Page 3 of Shy Girl
He and a group of three other friends had been known for living life on the edge with stupid stunts, and they chronicled all of it through the legendary C-tape. In fact, the ancient C-tape had once circulated past my eyes, and I’d gaped in shock that it had been real. The only way I’d been able to watch it was with an ancient VCR in the library. I’d walked by the back storage room while Jayson and a few other baseball team players laughed over one of the Merry Idiots skateboarding behind a truck while holding a rope.
The C-tape was the only physical proof of some of their idiotic ideas. Skiing down a church with a steep slope. Jumping off 100-foot cliffs. Skateboarding down steep, paved roads on longboards. They even put a ramp on the roof of the local bank and tried to snowboard off of it and onto a jump at the end.
Meanwhile, I’d been known for . . .
. . . nothing.
Certainlynotmy stutter, nor my mom’s reputation for crazy, both things for which I’d worked very hard to avoid repute. Anonymity was just what I’d wanted.
When the bell on the Frolicking Moose tinkled, I tucked those thoughts into the back of my mind, straightened up too fast, and my head whirled for a second. Once the dizzy feeling cleared, my gaze focused on a middle-aged woman as she advanced into the coffee shop. Her trembling hand wrapped around a small, black object that was pointed at me.
A mixture of uncertainty, confusion, and terror filled me like a flood of cold water. Was she carrying . . . was that . . . no. While my thoughts attempted to recover themselves, she’d crossed the room and stood a few steps away from the counter.
I blinked.
Yep.
Definitely a real gun.
A designer purse that gleamed with red sequins and gold trim hung from her other arm. Short heels cracked as they walked across the floor, as shiny and red as her purse. Her hair was tied away from her face in a once-elegant chignon that lost itself to tendrils around her face. My gaze darted up to cold, bloodshot eyes and my whirling thoughts fell utterly silent.
“Let’s make this easy,” she said breathlessly. “All I want is whatever cash you have in the register and a quiet exchange. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
For a split second, I thought of sayingno. What would my boss, Maverick, say? Shouldn’t I put up some kind of fight? But the urge passed out of me in a moment. No, I wasn’t about to go down for a coffee shop. Instead, I stared at the empty, round barrel that faced my direction and swallowed.
“O-o-okay.”
Her nostrils flared. The skin around her knuckles was white when she dropped the sequined purse on the counter with her other arm.
“Put it in there.”
I reached for the cash register’sno salebutton and pressed it. The drawer chugged out with a high-pitchedchingand I wondered if I could buy time. To do what? Fight her? Not happening. I hesitated as I looked at the empty slots in the drawer.
She straightened to peer inside the register, then frowned.
“That’s it?” she hissed.
My hands began to shake as I calmly reached for what few bills lay inside. $1 bills, two $10, and three $20 came out. I piled them together.
“Q-q-q-qu-i-i-iet n-n-night,” I managed to say. Under duress, my stutter became worse than ever. I didn’t have the ability to tell her Maverick cleared the till and took the money to the bank earlier today.
Her upper lip curled in disgust.
“Oh r-r-really?” she muttered in a grating, high-pitched voice meant to mock me. “Well that’s not enough!”
Her rising shout brought the rest of her hair tumbling around her shoulders. She lifted the gun a little higher so it felt like it pointed right between my eyes. I gulped, able to see the gaunt lines of her face now. At first glance, she appeared to be a striking woman. Now, the truth was so obvious. Too thin. Cracked lips. As if she tried to hold onto a former, healthy, more vibrant version of herself.
A drug addict, maybe?
“Where’s the rest?” she demanded.
“C-c-credit,” I said. “M-m-most people p-p-pay with cards.”
She scowled, then nodded to the purse with a quick jerk of her head. “Put it in.” I obeyed, then she motioned to the drawer again. “The coins too.”
I scrambled to get the coins out. They felt slippery, as if coated in butter. The promise of the gun sent my mind into a tailspin as I tried to collect the change. I just wanted her to leave. Didn’t want this to be real, or my final end. Getting shot in a coffee shop? How couldthatbe my life? No, I wasn’t this kind of person. I lived a quiet, gentle life. I would notbe part of some drug addict’s desperate attempt for money.
Just as I gathered the last of the quarters, the door cracked open behind her. The woman’s head whipped around in time to see Jayson re-enter. My heart lurched into my throat during the second that it took him to process the scene. Just as the woman canted her hips to swing the gun around to him, my hand shot out. The edge of my palm smacked her wrist and she let out a little cry.
