a Sprite from the cooler.

By the time the bell above the door jingled, they were already out. Mitchell whooped and pedaled off down the alley behind the shop.

Nathan followed, heart pounding, ears hot. It wasn’t just the sugar rush. It was the rush of getting away with it.

They met up near the ditch behind Dollar General, just like always. Candy spilled between them like contraband at a trade post. Mitchell was grinning again, tossing a Warhead into his mouth like it was a trophy.

“Easy. Told you.”

Nathan chewed slowly. “We keep doing this, we’re gonna get caught.”

Mitchell shrugged. “Ain’t no one catching us.”

But someone had seen.

Someone always did.