Chapter 6: Mission Cleared.
"You knew it was dangerous… You knew it was illegal. And you went to the trouble of making that," I pointed at the abandoned ID on the counter. "Yet you still did it. Why?"
'She said she was able to craft that ID card herself which leaves me wondering whether she's actually stupid or not.' The mental whiplash was severe.
The girl had the technical skill to forge a semi-convincing govt document but was using it for this?
'Either way, her being able to fabricate that on her own definitely ain't simple. The kid's basically a genius with a tragically misguided application of her skills.'
"What do you mean… they said they'd only be friends with me if I did it," she repeated, as if this logic was its own unassailable answer.
"Well that's dumb," I said, the bluntness making her blink. "You're telling me you committed a crime, or tried to, and almost risked going to juvie, getting a record that follows you forever… Just so you could make friends with people who issue friendship as a reward for doing dumb, illegal stuff?"
"Well when you put it that way…" The girl's eyes fell downwards, focusing on the scuffed toe tips of her sneakers.
A moment of silence passed, filled with the sound of the k-pop band in the background. I could see her turning the simple, brutal logic over in her mind.
"But you just don't understand… I need friends. If no one's my friend then…" As if defending a core, scared part of herself, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides and spoke up again, her voice gaining a thin veneer of defiant strength.
"Then what?" I cut her off, not unkindly, but firmly, forcing her to follow the thought to its conclusion.
"What do you mean then what? You can't not have friends!" Her frustration bubbled up again, born of years of social conditioning.
"Says who?" I questioned, my arms crossing in front of my chest, one brow raised.
"Says everyone!" she replied, throwing her hands up in a gesture of pure, adolescent exasperation.
"Well then, tell me why you need those guys as your friends. From what you've told me about them, I don't see a single, redeeming reason why you should even think about it. They sound awful."
"But what if I get lonely…" Her voice dropped back to a whisper. Her lips pressed into a thin, worried line, and her shoulders gave a slight, helpless tremble.
"Let me ask you something. Are you lonely now? Right this second?"
"What?" she muttered, eyes dazed with fresh confusion. This line of questioning was clearly unexpected.
"I asked if you felt lonely now? Here, talking to me?"
She looked around, as if taking inventory of her surroundings, the silent store, the buzzing lights, me. Her brow furrowed in genuine thought. "No…?" she replied, the word lifting at the end like a question.
"And did you feel lonely when eating dinner last night with your family?"
"No…?"
"Or when you were up late, totally focused on finishing that final paper or studying for your last exam? When you were in your own world, just you and the work?"
"No…" she muttered, her voice softer.
"And did you feel lonely waking up this morning, going through your routine before you came here?"
"What are you getting at." She asked, but the defensive edge was gone. It was a real question now.
I shook my head lightly and acted, but not as a threat. I stepped closer and placed both hands on her shoulders again, a mirror of my earlier gesture, but now the touch was steadying and grounding.
I leaned in so my eyes were level with hers, forcing her to meet my gaze. She gasped softly, surprised, but held still.
"All I'm saying is that you don't seem like the 'lonely type' to me," I said, my voice low and earnest. "I just think you're worried for no reason. You're scared of an empty room, but you've been living in a full house and didn't even notice. You said it yourself, you're done with school. It's over. Meaning you won't even see most of them when you get into a good university. That chapter is literally closed."
"You're right…" she breathed, blinking as if coming up for air. The realization dawned in her eyes, slow but clear. It was the relief of putting down a heavy weight she thought she was supposed to carry forever.
"See?" I said, a real, warm smile finally breaking through on my face. I gave her shoulders a light, friendly shake. "You basically have another chance to make new, better friends. A clean slate. And with those… technical skills of yours," I nodded toward the fake ID, "you're sure to make lots of interesting friends in college who'll appreciate that kind of cleverness for better projects."
"Yeah!" The girl replied, the word bursting out with a sudden, bright energy. Her face transformed, beaming with a hope and excitement that had been completely absent just minutes before. The tear stains were still there, but they were now just part of the story, not the whole picture.
"That's the spirit!" I chuckled, the sound genuine and relieved. I gave her shoulder a final, patting squeeze before letting my hands drop. "Now why don't you run along home. It's getting late." I walked back to the door, flipped the sign back to 'OPEN' with a decisive snap, and turned the lock. Letting in the sound of the nighttime traffic. "I'm sure your dear old mom must be worried about you by now."
She hesitated for just a second, looking from me to the open door, then back to the colorful, abandoned cans on the counter. A blush of deep embarrassment crept up her neck. "I, uh… I'm sorry. About the trouble. And… thank you. For not… you know. Calling the cops. Or… the other thing."
"Don't mention it," I said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just recycle that ID into something mor
e creative. And maybe find some friends who don't have a price of admission."