Chapter 1
The last crumbled twenty in my pocket felt like a goddamn joke. It was the only thing between me and sleeping under a bridge, and I hated looking at it.
I ghosted out the back door, one with the shadows, praying the rent-gurgling bulldozer was still passed out.
The grocery bell hit me with a JINGLE that sounded like a laugh track. Steaks, fresh cream, all that high-end crap—I couldn't even let my eyes touch it.
I grabbed the cheapest carton of eggs, the ones that felt like they were already cracked.
My thumb kept running over the twenty like it was a scratch ticket that might still pay out big if I just believed harder. Then she showed up, blocking the line.
Her hair caught the cheap lights—perfect, like gold, the kind of hair that cost more than my rent. A walking shampoo commercial. I’m a ghoul, staring at her like that. Disgusting.
Ten minutes of my life evaporated. She was stone. Not moving. A beautiful, infuriating wall right in front of the cashier.
My fist crushed the twenty into a tiny, hard rock. "E—"
Holy, I almost shouted. Almost earned myself a night in a cell for harassing. It’s my fault. I’m the twitchy one. If I just looked like a human being instead of a swamp creature, maybe I could've pulled off a smooth line...
I let out a sigh. It was heavy and loud, meant only for my own chest, but it sounded like a busted air brake.
She snapped her head back.
My heart skipped a beat from panic. She’s going to scream. She’s going to pull the phone, put on that wide-eyed, get-away-from-me face and—
"I am so sorry!" she blurted.
...What the hell?
I looked over my shoulder. Nothing there but dirty air and crap cereal boxes. She is talking to me. I tried to crack a smile, but it felt wrong. I slapped myself quickly before she could see how truly pathetic I am.
Hold up. I know this stupid fantasy. This is where the music swells and the whole scene gets soft focus—Shut your mouth, you pathetic loser!
I smacked my own cheek. Too Hard. The sting was real. The girl flinched.
Nailed it. Now she knows I’m off the rails. She looked like a nice person, too...
“Sorry, I didn't even hear you were there,” she said, tilting her head quickly. “My hearing isn't good.”
I threw my hands up flat, palms out. The universal sign for CHILL, IT'S FINE.
She just studied my face for three long, dead seconds. Then, flat and simple, she asked: “Are you mute?”
I nodded.
NOOOOOO! What was that? I panicked. I’m not mute! I’m not!
My mouth sprang open to dump the confession, but she hit me with that smile. I was blind. It felt like standing too close to a spotlight.
"Isn't this a coincidence?" she smiled.
What coincidence? I didn’t know, but DO not derail this. This is a one-time ticket.
I let out a nervous laugh, scraping my fingers through my hair. Her smile immediately faded.
"Oh, I'm still sorry," she whispered, looking down. "You couldn't say anything because of your situation."
It’s fine! Stop apologizing! The words died trying to leave my lungs.
“I'll be going then,” she said, turning away.
WAIT! The noise got stuck behind my teeth. Am I actually mute now? Is this the universe punishing a scammer?
By the time a pathetic, wet sputter finally escaped me, she was out the door with her bag. I shouldn't care. It was just a stranger. A perfect stranger. Who cares?
“You gonna pay or what?” the cashier's voice cut through the noise.
I shoved the eggs forward. As I started to walk away, the cashier leaned way over her register, magnifying her eyes behind her glasses.
“Oh, it's you again,” she said. “Since when did you lose your tongue?”
“I didn't.”
“Falling in love? You usually just stand there like a broken robot.”
“I’m not in love!” I yelled.
I’m not! It’s just—
"This is the first time a girl's actually talked to me," I blurted out.
“First time? Do you think I’m a dude?”
Now that she said it, I realized I hadn't even registered her as female. She just existed in the "annoying cashier" category. The gender square was totally blank.
“Uh, you kinda look like a dude—wait, are you?”
A fist zipped past my face, missing my nose by maybe an inch. The wind from it felt like a slap.
“Hey, that was supposed to be a compliment!” I protested.
She straightened up, just staring at me for a long, silent moment. Then she asked, flatly, “What are you buying now?”
I felt the egg box in my hand. Why the hell was I still holding a full dozen? I only had enough cash left for maybe two or three eggs.
I slammed the box down on the counter and grabbed a single egg.
It slipped. My fingers were shaking too hard. The single egg hit the cracked floor and exploded. Yolk spread out like a nasty yellow puddle, a perfect little crime scene. One egg. That was the line between eating and going hungry.
I had two yesterday. Four the day before. I've been running this countdown like it's my last meal.
The cashier rubbed between her eyes, sighing like I was the worst thing she’d dealt with all week. “Just leave it. I’ll pay for that one.”
“Seriously?” My voice squeaked. I hated that sound.
“When did you get this poor?” she asked, not in a nice way.
“Guess I gotta go look for a job again,” I choked out an ugly laugh, and got the hell out of there before I could break something else.
There are forty-six rejection emails sitting unread in my inbox. I quit opening them after the thirtieth one. But now, rent is due in a negative days, the fridge is empty, and that splattered egg just made the whole math problem worse.
I saw that girl again. The one with the hair—the golden-ish, maybe light amber-ish hair, or whatever color hair that perfect person had—crap, I’m colorblind, I don't know.
Anyway, she was right outside. Then she came right up to me. She snatched my arm, grabbing tight, gasping like she'd just run a mile.
I’m done. She must have figured out I’m a pathetic liar and a creep.
“I’m sorr—” I started, ready to throw myself on the mercy of the court.
“Give me your number!” she spat the words out between breaths.
