by Liz Czukas
Now we’re headed back into the store, me in my squeaking cart, the others on foot.
The night crew has finished, and the work lights are out. It’s still relatively bright up front, but as soon as we pass the floral department, the walls behind the bakery cast long, dark shadows over the floor.
“Whoa.” Gabe hesitates.
“Afraid of the dark?” Sammi teases. “You can hold my hand if you need to.” She extends one hand, wiggling her fingers. I expect him to knock it away, or make some sarcastic remark, but he doesn’t.
“I’m skeered!” he jokes, grabbing her hand and crowding her like a toddler in a thunderstorm. Too bad he’s a good eight inches taller than her.
“What a baby,” she says.
He laughs, and slips back into an easy stroll. But he doesn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he leads the way, giving her a tug to follow. “Never fear, young maiden, you’ll be safe with me!”
“Gross,” Sammi says, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You said turkey, right, Chloe?” Gabe pauses at the gap between the wall and the deli cases.
“Yeah, but shouldn’t we just grab a pack of Oscar Meyer or something?”
“We could, but . . . come on, we’ve got the run of the deli. Let’s get something decent.”
“Are you sure?”
He doesn’t answer, but drags Sammi with him to the double swinging doors behind the display cases to the prep room. With no Christmas music coming from the PAs and no customers making a din, we can almost make out the sound of them moving around in the dark room. After a moment a light flicks on.
“Is there anything else we can do for you, Chloe?” Micah asks.
I hate being the center of attention like this, but I do have a request. “I’m really thirsty.”
“Water!” he says excitedly. “I can do that. I’ll be right back!”
Tyson comes around to the end of the cart and leans his forearms on the edges, looking down at me with an unreadable expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Why didn’t you tell me you have diabetes?” Is that hurt in his voice?
“It never came up.”
“If I’d known, I would have . . .” He shrugs.
Would have what? “It’s okay.”
Someone else approaches, standing on my right. It’s Zaina with a wet paper towel in her hand. “You’re sweating.” She lifts the cloth hesitantly, so I nod and she sets to work blotting my face.
After a minute, Micah returns with a bottle of water from one of the Grab-and-Go coolers near the salad bar. Tyson helps me sit up to have a few sips. My parched mouth goes crazy at the sensation and I shiver. Tyson eases me back, but his hand stays behind my neck.
I should be blushing from all this ridiculous attention. But I can’t seem to muster up the energy to feel anything but grateful for their help.
Tyson’s thumb strokes the side of my neck and I shiver again.
“Are you cold?” Zaina asks.
“I’m fine.”
“My sister has JRA,” Micah says, out of nowhere.
“What?” Tyson takes the word right out of my mouth.
“JRA,” he repeats. “Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. It’s this disease that makes all her joints get swollen up. Bunch of other stuff, too, so she’s sick a lot. She has to take this special medicine that goes in an IV. We have a nurse come to the house once a week to give it to her.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Zaina asks.
“I don’t know. I just thought it might make Chloe feel better.”
“I’m sorry your sister is sick,” I say. “But it doesn’t really make me feel better. I know other people have it worse than me.”
“No, I—” Micah shakes his head. “I just meant that you’re not alone, is all.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, I guess.”
We fall into an awkward silence, and I can’t find a place to keep my eyes. Zaina stands to my right, Micah near my feet, and Tyson at my left shoulder. Even though it’s dark, I can’t bear the way they’re all staring at me. But I don’t have the strength to move yet. Plus, they’re all trying so hard to be nice. I decide to close my eyes instead.
All the while, Tyson’s thumb keeps smoothing along my neck, the pressure just past the point of being ticklish. I wish I could lean into it. I want him to be touching me out of something more than concern for the stupid girl who forgot to eat her dinner. He’s probably mentally petting a scared dog in his future vet clinic. “What is taking those guys so long?” he mutters after a while.
“Should I check on them?” Micah asks. “Maybe they got stuck in the walk-in cooler.”
Before anyone can answer, the doors swing open and we watch Gabe emerge from the gloom with something really big cradled in his arms.
“Chloe, you weren’t kidding about the protein. Did you know there’s an entire ham back here with your name on it?”
I realize immediately that I never picked up the spiral-cut ham my mom ordered for Christmas dinner. I’d planned to do it at the end of the day, but the deli crew must have put it away when I didn’t show up.
“Why do you have a ham with your name on it?” Gabe asks, hauling his prize up to balance on the edge of the cart.
“It’s my mom’s,” I say. “I forgot to get it earlier.”
“See? I told you it was hers,” Gabe calls back to Sammi, who’s carrying a few smaller things in her hands.
“Did you at least get some turkey?” Tyson asks.
“Right here,” Sammi says around a mouthful of something. “And this.” She holds up a black plastic tray of taco dip. “I figured we needed this.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess that might work.”
“No,” she says. “We need it. I need it.”
“You need it?” Micah repeats.
She nods. “I love this stuff.”
Gabe grins. “I think that might be the first time I’ve ever heard you say you like something.”
“I like plenty of things.” She says this with a scowl.
“Here, Chloe. Have a ham,” he says, letting the big slab of meat tilt toward me in the cart.
“Hang on!” I get my hands under it just in time to catch the monster, but it still thumps onto my lap and rolls down my upraised knees to sock me in the gut. An “Oof!” rushes out of me.
“Way to go, genius,” Sammi says. “We’re supposed to be helping the girl.”
“I’m okay,” I croak.
Tyson lifts the ham away from me, stowing it on the bottom rack instead. “Better?”
“Thanks.”
“Name five,” Gabe says.
“What are you talking about?” Sammi asks, handing me the stuff she brought from the deli prep room. There’s a small zippered pouch of deli turkey, and like the good diabetic I am, I open it to down a mouthful.
Gabe continues, “You said you like plenty of things. Name five.”
“Stop it. We’ve got to get Chloe more food.” She goes behind me and the cart starts rolling.
Gabe doesn’t let it go. “Can’t do it, can you?”
“Taco dip,” Sammi says above my head. “American Spirit cigarettes.”
“Yuck,” Gabe says cheerfully as we roll deeper into the store.
She ignores him and keeps ticking off items. “The Muppets, and . . .”
He pounces. “Ha! You can’t do it!”
“Shut up! You didn’t let me finish!”
“Because you can’t think of anything.”
“That is not true. I like plenty of things. I like dogs, and sleeping in, and the color green, and dragons, and snowboarding, and—”
“You snowboard?” he interrupts.
“A little.” She stops at the head of aisle two. “We need tortilla chips.”
“And cookies.” He grins. “I only tried it once. Snowboarding, I mean. I have never fallen on my ass so much in such a short amount of time.”
I know he’s not talking to me, but I can’t hel
p laughing. “No way. You?”
“Well, yeah. It’s hard.” He doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. “But I think I’d be better at it if I tried again.”
“I’d actually pay money to watch you fall on your ass,” Sammi says. “Here we go.” She stops the cart in front of a display of chips and stands on her toes, stretching for the right bag.
Gabe reaches up easily and brings it down to her level. “You’d be sorely disappointed.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” She looks at the rest of us. “What else do you guys want?”
“I thought it was just for Chloe,” Micah says.
“Don’t you think we all deserve a little something after being held captive for”—she consults her watch—“two hours?”
I can hardly believe it’s been that long. No wonder my sugar tanked.
Zaina sticks one finger in the air hesitantly. “I’d like a Coke.”
“Now we’re talkin’!” Sammi gets behind the cart again and pushes me toward the opposite end of the aisle.
“All right. I’ll prove it to you.” Gabe goes back to their conversation as if no one else had spoken. “We’ll go snowboarding together and I’ll completely smoke your ass.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. I’ll school you so hard, you’ll have a master’s degree in shame.”
“Shaming you, maybe.” She turns up the next aisle, where cases of soda are stacked on the shelves beneath two-liters.
“Oh, that’s it. We are definitely going.”
“We’ll see.”
“We’re going.” He steps onto the end of the cart, staring at her over my head.
“I can’t see, you big giant. Get off!”
“Say yes.” He speaks softly.
Sammi stops the cart. “Yes.”
“There. Was that so hard?”
“Yes,” she repeats.
I feel like I’m peeping through a window at something private, but it’s not like I can do anything about it. My cheeks are hot, though, and I really wish they’d remember I’m here.
Micah breaks the tension, asking, “Can we get Sour Patch Kids?”
Gabe grins and jumps off the end of the cart. “And Mountain Dew.”
“And Oreos,” Tyson says.
“Allons-y!” Sammi shouts, and suddenly the cart is moving at serious speed. I tumble to the side as we take a corner, and I have to brace myself with both hands.
“Sammi!” I squeak.
“Hold on!” Her feet thud against the floor for a few more steps and then the sound stops and she’s riding the back of the cart, her head hanging forward so I can see the underside of her chin. And I’m laughing even though my hands are still shaking.
There’s a thump! and Micah shouts, “Hey! Your ham!” which only makes me laugh harder. When the cart starts to slow, Sammi hops down and does a three-sixty. I shriek and close my eyes, and then we’re on the move again, rushing through the dim aisles. The cart slows from time to time as Sammi jumps down to snatch something off a shelf or to get another running start.
We’re careening through the store at a dizzying speed, with the others running after us. No one is faster than Sammi and her cart, though, and before I know it we’re back in the snack-foods aisle.
“Ham! Dead ahead!” Sammi shouts, jumping off the cart to swerve around the big roast still on the floor. The cart goes wild and slams into the bottom shelf, sending half a dozen or so family-size bags of chips to the floor. I get tossed from side to side in the process, but it’s not so bad. I’m still laughing.
Until Mr. Solomon appears at the other end of the aisle, Kris just behind him.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
Sammi skids to a stop, making the cart shimmy before it runs out of energy. “Nothing,” she says.
Solomon closes his eyes and rubs his temples. “Go back to the Break Room. I don’t want to see you out here again.”
“What a buzzkill,” Sammi mumbles to me.
My eyes prickle. This is humiliating.
Chapter 18
THINGS THAT ARE LESS AWKWARD THAN GETTING CAUGHT RIDING THROUGH THE STORE IN A SHOPPING CART IN FRONT OF YOUR (ANGRY) BOSSES
1. Newborn giraffes
2. Having your phone ring during a movie
3. Not remembering someone’s name, so you have to wait for someone else to come up and hope they introduce themselves so you don’t have to
4. Calling your teacher Mom
5. Being the only one in costume at a Halloween party
6. Sneezing on the casket at a funeral
7. Walruses on land
8. Walking in flippers
9. Opening a bathroom stall door when someone is already in it
10. Leaning in to hug someone who didn’t mean to hug you
The cart squeaks rhythmically as we roll past Mr. Solomon. I try to stare straight ahead, but it’s like I’m a magnet and he’s a giant refrigerator. Just past his shoulder I meet Kris’s eyes. He looks tired, and annoyed.
This is quite possibly the most awkward moment of my life.
“Miss Novak, I trust you are feeling better?” Solomon says, strolling after us.
I nod, my fingers curling reflexively around the little deli pouch of turkey in the bottom of the cart. The others shuffle by, doing a much better job of avoiding eye contact than I did. But there’s still plenty of awkwardness ahead when Sammi steers the cart past the Self Checkout lanes, and then I have to get out while Solomon continues to stare at us.
When I stand on shaky legs in the unstable cart, it’s clear I’m not going to be able to do this myself. I’m about to lower myself back down for another attempt when Gabe wraps an arm around my waist and scoops me out without even straining himself.
“Be careful!” Tyson cautions, taking me by both arms when I’m on my feet again. “You all right?”
I flush at the attention. “Fine.”
Solomon looks at Micah. “Why are you carrying a ham?”
“It’s Chloe’s.” He rotates it to show the sticker with my name on it. “See?”
Now Solomon looks back at me. “Is it really yours?”
“My mother ordered it.” My voice wavers a bit. “For Christmas dinner.”
“I see.” His eyes shift to the various items in our cart and in the others’ hands. “And did your mother order Mountain Dew as well?”
“No, sir.”
“You do remember you’re here because of stealing, correct?”
“I offered to buy them all a snack,” Kris says out of the blue.
I steal a glance at Sammi, but she won’t look back at me. She didn’t say anything about Kris paying before.
“They’re hungry, Gene.” Kris steps forward, reaching back for his wallet. “It’s been a long day. And Chloe was in pretty rough shape.”
I’m still not in great shape, I want to say. My legs feel like cooked spaghetti under me and I’m glad Tyson is holding on to one of my arms.
Mr. Solomon has the grace to look a bit ashamed. “Of course.”
“Here.” Kris opens his wallet and extracts some money. “What do you think? Will forty cover it?”
“Twenty,” Micah says. “The ham is prepaid.”
For some reason that strikes the rest of us funny and I have to suck my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing. Sammi and Gabe aren’t as successful, while Micah looks bewildered and Tyson smothers his laugh in a cough. Zaina manages to keep her eyes focused on the bosses with only the tilted corner of her mouth revealing her amusement.
Kris catches my eye and winks as he hands over the twenty. One of the knots in my stomach uncoils. He’s not that mad.
Part of me expects Mr. Solomon to turn down the money. After all, he’s the one holding a bunch of kids hostage in a grocery store. The least he can do is spare a few gummy bears and some soda. But he takes the twenty and pulls a money clip from his pocket. I watch him add the stiff bill to the outside of a fairly substantial stack of cash, and for the
first time I wonder if he might have stolen the money himself.
Immediately, I dismiss the idea. Why bother accusing us when he could easily get away with it without even drawing any attention to the fact it was missing?
“I’d like you all to remain in the Break Room until the police get here.”
“What if—” Sammi starts, but Gabe puts his arm around her shoulders and covers her mouth with his hand.
“Never mind,” he says, shuffling toward the door so Sammi has no choice but to move along with him.
We scurry inside. Gabe doesn’t release Sammi until the door is closed, and then she pulls away from him like an angry cat. “Don’t you ever do that again!” she snaps.
“I was trying to spare us all a little unnecessary drama.”
“I had a question!” she says.
He doesn’t speak, but cocks his head and waits. After a moment she breaks eye contact.
“Fine. But don’t ever do that again, or I will hurt you. Do you understand?”
“Yes. You’re very big and scary.” He rolls his eyes.
Her face goes dark for a flash, but she seems to think better of whatever she was planning to say or do. She rocks back and says, “Damn straight.”
Tyson says, “Can we eat already?” and then everyone is moving toward one of the tables. We lay out everything we’ve got and the feasting begins.
I stick with my turkey at first, knowing I need it, even though there are so many other things I’d rather have. There’s hardly any talking for a bit as we chow down. Watching the others dig into the M&M cookies from the Bakery section has me sorely tempted to take one for myself, but I know I can’t. The two packets of sugar already in my system are going to put my insulin to the test as it is. They don’t need to see me shoot up into ketoacidosis after nearly passing out from low blood sugar.
“We should have gotten some French onion dip and potato chips,” Gabe says around a mouthful of something.
“Next time we get locked up in the grocery store, we’ll start with that,” Sammi says.
As the food starts working its magic on my body, I realize how foggy my brain has been for a while now. The shakes and sweating stop, the pounding in my head is gone, and I feel in command of myself once more. It’s a good feeling.
