Page 38 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I groaned, avoiding that pair of blue eyes, and followed him.

The walk to the petrol station was surprisingly normal. No eldritch horrors. No supernatural disasters. Just me and my poor life choices.

The petrol station itself was dimly lit, mostly empty, and smelled like old coffee and bad decisions. The only other occupant was a grumpy-looking cashier who barely acknowledged us.

Ethan went straight for the vending machine. He inserted a coin, pressed the button, and—

Nothing.

His bag of chips refused to fall. Should have known the rickety thing was a con in disguise.

He stared at it like it had personally offended him.

"Uh," I said, "I think you—"

Ethan clenched his fist. Before I could even digest what he was about to do, he had already slammed the hell out of the machine.

Two bags of chips fell out.

One of them much more expensive than the one he had paid for.

I sighed. "Of course."

And then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

An alarm.

Because apparently, this petrol station took its snack security very seriously.

I turned to Ethan, horrified. "Did you just steal a bag of chips?!"

"It’s not stealing," Ethan said, already backing away. "It’s winning."

The doors slammed open, and in stomped the single angriest old man I had ever seen in my life. He was massive, built like a retired minotaur, and had a belly that jiggled with every step.

"WHO’S STEALIN’ FROM MY MACHINE?!" he roared.

"Sir—" I began, raising my hands. "We can explain!"

"YOU DARN KIDS!"

Ethan took one look at him—then at me—then back at the old man.

And ran.

I had approximately half a second to process that before the old man bellowed, "I’M CALLIN’ THE COPS!"

Which, for the record, was a completely disproportionate response to a vending machine malfunction.

I should have stayed and explained everything. I should have been the responsible one.

Instead, I panicked—and ran after Ethan.

So, there we were.

Two teenage boys, sprinting through the empty streets of a magical town at one in the morning, Ethan clutching a bag of chips like his life depended on it.

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