Page 9 of Rise
“Perfect!” I say quickly, scooping up three chocolate chip and two blueberry muffins and heading back to him. “Here you go,” I tell him, and slap twenty-five dollars down onto the counter beside the cash register. This boy seems so unsure of himself, he might change his mind anytime. And to be honest, I’ve spent enough energy on five damned muffins. What I need to do is get a move on. “Isthat enough cash for everything?” I ask.
He drags his eyes away from my cleavage long enough to put all my things in a plastic bag and ring up my purchase, then he nods, still not making eye contact. “Yes, Miss. It’s twenty-three seventy-eight for everything.”
I give him a gleaming smile. “Great. Just keep the change,” I tell him. “Enjoy your day.”
Taking the things I bought,I retreat into the farthest of two private restrooms at the side of the gas station, and I lock myself inside.
Within an hour of slipping out of my hiding spot in the tow truck, I emerge from the restroom with my stolen cash and a plastic bag containing the last of the wet wipes and my four remaining muffins.
I’m pretty fucking pleased with myself.
Because I look like someoneelse.
For starters, my face, arms, legs and everywhere I could reach on my body are clean, or at least a hell of a lot cleaner than before, after washing up with liquid soap from the restroom dispenser and scrubbing off weeks of grime with the wet wipes. Then there’s my hair. It’s now the warm shade of red promised on the box of hair dye, and it doesn’t look too awful. I promise myselfthat all this hair will be cut nice and short as soon as I have a bit more time to chop it off somewhere way more private, like wherever I’ll sleep tonight. The scarf I’ve tied over my thick mane now covers most of my head, and the oversized frame and lenses of my sunglasses hide most of my face. Together, from the neck up, the two accessories give me a look like I’m a spoiled valley girl about tostep into some rich, handsome guy’s luxury convertible for a long, romantic drive down a seaside highway. Of course, the hooded touristy sweatshirt balances it all out, adding some substance to the idea that I’m not a local.
I have a fighting chance of making it through today, and hopefully, if all goes well, this town will be far behind me.
To be sure I’m in the clear, I peek aroundthe corner of the building, looking to see who’s pumping gas or parked out front. I release a long sigh at the sight of a mostly empty front lot.
No familiar cars.
No tow truck.
No one.
But as I walk past the front of the concession store, the door opens outward. I stop sharply and hold my breath, mentally kicking myself for not being cautious. I should’ve checked theother side of the building, or at the very minimum, looked inside to see if anyone was there. As I scold myself inwardly for potentially allowing myself to be seen, and worse, to be somewhat cornered, a smiling middle-aged brunette about a foot taller than me and dressed all in denim steps out, unknowingly blocking my path.
Shit.
Fear starts to take hold of my body again, sendingstiff tension down my back.
All my instincts tell me to leave.
I want to run.
Anywhere.
Far away from here, I don’t care where.
Fast.
