front door, look around, go back inside when he didn’t see anyone.
Perry checked her phone. Still no answer. Two minutes had passed, but it felt like two weeks. Her legs started to ache, she could feel her heartbeat behind her knees. It’d be second period now, English class. She hadn’t read shit in the book they were studying. Still, she imagined herself in class, the sunlight coming through the windows all warm and friendly, her teacher waiting for answers instead of calling on people, Perry where she was supposed to be for once. Travis with his head down, taking notes. Travis.
She checked her phone again. Another two minutes gone, still nothing. Maybe there wasn’t no cell service in that store, way in the back. If that’s even where Baby Girl was. The parking lot was quiet. Every once in a while a car drove by, a rising sigh and then a hush. In the distance a siren was going, but it was so far away it was almost soothing. She shifted from a crouch to a sitting position, her butt on the hot asphalt of the parking lot, her legs filling with blood, a relief.
School was about a mile back, give or take. Her book bag was locked in Baby Girl’s car. Oh well. It wasn’t like she’d done any of her work anyway. Someone would let her borrow a pen and paper.
She was in the middle of texting Baby Girl Fuck this, see you at school when she realized the siren was getting closer, was practically on top of the drugstore. Right then it was all clear: Baby Girl had also fucked up, the cops were coming for her, would get Perry, too, if she didn’t get going. She stood up, her legs stiff, her right foot all pins and needles. The car was already there, was pulling in on the driver’s side of Baby Girl’s car. Perry crouched down again, even though she knew she’d been seen, had looked right into the passenger seat of the cop car and met the cop’s eyes, had looked long enough to see that the cop was a woman.
“Get that one, too,” she heard Mabel yell. “She came with the bald one and assaulted me with some merchandise.”
Perry stood, walked over to the lady cop. It felt good to walk after crouching for so long. And plus she knew that old lady cashier wouldn’t expect her to, would be expecting her to try to run. And she’d be damned if she’d let that old bitch feel such a triumph.
The lady cop had a paunch, her zipper almost bursting with it. Flat-chested. Needed to pluck her eyebrows. Her partner, a man, was walking over to Mabel. The lady cop held her hand out, took Perry by the elbow. Her fingers were cool and firm. She opened the back door to the squad car, said, “Have a seat.” Placed a gentle hand on the top of Perry’s head, shut the door with a click as soon as Perry was settled.
Perry watched her walk inside. Her pants were too tight, her ass the shape of a pear. Perry still had her cell phone. The cop’s hand on her head had been so gentle, so caring. She hadn’t wanted Perry to hit her head, hadn’t wanted her to feel that pain. Even though she deserved it, and at this thought Perry felt like she might cry, though no tears came, her throat revving and revving like a car with no gas.
JIM HAD HEARD the two delicate beeps of a text coming through, had been lying on the couch staring out the window, the TV on mute, a pretty Asian lady interviewing an old man in an apron the last time Jim cared to look. He rarely got texts. Myra didn’t enjoy it and work usually called, unless it was one of the younger guards, hungover, too sheepish to ask with their own voice if Jim could take a shift. It was his day off, a whole twenty-four hours of not being there. So it was either a guard asking for his mercy, or it was Perry. Either way, he didn’t want to know.
The man in the apron put a whole bag of spinach into a blender, topped that with an avalanche of fruit. The Asian woman’s mouth opened wide, a shocked smile, how clever! Outside Jim could see a line of sky above his neighbor’s trailer, had
Perry checked her phone. Still no answer. Two minutes had passed, but it felt like two weeks. Her legs started to ache, she could feel her heartbeat behind her knees. It’d be second period now, English class. She hadn’t read shit in the book they were studying. Still, she imagined herself in class, the sunlight coming through the windows all warm and friendly, her teacher waiting for answers instead of calling on people, Perry where she was supposed to be for once. Travis with his head down, taking notes. Travis.
She checked her phone again. Another two minutes gone, still nothing. Maybe there wasn’t no cell service in that store, way in the back. If that’s even where Baby Girl was. The parking lot was quiet. Every once in a while a car drove by, a rising sigh and then a hush. In the distance a siren was going, but it was so far away it was almost soothing. She shifted from a crouch to a sitting position, her butt on the hot asphalt of the parking lot, her legs filling with blood, a relief.
School was about a mile back, give or take. Her book bag was locked in Baby Girl’s car. Oh well. It wasn’t like she’d done any of her work anyway. Someone would let her borrow a pen and paper.
She was in the middle of texting Baby Girl Fuck this, see you at school when she realized the siren was getting closer, was practically on top of the drugstore. Right then it was all clear: Baby Girl had also fucked up, the cops were coming for her, would get Perry, too, if she didn’t get going. She stood up, her legs stiff, her right foot all pins and needles. The car was already there, was pulling in on the driver’s side of Baby Girl’s car. Perry crouched down again, even though she knew she’d been seen, had looked right into the passenger seat of the cop car and met the cop’s eyes, had looked long enough to see that the cop was a woman.
“Get that one, too,” she heard Mabel yell. “She came with the bald one and assaulted me with some merchandise.”
Perry stood, walked over to the lady cop. It felt good to walk after crouching for so long. And plus she knew that old lady cashier wouldn’t expect her to, would be expecting her to try to run. And she’d be damned if she’d let that old bitch feel such a triumph.
The lady cop had a paunch, her zipper almost bursting with it. Flat-chested. Needed to pluck her eyebrows. Her partner, a man, was walking over to Mabel. The lady cop held her hand out, took Perry by the elbow. Her fingers were cool and firm. She opened the back door to the squad car, said, “Have a seat.” Placed a gentle hand on the top of Perry’s head, shut the door with a click as soon as Perry was settled.
Perry watched her walk inside. Her pants were too tight, her ass the shape of a pear. Perry still had her cell phone. The cop’s hand on her head had been so gentle, so caring. She hadn’t wanted Perry to hit her head, hadn’t wanted her to feel that pain. Even though she deserved it, and at this thought Perry felt like she might cry, though no tears came, her throat revving and revving like a car with no gas.
JIM HAD HEARD the two delicate beeps of a text coming through, had been lying on the couch staring out the window, the TV on mute, a pretty Asian lady interviewing an old man in an apron the last time Jim cared to look. He rarely got texts. Myra didn’t enjoy it and work usually called, unless it was one of the younger guards, hungover, too sheepish to ask with their own voice if Jim could take a shift. It was his day off, a whole twenty-four hours of not being there. So it was either a guard asking for his mercy, or it was Perry. Either way, he didn’t want to know.
The man in the apron put a whole bag of spinach into a blender, topped that with an avalanche of fruit. The Asian woman’s mouth opened wide, a shocked smile, how clever! Outside Jim could see a line of sky above his neighbor’s trailer, had
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