by C. R. Jane
I go through my plan again in my mind for the hundredth time. The gun is filled with water... a toy gun. But it will do the trick. Please God let it work.
The first time my friend Cody pointed it at me, I screamed. It sure as hell looks like a real handgun. The toy mirrors a Glock G43. I have no idea what the number means, but it’s black and looks real. That’s what matters.
Hopefully the store clerk will think the same. And then when inevitably the police pick me up, maybe they will take it easier on me since it isn’t a real gun. At least that’s my hope, but I know I’m just fooling myself. I have to lie to myself, or I’ll never go through with this.
I need the money.
I need it despite the fact that I’ve always been a good girl, the type of girl who never walks outside the lines or does anything unexpected.
Until now.
Robbing a 7-11 is definitely going to yank that title from me fast. And if that is the worse it does, I’ll take it.
Sweat is rolling down my back now. It slides under the waistband of my jeans and beneath the elastic of my underwear. Why is it so hot in here?
I think again of the other night when I walked into the kitchen at midnight and found mom crying over a stack of bills. Dad withers away in their dark bedroom, too weak to come out, and too proud to ask for help from anyone.
There’s a surgery that can help him, a surgery that can fix my family. But we need money for it.
I hated the word.
Need.
Just as much as I loathe the cancer slowly taking my dad from me.
My throat chokes, and I struggle to breath. I glance around, finding the sliding door as the young couple leave.
Escape.
It’s there for me. But it won’t help my family.
I work two jobs after school and save every penny. But $8.00 an hour doesn’t add up fast. I often talk to mom about maybe dropping out of school for a little bit, but she won’t listen to me, and threatens to make me quit my other jobs if I even mention it again. My mother and I both work as much as possible, but it’s never going to be enough. Or at least it’s never going to be enough in time to actually save my dad.
Another review of the store reveals three people wandering around the aisles, and this will be the best I can hope for. I swallow past a dry throat, my finger twitching on the gun handle, and I meander toward the only working cash register. The guard is at lunch, and I see no cameras. This is the right time, but hesitation slows me.
Dad. I have to think of him. Losing him isn’t an option, and the doctors say with the right amount of money, he stands a damn good chance to heal.
I want that chance, so with squared shoulders, I march closer to the young girl picking at her nails behind the register. She’s wearing her blue hair in a high ponytail and she has a small piercing in her nose.
My thoughts tangle into a web while fear squeezes my chest. What if I get caught? Mom and Dad will be horrified.
Shaking my head, I push that thought out of my mind. I can’t let those thoughts creep in, or they’ll cripple me. It took me three weeks to work up the courage to finally take action.
So, I have to do this.
I need this.
Fuck.
I lick my dry lips and approach the young girl. She looks up at me, disinterested, and my attention falls to her name tag.
Mary Sue.
I almost laugh out loud at the simpleness of her name, the cliché of it, but she distracts me.
“What do you have?” She eyes me up and down, seeing no groceries in my hand.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, and I will my hand to move. To pull out that damn gun. Sweat rolls down my neck.
“If you’re gonna order cigarettes, I need to see an ID.” She folds her arms across her chest.
My free hand juts out and I grab a handful of gum from a rack of candy, then dump them on the counter. Six packets. She starts scanning them, and I inch the gun out from under my coat, the words of what I‘ll say roll through my mind.
Stick’em up.
Stupid. So stupid. She won’t take me seriously. What am I thinking?
I hold the gun low between me and the counter. I’m inches from showing her the weapon. I can do this; I keep repeating in my mind.
“Want a bag with these?” she barks, and I flinch so hard, I hit the gun’s trigger and it squirts water across the bottom section of the counter near my feet. A light hiss sounds.
Shit!
“Yes, yes,” I say, hoping she didn’t hear the noise.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Really? You want a whole bag for six packets of gum. What about saving the environment?”
I flick my gaze up. “Then why did you ask? And yes, I want the bag.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs as she leans over to grab one.
I lift the gun, placing it just over the counter, pointing it at Mary Sue, my body concealing the weapon should anyone behind me come to the register.
I can barely breathe when the front doorbell chimes. From the corner of my eye, I spot the navy uniform, the hulking form of the guard.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I shove the gun back into my coat and retreat from the counter, lowering my head.
“Hey, ma’am,” Mary Sue calls out. “You forgot your six gums in a bag?” she says sarcastically.
The guard stands in my way in front of the glass door, and I freeze, about to fall apart. When I glance up, he studies me.
“You okay, Miss?”
“Y...yeah, of course.” My voice trembles, and I sidestep him, sliding through the door. The bell gives another ring as I pass, startling me. The cool air does nothing to cool me down, not when my heart pounds inside me, and my mind screams the word run in my head.
A quick look behind me shows that the guard and girl are staring at me through the window. I’m sure they think I stole something. I turn away and walk fast down the sidewalk. The moment I take the corner, I run, still holding the gun under my coat. Over my shoulder, no one follows. I did nothing wrong, but still I can’t stop sprinting past people meandering on the sidewalk. A man in a suit bumps into me, but I keep going without apology.
I berate myself as I run for chickening out, for failing. I won’t be able to return to that 7-11 again, they’ll remember me next time for sure because of my odd behavior.
I made a mess of everything today. I’ll have to start again, find another location with no guard. I can’t stop, not until I find a way to get money for Dad’s surgery.
Finally, I slip into a quiet alley and press my back to a brick wall, gasping for air.
“Idiot,” I mumble under my breath. If I moved faster, I’d now have a bag of cash. I rack my brain for the best store to steal from. Maybe I should have come up with a backup plan before this like in the movies. On those shows, they make it seem so easy, their plans go off without a hitch. In real life, I just suck and fail at everything.
I contemplate the locations I can try next, which ones would be potential hot spots. The bakery is quiet after the morning rush, except the owner stays in the back, so he might easily see me. The bookstore is always empty, there are rumors that its going out of business which means they won’t have a lot of cash on hand. I need one big hit, not small ones.
Then I remember the new pawn store. I shove the gun into the big pocket of my coat and take a deep inhale before stepping out of the alley.
Several blocks later, I stand outside the pawn store, studying the window filled with men’s wrist watches and used cell phones.
Someone walks into me, hitting me so hard that I fall against the window, and spin around. “Hey!”
“Watch out,” a young kid snipes at me as he rushes by.
“I was standing still,” I call out, annoyed.
I really must be invisible as this type of thing happens more often than not.
I head inside the store. The walls are full of merchandise, and it smells like worn socks. An L-shaped glass counter sits agains
t the back wall, and there are three assistants present, but no registers. I observe a customer paying for her merchandise by handing over money to a sales clerk who heads out past a shut door. He uses a card around his neck to open the door. This is a lot more complicated than the register at the convenience store.
A sales guy strolls toward me with a smile. I turn and head outside, putting quick distance between me and the store. That place is not going to work, so I keep walking, not ready to return home and face my parents. Not that they’ll know what I’m doing but the hurt in their eyes, the hope to keep fighting will eat me up because I failed my mission.
It’s not long before I find myself in front of Nico’s Cafe, the local chain coffee shop, and the aroma of coffee draws me inside. I pluck out a freebie card from my wallet in my back pocket. They handed these out a few weeks ago.
I order myself a skim latte with vanilla syrup. With it in hand, I slide into a small booth and enjoy the small luxury of a hot brew in my hands and the tranquil sound of a soft song overhead.
A loud, sharp laugh shatters the peace, and I turn towards the sound.
I spot them and cringe. Two girls in miniskirts followed by three guys mock punching each other, strolling in my direction.
My stomach drops, and I slide in my seat, keeping my head low. Last time I bumped into Alexia, the blonde with legs for miles, she shoved me aside muttering about someone daring to be in her way.
I don’t need snobby shitheads like them making this day even worse.
Their laughter makes me groan on the inside.
“Alexia is such a bae. I love her,” Talia, the other girl says, and they both giggle, while I sip my coffee, wondering how I can slip past them without being seen. I’m so low in the social hierarchy at school, you would think they wouldn’t even notice me. Too bad that hasn’t stopped them from being assholes towards me when they get the chance.
Swallowing my last mouthful of sweet coffee, I grow tired of listening to their drivel.
“Did you see what that bitch, Olivia posted about you online?” Alexa asks, venom lining her voice. “We’ll make her regret it tomorrow.”
Talia snorts and the guys laugh in response. “She’s pissed because she didn’t get accepted in to Raven Academy. They rejected her fat ass.” Talia breaks out in an unattractive, high pitched laugh, her friends joining her like baying hyenas, laughing at someone else’s misery.
Raven Academy.
That sounds like something familiar… maybe it’s a school for Edgar Allan Poe lovers? Or it could be a morgue. I type it into the search bar on my phone but find nothing. Was it a new term kind of like the “mile high club”?
“Heard the place’s a hole,” one of the guys says. “The school is run down and only weirdos go there. My Dad knows someone that sent his kid there.”
“I heard it’s a cult,” Alexia replies. “Pretty sure they pray to Satan or something else creepy like that.”
“No, they don’t,” Talia giggles. “Or it would be in the news for sure.”
“Unless they control the media,” she whispers, in a menacing voice. “Haven’t you seen those conspiracy shows I told you to watch about those organizations like the Illuminati? All kinds of shit is real.”
I roll my eyes but remain glued to their conversation. I ought to make my way out of the cafe, but I can’t. Something about the name “Raven Academy” intrigues me. Not much happens in our town, well unless you count Mr. Chamberlain’s death. He drank straight vinegar instead of apple cider vinegar for a new diet craze, and it burned his insides.
“Bet it’s just a snooty Academy for the rich. And Olivia wasn’t rich enough,” another guy adds.
That definitely sounds more realistic, and I suspect that’s why I haven’t heard of the school. Out of my league.
My phone pings with a message.
Your dad isn’t doing too well. You coming home soon? LOL
I type a response hastily to Mom.
Do you know what LOL means?
Two seconds later, her message flashes on my screen.
Love you lots.
I sigh and start typing when a shadow falls over me.
“Ghost girl.” Alexia snaps. “Stop eavesdropping. Don’t you have some other corner to lurk in?”
I jerk my head up, gritting my teeth, meeting her wry smirk. She glares down at me over the booth wall between us.
Breathing through my nostrils loudly, I grip my phone, refusing to engage, to give them fuel, to do anything with them.
Talia’s head pops up alongside Alexia, her tight short curls bouncing around her head, making her look like a doll with a head too big for her body.
“What are you typing?” she asks.
“Shopping list,” I lie and lower my head, unwilling to meet their eyes. Maybe they’ll leave me alone. I tuck my phone into my pocket, already shuffling out of the booth in the opposite direction.
Alexia climbs to her feet and rounds my booth, standing there with her hands on her hips, staring at me. She hates me. Detests me. It’s on her face. And I know why… three months ago one of her exes was stupid enough to ask me to the school dance. I put it down to him mocking me, and I turned him down. But that gave her enough ammunition to make me her enemy for life.
“He never liked you,” she snarls, her upper lip curling. Her words are wicked and vicious.
“Told you before. He’s not my type.”
I stand from the booth and start toward the exit, ready to escape. It’s what I’m good at, running, just like my failed robbery at the 7-11. The thought sinks through me, dampening my spirits even more. I brush my hands down my coat.
“What the hell are you wearing?” she curses at me, eyeing me up and down, scrunching her perfectly sculpted eyebrows as if my outfit offends her.
I lower my gaze and take a wide berth around her, but she snatches my arm, squeezing, her bony fingers feel like an iron grip.
“No one would ever be interested in a loser like you.” Her fingernails press into the fabric, into my flesh, but I don’t show the pain. I bite my lip so I can’t make a sound.
I’ve mastered masking agony from when I keep Mom company as she cries, when I sit by Dad’s bed when he’s too tired to speak, when Alexia and the other girls attack me for no reason other than I exist. But after my day today, a fiery rage surges through me, and I find my voice.
Meeting her gaze, I spit the words and wrench my arm free, “Haven’t you grown tired of this game yet? It’s starting to bore me.”
“Oh, so ghost girl has a backbone,” Talia laughs the words, drawing attention from a few bystanders in the café.
Alexia takes another step closer, her face reddening.
I stand my ground, no matter how much my mind screams to turn and run. To leave because nothing good can come of this. My time is better spent elsewhere, and Mom is waiting for me. Dad isn’t well.
Everyone’s silent. I turn away when she grabs my hair and yanks me backward. Ow! I wince and reach for my head while others in the store gasp.
Someone is marching toward us.
Alexia is in my ear. “Do you think someone like you can threaten me?” She shoves her hand in to my shoulder, and I stumble, rubbing the soreness spreading across my scalp, my heart racing. I’m pretty sure she pulled out a chunk of my hair.
The store manager is there all of a sudden, shoulders squared, towering over us. “Take it outside before I call the police.”
I glare at Alexia, my cheeks on fire, tears in my eyes, and I fist my hands.
Nico, the owner appears next, stepping in front of me. “Go home, Adeline.” He knows me, knows my parents, knows we’re struggling. And I hate that because I don’t want pity now or ever.
“I’ll see you at school,” Alexia snarls before whirling around and rejoining her friends.
So many eyes are on me, and I feel the weight of their stares pinning me down. Their stares mix with the feeling of failure, the feeling of dread that is always with me.
/> I turn around and run out of the store. Only the sound of laughter follows me.
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Other Books by C.R. Jane
The Fated Wings Series
First Impressions
Forgotten Specters
The Fallen One (a Fated Wings Novella)
Forbidden Queens
Frightful Beginnings (a Fated Wings Short Story)
Faded Realms
Faithless Dreams
The Rock God (a Fated Wings Novella)
The Timeless Affection Series
Lamented Pasts
Lost Passions
The Pack Queen Series
Queen of the Thieves
Queen of the Alphas (2019)
Broken Souls Series
School of Broken Souls
School of Broken Hearts
The Rise Again Series
The Day After Nothing (2019)
The Sounds of Us Contemporary Series
Remember Us This Way
Remember You This Way
Remember Me This Way (2019)
Fallen World Series Co-write with Mila Young
Bound
Broken
Betrayed
Join Mila Young’s Wicked Readers
Mila Young tackles everything with the zeal and bravado of the fairytale heroes she grew up reading about. She slays monsters, real and imaginary, like there's no tomorrow. By day she rocks a keyboard as a marketing extraordinaire. At night she battles with her might pen-sword, creating fairytale retellings, and sexy ever after tales. In her spare time, she loves pretending she's a mighty warrior, walks on the beach with her dogs, cuddling up with her cats, and devouring every fantasy tale she can get her pinkies on.