When No One Is Watching(55)

“You like kombucha?” Theo asks. “It tastes like vinegar.”

I ignore him and place the bottle on the counter. My skin is crawling. There’s no lotto machine, no people standing around fantasizing about what they’ll do with their Mega Millions when they win. No bins of cheap candy. No character.

No Abdul.

The panic starts to thrum in my chest again.

“That isn’t covered by WIC,” Tony says nicely as he scans my drink. I’m starting to understand that this is the same way Josie says nice things on OurHood posts. It’s a thin veneer that if scratched away would reveal some shit I’m definitely not in a state to handle right now.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with WIC or forties, but is there any reason you’re making assumptions about my drinking habits or financial status?”

He shrugs. Smirks. Rings up the drink, which costs five damn dollars. “Just being helpful. And making sure people understand what kind of establishment this is now.”

When I pull out a twenty to pay, he makes a big show of taking out the counterfeit money tester and running the marker over it, holding it up to the light and scrutinizing it. I almost walk out but I need my money back.

He finally hands me my change, except it’s a five-dollar bill instead of a ten and a five.

“I gave you a twenty,” I say. “You stared at it long enough, you should know that.”

My politeness reserves are gone, depleted by trying to restrain my nerves, which are stretched to the breaking point.

Tony looks befuddled. “Did you? I don’t think so.”

“I. Did.”

“She did,” Theo says from beside me. “Come on, man. Give her the money.”

“Or . . . what?” Tony asks with a smile, leaning on the counter like some old drawing of a kindly neighborhood grocer.

“What?” Theo asks, the sudden bass in his voice surprising me.

“If I say she gave me a ten, who could prove otherwise?”

Tony’s voice and expression haven’t changed at all, and there’s something dangerous about him now precisely because of that.

“Let’s just go,” I say, plucking at Theo’s shirt.

“No.” When I look at Theo he is tight. “Give her the money. Just be cool and give her the money, man.”

Tony looks down at us in amusement.

“Someone needs to make a purchase in order for the drawer to open again,” Tony lies calmly.

Theo pulls out two crumpled dollar bills and throws them on the counter, then picks up a severely overpriced peanut butter cup. “I’ll take this.”

“Sure thing.” Tony takes the money, flattens each bill out, then rings up the purchase. He seems to debate a second before handing my ten dollars to Theo. “Sorry about the confusion. It’s hard putting things in order when you’re getting settled in.”

He doesn’t even look at me again. I turn and storm out of the store and hear Theo following close behind. He catches up in a few steps. “You forgot your carbonated vinegar and your money.”

I whirl on him and snatch both from his hands.

“What the fuck?”

“Whoa. I think you mean ‘Thanks for getting my money back.’”

“No! I said we should leave, and you went full white dude who doesn’t want to be told no!” I feel so dumb, yelling at him with tears in my eyes when he just helped me.

Ungrateful. Needy.

“So, we should have just let him steal your money? What was I supposed to do?”

I squeeze my eyes closed and my mouth shut and try to force back the rage that wants to explode out of every orifice because he’s right. When the feeling subsides, I say, “Yes. I was going to let him just steal my money. Because I did the mental math on how much time and energy I’d waste dealing with his bullshit, and that’s before factoring in what happens if the police show up. I’m tired, okay? I—”

I stop myself. I can’t tell him. I’d pegged him right when he walked into Mr. Perkins’s place. He was a strange white man, not my friend. I’m not sure I even have friends anymore.

Drea is typing . . . flashes in my head and I fight the urge to scream again.

“Look. Thank you. But I need to go home now.” The words feel like dust in my mouth.

“Sydney.” He looks like he wants to apologize, but I shake my head.

“You’re relieved of duty, research intern.”

“Wait, what? Like, for today or forever?”

I ignore him and he’s smart enough not to follow me.

When I get to the house I ignore the new batch of bills that’ve arrived, the new pile of cards promising quick cash if you just pull up your roots and leave everything you know. I put the kombucha in the fridge, grab a cigarette from the pack on the table, and pry open the door that leads to the backyard.

The heat-swollen wood resists until I tug so hard that I stumble back, cracking one of my nails in the process. Toby starts barking through the wooden fence, startling me, and for some reason that’s what causes the tears to start in earnest this time. I plop down on the back step, glad that most of the yard is paved over because the part that isn’t has thigh-high weeds that I’ll have to deal with sooner or later.

The dozens and dozens of plant clippings I’ve been ignoring out here have mostly managed to survive, at least. Some things do that without always needing help. It’s pathetic as hell to be outdone by a cherry tomato bush.