“Mm-hmm,” I say, giving a tight-lipped smile and a nod. This is why I hate working the registers, people talk to you about nothing. Overshare about their lives, or get frustrated when something doesn’t ring up the right price, or just have no awareness that they are not the only ones trying to get in and out of the store that day. Or they think that because I’m not a smiley person, I’m judging them for their food choices, which is not at all my business. I don’t care. Food is food, and we eat what we can afford.
“That lipstick color is really, uh, unique,” the woman says, still talking.
“Is it?” I say. “Hmm.”
“Yeah, I mean it looks SO good on you, but I could never rock a blue like that. Not on this pasty skin. Can you imagine? Girl, bye.”
Ah, yes, and then there are the white people who like to gas me up, try to connect with me by using vernacular they’ve never used a day in their lives, like “Slay, queen” or “Gurl, you better werk in that lip color.”
“That’ll be $146.22,” I say, as monotoned as I can manage, still refusing to smile. The woman laughs nervously, and then inserts her card while the little girl begins to roll the cart away to bag the groceries.
“Next customer,” I say, motioning down the line. I make it through the rush and I am just about to close up and head back to stocking when I feel someone behind me.
“Hey there, friend—you got a break anytime soon?”
I whip around and come face-to-face with Juniper. She’s grinning at me, wearing her running gear, her face glistening with sweat.
“Did you run here?”
“Yep. So, this is your work spot, huh?”
I’m wearing my uniform of khakis and a blue polo, which I normally feel fine in, but all of a sudden I’m worried I look dumb, and that maybe somehow my bold blue lip is smeared, and—get a grip, Lyric.Ever since Winter Formal, things with Juniper have been even more confusing. Our slow-dance photo nearly broke my BeautyStarz account—people LOVED our Stella’s coordinated outfits—but more than anything they loved the way, in the photo, we seem completely unaware that anyone else is around us on the dance floor. The way my eyes are closed, and Juniper’s hands rest on my hips as if we’ve always belonged together.
“So, look, I know you probably can’t leave yet, but can you take a quick break?” Juniper continues.
I bite my lip and look at the clock. “I actually get fifteen in like five minutes. I just have to finish up in the freezers.”
“Can do,” Juniper says. “I’ma check out the fun aisle. Just find me when you’re ready.”
“You mean the seasonal aisle?” I say.
“Nope. I mean the fun aisle. The one that changes all the time—has random things like Sour Patch Oreos, candle warmers, underwear, and weird flavors of chips.”
“OK, OK. I get it. Knock yourself out. I’ll come find you soon,” I laugh before rushing back to the freezers to finish with the fish.
“Who is that delightful-looking person?” Jeannine whispers at me. It is less of a whisper and more of a friendly growl.
“Uh, just someone from school.”
“A special someone?”
“Nah—it’s not like that. A friend. Can I go on break?”
“Take an extra five if you need it, kid.” Then she pats me on the shoulder and disappears into the back stockroom.
I find Juniper looking at a random array of sauces in the fun aisle. I clear my throat. “Hey. So, uh, I have a break now.”
“Wanna get a coffee?”
“Sure.”
We head across the street to the Speedway gas station. The air is frigid, the sky gray, and I am not at all prepared for it in the hoodie I pulled on quickly.
“So, do you always run in this direction?” I ask once we each have a big cup of machine vanilla latte in our hands. We sit at a small booth by the rotating hot dog stand, which, I’m not gonna lie, smells really fucking good.
“Not always, but I don’t know. It’s the first day of break, thought I’d try a new route. Plus, I wanted to see you in your element.”
I laugh then, because work is so not my element.
