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.A soft, classic pink for Tonia and a deep magenta for Jamie.As I go over these choices I notice that a man has appeared behind me.He is looking over a display of fishing tackle boxes.I’ve already managed to slip the two lipsticks into my pocket, but I have yet to take the nail polishes that match.I risk a glance at the man.He is in his midthirties, plainly dressed, expressionless.Maybe he is just a customer, I think.But something in my gut tells me otherwise.I briefly consider leaving, forgetting about the nail polishes for now.But then I think about Tonia and how much I want to be friends again.Suddenly the most brilliant idea occurs to me.I’ll just keep them in my hand and walk over to another section, like I’m still browsing.I mean, that’s what I would do if I was going to buy them, right?I do just that, and in the toy section, after taking a quick look around to make sure no one is watching me, I stuff the nail polishes into my pocket.Thwack.Thwack.Done.Perfect.My heart is racing nonetheless and I know it’s time for me to get out.At the front of the store I walk casually through an empty checkout line and am within feet of the doors when someone steps in front of me.It’s the man.Excuse me, I say, trying to make my way around him.He doesn’t move.I realize that he’s blocking my way on purpose.What happened to those bottles of nail polish you had?My cheeks burn.My heart explodes into tiny pieces and scatters across the linoleum.The bottles of nail polish in my pocket grow to enormous proportions, sucking all the air out of the store.I left them in a different aisle, I stammer.I decided not to buy them.Show me, he says.Slowly I lead him back to the toy aisle where I had so confidently put the little bottles into my pocket.I point to a shelf.I left them here, I say, shrugging.There is a moment in which I think he almost believes me, but then I see a glint in his eye.He has been waiting all day for this.Empty your pockets, he says.WHEN MY PARENTS ARRIVE, I am sitting in the manager’s office, the two bottles of nail polish and their perfectly matched lipsticks lined up in a neat row in plain view on the manager’s desk.My mother immediately begins to cry.The manager tells all of us that he could have called the cops but didn’t.My parents nod and thank him.I stare at the floor.Then he says that I’m not allowed to enter the Kmart without parental supervision.I burn with shame.After that it seems like hours before we all walk out of the store, but the whole affair really only takes about twenty minutes.My parents’ reaction is more extreme than I imagined it would be.They close the restaurant early and the three of us get in the Volvo to go home.The drive is painfully quiet.My mother sniffles here and there in the front passenger seat and my father keeps both hands on the wheel.At home my mother gently tells me to go to my room, which I do.I sit on the edge of my bed, with the door closed, my backpack still hooked over one shoulder, unsure of what to do with myself.I feel miserable.Heavy and undeserving.I drop my bag on the floor and curl into the pillows, crying.Later that night, at dinner, my parents try to talk to me about it.We are sitting at the glass Eames table in the kitchen.Beyond the bay windows the backyard is a large square of green that promptly drops off into the bay.The sun is setting and two fat pelicans sit out on the end of the dock, carefully watching for their dinner.This is my fault, my mother says.Her food sits untouched in front her.Is it Florida? Do you hate it here?I am silent.I keep wondering what would have happened if I had just put the nail polishes down and walked out.Gerry, my mom asks my dad, do you think it’s the school system? I know the schools were better in Atlanta, but maybe Bruner is worse than we thought.My father is silent.Honey—she turns back to me again—is it your dad? Are you scared?I groan inwardly.I knew she was going to bring up the cancer.He’s going to be fine, she says, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.She reaches across the table and takes my hand.Honey, look at me.I look up.My mother’s face is lined with worry, her perfect hair tucked behind her ears.It’s the restaurant, isn’t it? She sighs now, leaning back in her chair and covering her face with her hands [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.A soft, classic pink for Tonia and a deep magenta for Jamie.As I go over these choices I notice that a man has appeared behind me.He is looking over a display of fishing tackle boxes.I’ve already managed to slip the two lipsticks into my pocket, but I have yet to take the nail polishes that match.I risk a glance at the man.He is in his midthirties, plainly dressed, expressionless.Maybe he is just a customer, I think.But something in my gut tells me otherwise.I briefly consider leaving, forgetting about the nail polishes for now.But then I think about Tonia and how much I want to be friends again.Suddenly the most brilliant idea occurs to me.I’ll just keep them in my hand and walk over to another section, like I’m still browsing.I mean, that’s what I would do if I was going to buy them, right?I do just that, and in the toy section, after taking a quick look around to make sure no one is watching me, I stuff the nail polishes into my pocket.Thwack.Thwack.Done.Perfect.My heart is racing nonetheless and I know it’s time for me to get out.At the front of the store I walk casually through an empty checkout line and am within feet of the doors when someone steps in front of me.It’s the man.Excuse me, I say, trying to make my way around him.He doesn’t move.I realize that he’s blocking my way on purpose.What happened to those bottles of nail polish you had?My cheeks burn.My heart explodes into tiny pieces and scatters across the linoleum.The bottles of nail polish in my pocket grow to enormous proportions, sucking all the air out of the store.I left them in a different aisle, I stammer.I decided not to buy them.Show me, he says.Slowly I lead him back to the toy aisle where I had so confidently put the little bottles into my pocket.I point to a shelf.I left them here, I say, shrugging.There is a moment in which I think he almost believes me, but then I see a glint in his eye.He has been waiting all day for this.Empty your pockets, he says.WHEN MY PARENTS ARRIVE, I am sitting in the manager’s office, the two bottles of nail polish and their perfectly matched lipsticks lined up in a neat row in plain view on the manager’s desk.My mother immediately begins to cry.The manager tells all of us that he could have called the cops but didn’t.My parents nod and thank him.I stare at the floor.Then he says that I’m not allowed to enter the Kmart without parental supervision.I burn with shame.After that it seems like hours before we all walk out of the store, but the whole affair really only takes about twenty minutes.My parents’ reaction is more extreme than I imagined it would be.They close the restaurant early and the three of us get in the Volvo to go home.The drive is painfully quiet.My mother sniffles here and there in the front passenger seat and my father keeps both hands on the wheel.At home my mother gently tells me to go to my room, which I do.I sit on the edge of my bed, with the door closed, my backpack still hooked over one shoulder, unsure of what to do with myself.I feel miserable.Heavy and undeserving.I drop my bag on the floor and curl into the pillows, crying.Later that night, at dinner, my parents try to talk to me about it.We are sitting at the glass Eames table in the kitchen.Beyond the bay windows the backyard is a large square of green that promptly drops off into the bay.The sun is setting and two fat pelicans sit out on the end of the dock, carefully watching for their dinner.This is my fault, my mother says.Her food sits untouched in front her.Is it Florida? Do you hate it here?I am silent.I keep wondering what would have happened if I had just put the nail polishes down and walked out.Gerry, my mom asks my dad, do you think it’s the school system? I know the schools were better in Atlanta, but maybe Bruner is worse than we thought.My father is silent.Honey—she turns back to me again—is it your dad? Are you scared?I groan inwardly.I knew she was going to bring up the cancer.He’s going to be fine, she says, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.She reaches across the table and takes my hand.Honey, look at me.I look up.My mother’s face is lined with worry, her perfect hair tucked behind her ears.It’s the restaurant, isn’t it? She sighs now, leaning back in her chair and covering her face with her hands [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]