“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” A teenage boy with a red vest that said How can I help you? approached from one of the side aisles near the door and Evelyn grimaced. She’d nearly made it out; the automatic sliding doors were just inches from her orange and white Converse. When she didn’t answer the question, the guy spoke up again and Evelyn looked at him more closely. “What’s in your pocket?” he demanded past the stubble that made him look older than he was.
“Jake,” Evelyn said, grinning at him as sweetly as she could manage. “It’s great to see you again! It’s been a long time.”
Jake raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not recognizing her. Maybe it was because she’d exchanged a blue tutu for a black skull zip up, or maybe it was because dark purple lipstick painted her smile now, but Evelyn didn’t look like the kindergartner he’d known anymore than he looked like the second grader she had. Still, the name tag and the small town made it an easy bet.
“Do I know you?” he asked, a little less sure of himself. Evelyn continued smiling, now just pleased that she’d gotten away with it. It was that moment when someone turned over a new emotion that was almost invariably when she’d won.
“We went to school together. I was friends with Sarah until like third grade,” she explained, turning towards him and tossing her hair out of her face. “You’re not eating dirt clods now, I see,” she teased.
He blushed a little, but smiled too. “Nah, I gave that up. What’re you doing here? It’s been a long time, I thought you’d moved.”
Evelyn shrugged, the air of mystery less of a game than he probably realized. “A little of this, a little of that. Mom and dad got me in an out-of-state program, so I’m not around that much.”
“Ah, they finally got sick of you, eh?” He was joking. He had to be joking. The smile in his eyes told her he was joking. But she hated him then.
“Something like that,” she agreed through a tight jaw. Moving suddenly, she put her hand (her left one, as it was less prone to smoking) in her jacket pocket. “Oh, I’ve got to take this. I’ll see you ‘round!”
Without waiting for a reply, she dashed out the front doors and made a quick turn, leaving Jake behind. Instead of a cell phone, she fished for the Pop Tart she’d shoved in her pocket, still in its wrapper. The rest of the box was on the floor in aisle six, ripped open to expose the contents. She found a small round rock that she knew was Quaffle-colored without looking.
“It’s just a Pop Tart,” she growled to herself, forcing the bile down from her throat.
As she walked, though, she couldn’t bring herself to open it. She had no intentions of returning it at this point, but she also hated the idea of writing to Heinrich – or worse, seeing him – and having to explain how her summer went. She’d read about kleptomania, and suspected it was one of the “problematic behaviors” her social worker was so concerned about.
A man with a cardboard sign and a sad face asked her for money as she walked by, and she pulled out the silver wrapped treat instead, passing it to him without a word. The road wasn’t busy and she crossed the street towards her father’s house while the orange hand signal was still up.
“It’s just a Pop Tart,” the man shouted after her, anger in his voice that made Evelyn want to scream.
She bit back some choice responses and clenched her fist around the stone in her pocket. “But it’s not, though,” she murmured.