She leans forward like she’s about to tell me the sale price on canned beans. “You been watched?”
My stomach does that sick twist it’s been doing since the glove. “No.”
Her eyes say she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t call me a liar. She just flicks her gaze past my shoulder to the glass doors like she expects somebody to walk in behind me.
I grab Mason’s gummy worms and a pack of juice boxes and try to pretend my hands ain’t shaking.
“Lottie says you’re being good,” Becki says.
“I’m being good,” I snap too fast.
Becki’s mouth twitches like she’s amused, but her eyes ain’t. “Good don’t matter in this county. Good just means you’re easier to shove into a trunk. Easier to hack into little pieces. Easier to get rid of.”
I glare at her. “Why do you talk like you’re in a horror movie?”
Becki leans back and crosses her arms. “Because I’ve lived it.”
That lands heavier than it should, and for a second I see past the sarcasm. Past the edge. I see a girl who knows what it is to be trapped in a story other people wrote for her.
I don’t ask. I can’t afford to. I’ve got enough ghosts on my back already.
I pay, turn to leave, and then the bell jingles again.
A group of women walks in laughing too loud.
Club women.
Not the sweet ones like Lottie who can crack a joke and still feel like a real human being. These ones have that hard shine in their eyes. No vests hugging their bodies. Dark lip stick and tattoos like weapons.
They see me immediately.
One of them pauses, smirks, and says to her friend like I’m not standing three feet away, “Ain’t that the one?”
Heat climbs my neck so fast it burns.
I keep walking. Keep my face neutral. Keep my hands steady.
Behind me, I hear it anyway.
“That trash is old news.”
It’s quiet, but it’s meant to be heard.
Becki’s gaze snaps to them, sharp as a blade. “Y’all need help finding something, or you just here to run your mouths?”
The women laugh like Becki’s entertaining.
One of them tilts her head. “Look ladies, Crazy Becki has a friend. Just shopping. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
Becki’s smile is all teeth. “Trust me. Ain’t nobody twisting mine.”
They drift past, but I feel their eyes on my back like hands, like claws, like they’re memorizing me for later.
I walk out into daylight pretending I’m not rattled.
I’m rattled.
I get in my car and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles hurt and my throat tightens like I might cry.
