Page 9 of Don't Watch Alone
Mary’s already there. “Hey!” she says.
“Please tell me Greg’s not working today,” I say, fingers crossed behind my back like a kid at confession.
“Nope,” she says. “He’s out with family or something.”
“Radical,” I breathe. No Greg means no lectures, no hovering, no weird power-tripping. Just music, folding shirts, and maybe sneaking off to try on something new when it slows down.
I’m sorting the latest batch of jean jackets, the denim rough against my fingers in a way that feels almost soothing after the chaos of the lunch crowd. The soft beat of pop plays overhead, just loud enough to fill the silence without overwhelming it.
“Ma’am, can you help me?”
The voice is young, a little unsure, but cuts clean through the music.
I turn to see a girl—petite, wide-eyed, her auburn hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders.
“Of course,” I say. “What do you need?”
“I suck at picking out clothes. But I saw what you’re wearing, and it’s, like, really rad… so I thought maybe you could help me put something together?”
“Totally.”
“I’m Janice, by the way.”
“Blaiz,” I say, reaching out and shaking her hand.
“I have a date tonight. With a new guy. And I want to look totally bitchin’.”
That makes me laugh. “Let’s get you set up, then.”
We head over to the rack of high-waisted jeans—can’t go wrong with those. I pull out a dark wash pair with strong seams and a solid structure. “What about these?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes! I love those.” She snatches them from my hands like they might vanish.
Next stop: blouses. The rack is a riot of shoulder pads, sequins, and bold colors. I hold up a bright red one, the pads giving it that sharp, confident edge. “This one?”
“Ooooh, yes. That’s the one.”
She clutches the outfit and glances around. “Where are the dressing rooms?”
I point her to the back, already spinning through accessories in my mind. Maybe a chunky gold necklace, some plastic bracelets, something loud enough to match her vibe.
I’m reaching for a scarf when I feel it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched. I look up, and there he is.
The guy from yesterday.
He walks through the entrance like he owns the air in the place, his eyes scanning everything around him.
“Welcome to Electric Avenue,” Mary chirps, cheerful as always, from behind the counter.
He says nothing. Doesn’t even look at her. Just stands there, breathing slow.
I make a beeline for Mary, gripping her arm. “That’s him. The guy I told you about yesterday, when you were at lunch.”
Her face shifts fast, like a record scratch. “Oh… the creepy one?”
Before I can say more, Janice calls out from the back. “Blaiz? Can you help me for a sec?”
I leave Mary and walk back to the dressing rooms. “What’s up?”
