As sure as Mr.Ahn is that we won’t be recognized here, I’m not so sure. My popularity in the media puts me at the top of all the algorithms, which means photos of me are mass-circulated in curated news feeds amplified by repeated exposure, making me hypervisible to the curious and incurious alike. And as the visual representation of my business as an influencer, my face has become an instant symbol of brand recognition.
Translation: I am as recognizable as the Starbucks mermaid or the Quaker Oats guy, only much leggier andwayyounger.
If I have any hope of maintaining my status after this temporary setback, I can’t be caught looking like anything but a ten. So, on the not-so-slim chance I’ll be recognized, I decide to wear a sheer top with a nude bodysuit underneath and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. By the time I straighten my hair with a flat iron, Gavin is halfwaydown our street. Typical. Before he has a chance to act like a hero, I chase after him.
Gavin hears me stumbling to catch up and glances behind his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?” He slows to a stop.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m coming with you to the store.”
“Dressed like that?” He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t bother. I can manage.”
“And let you get all the glory again? No thanks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everyone knows you thrive on Mom and Dad’s approval, and being the responsible one is your way of getting it. But in order for that to happen, you have to make me look like the irresponsible one. And staying home while you go out to get groceries would be doing just that.”
He has the nerve to be offended. “I don’t have to try to make you look irresponsible. You’re doing just fine on your own.” He motions to my ensemble. “I mean, how you think those clothes count as essential items is beyond irresponsible,” he counters.
“I am being responsible. With our reputation hanging by a thread, it’sessentialto look our best now more than ever. And as a one-of-a-kind, custom-tailored top designed especially for me to wear at the launch of Axe body spray’s new product line for women, I know I look good in this.”
“Okay, fine, whatever.” He waves a hand between us to shush me. “Let’s just go to the store.”
Of course Gavin doesn’t understand. No one will care if he gets spotted in those ill-fitting pants or last season’s shoes. They’ll throw a parade in his honor, hailing him as down-to-earth for buying his own groceries, while I, on the other hand, will be shamed for hittingrock bottom. It’s the real reason why this top and these shoes are essential and why Gavin and I can never see eye to eye. How can we when he’s the one benefiting from the double standard? So I do what I always do. Try to stay one step ahead of him. Except at the moment it’s harder than usual. So I steel my ankles and power through the rocky terrain.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask, hoping there’s an end to this dirt road that seems to go on forever.
“Mom and Dad said it’s on this street and that we can’t miss it,” he says, but he doesn’t seem as sure as his words suggest.
In both directions of the road, there are long stretches of unmanicured fields with the occasional home here and there in the same deteriorating condition as ours. We slow our pace when we spot a group of people across the street. Their makeup-free faces make them appear young, but their off-brand clothes and severely outdated hairstyles are throwing me off. They could be anywhere between twenty and forty.
“Maybe they’re going to the store. We should follow them,” Gavin recklessly suggests.
A squeak of disapproval escapes my lips. “Gavin, no. In this town and those clothes, they could be headed to a windowless compound. Next thing you know, we’ll be making soap out of animal fat for a charismatic guy named Harvey, who we’ll be forced to worship with excessive devotion in a religion he made up.” I smack my lips. “Trust me, we don’t want to go anywhere they’re headed.”
“El, just because their fashion choices fall short of your standards doesn’t mean they’re in a cult.”
“Doesn’t mean they’renotin a cult,” I counter only half seriously. “And it’s not just their fashion; it’s…everything.” I make a big sweeping motion of the space around us. “You know it’s weird here.Like we stepped into the twilight zone or a time machine.”
A car passes by. It’s one of those old cars from the Elvis movies Dad used to watch. The ones with big bubbles around the wheels that come in colors like baby blue and Chantilly yellow. By Gavin’s silence I can tell he knows I’m right. Everyone’s sort of in this weird time loop here, stuck in the 1950s rural Midwest.
Up ahead is a gas station and what appears to be a convenience store. The sidings are weatherworn, the windows are so scratched up that they’re permanently foggy, and the roof is missing patches of shingles.
“I think this is the store.” Gavin scratches his head, looking down both ends of the main road.
“Can’t be. It barely has a roof.” As I say this, a middle-aged woman walks through the door with a shopping bag hanging from her arm. She has the same outdated hair and clothes as the other people we spotted earlier. Funnily enough, just as she passes us, she pauses to look me up and down as curiously as I’m looking at her. As ifI’mthe weird one.
“Did you see that?” I chuff incredulously. She had no idea who I am.
“Yeah,” Gavin says. “This is the store, and it’s definitely open.”
It’s not what I meant, but that’s the least of my concerns now. As Gavin pointed out, this condemned-adjacent building is indeed the store we’re supposed to buy our groceries from. And just how is anyone supposed to shop from a place as unappealing as this? Even the bell attached to the door jangles pathetically as we push it open, as if it, too, would rather be anywhere but here. As soon as we step in, however, Gavin’s eyes widen.
“It’s actually…not bad,” he says.
Looking around, I’m surprised to find myself agreeing with him.The conditions on the inside are better than the outside, though it’s not hard to be. Rows of tall shelves, filled with items reminiscent of our former lives, take up the bulk of the space. Lavender honey, seasonal fruit preserves, crème fraîche. There’s even a whole section of housewares. Woven place mats, ceramic mugs, and a rack of semiwearable clothes. It’s not Gelson’s or anything. It’s still just a convenience store, but it’s clean and organized, like the ones I’m familiar with. Except for the scowling guy behind the counter, staring us down with narrowed eyes. Gavin grabs a basket, and I stick closely by him. The sooner we get out of here, the safer I’ll feel.
Not long after, the door opens, and a young woman walks in, grabbing my attention. She’s dressed in vintage overalls rolled up around her ankles, with hair a color that’s somewhere between dark blond and light brown. She sparks my interest because, one, unlike the others we’ve encountered so far, she seems to have a sense of style. And, two, with another patron in this establishment, I now have the assurance of a witness to a potential hate crime. Halfway down the aisle, though, I frown.
