Page 12 of Everything You Want Me to Be

“Would still have pictures at CVS,” she finished, pulling an envelope out of the bin and waving it with a flourish.

“Apparently.”

She rang up the pictures on the cash register. “So, Elsa, did you need anything else today?”

“Um—” I glanced back in the direction of the pharmacy, looking for any sign of Mary. Did she mention anything else? I couldn’t remember, and given the course of the evening, it was probably safer not to spend extra money.

“No, that’s all.”

I handed her my card and watched her complete the transaction. There was something about her: a brightness, a presence. Usually teenagers gave distracted or grudging service in these types of jobs, but this girl was wholly and happily in the moment. A distinct flash of hatred ran through me as I assessed her. Tall and lean, she had a conscious grace about her limbs. Her skin was honey-tanned, her too-wide mouth gleamed with some kind of gloss, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of sly intelligence that said herRomeo and Julietretort barely qualified as an easy volley on her part. This was a girl who hadn’t made any mistakes yet, one who recognized the world as only a giant cupcake for her careless sampling.

She turned to hand me the pictures and her slyness evaporated. “What’s wrong?”

“Excuse me?” Her sudden concern startled me out of my fixation.

“You. You looked angry.”

What kind of town was this where total strangers called you out on your moods?

“No, I mean, well...” I stumbled around my words like an idiot. “I’m not...”

“You’re totally angry.” She enjoyed my stuttering, stretching her too-wide mouth wider. “I can see it here and here.” She pointed to her eyebrows and her jaw, imitating me with crossed arms until I dropped mine to my sides.

I shrugged. “Not about the pictures.” Why not admit it?

“Is it one of the aliases?”

“How do you know it’s not you?”

“Duh. We don’t even know each other. Oh, I’m Hattie, by the way.” She reached out a hand and I stared at it a second before shaking it.

“Peter.”

“Hi, Peter. You know what I do with an alias that starts sucking?”

“What?”

“I trade it in for a better one.”

“Yeah, you can do that when you’re sixteen.”

She giggled. “What are you, eighty?”

“Eighty-two.”

“Well, maybe you just need some stool softeners, then. They’re in aisle six.”

I burst out laughing and she nodded like she’d finished what she set out to do, and then Mary appeared with her bagful of prescriptions.

“Ready?” Mary asked.

“Yeah.”

I nodded to Hattie the cashier, who waved at both of us. “Good night. Thanks for stopping in.”

On the way back to the farm, I reached across the seat and laid my hand lightly on top of Mary’s, ready to try again. When we turned onto the gravel road that led to the farm, a light flashed across the sky.

“Look!” I switched off the headlights and hit the brakes.