To meet her, I sold my body.
Wonder what kind of reaction she'd give after finding that out.
I imagine her face blushing—as if flattered—maybe she'd peck my cheek once or twice.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she'd hated that so much that crimson hair strangled my neck out of disgust.
Hm. That's not exactly right either.
Varrie probably won't do anything.
Or feel anything.
To her, I am no one to praise or kill.
Though I'd like her to know she is someone to me.
If I had a thousand of my own bodies, I'd sell every one of them just to make myself worthy for her to care about.
No, I didn't have to wager my flesh for sex.
Varrie's friends—who I'd be calling the bitch duo starting now—asked for something a little more boring.
That's why I ended up in front of a convenience store.
It is pretty common knowledge that every store has almost, if not the same establishment rules.
Pay first is a common one. Toilet's for staff only are another.
And then there's the 'Adult only' rule, applied to purchasing certain items.
Being a high school student, the bitch duo is restricted from buying cigarettes anywhere legally.
That doesn't stop them from smoking.
To get some, they had to use fake IDs. Been using it for a long time.
Unfortunately, last week, Xiao found out about them.
So now they had to either find another fake ID or buy cigarettes from another seller selling for an increased price.
As an adult, though, I'd have no worry about it.
If the store clerk suspects me of being underage, I just give him my ID.
So I can buy as many cigarettes as I want—they want.
The bitch duo know this.
I swing open the glass door.
A chime bell welcomed me from a tiny speaker over my head.
Cool air pushes the discomfort out of my body.
The smell of detergent hits my nose.
As I walk in, my eyes catch a person standing still in front of a colorful display rack.
Her head faces up slightly, staring at something.
A cookie jar.
I don't usually watch strangers. There was never a need to learn about other people that's not relevant to your life.
So there must be a reason why my attention froze the moment I met her.
Maybe because that silver hair reminds me of someone.
But there's no way this girl here is one of my students.
I seem to remember she's a lot taller—the hair is longer, too.
And she doesn't smile.
This girl does.
I step to a better angle to check her face.
Those grey eyes also look close alike but not the same.
Hers was apathetic, while this girl's a mix of hope and disappointment.
Is she just going to keep at it?
The cookie jar up there is a little too high for someone her heigh to reach, but if she really wanted to she could push her toe up and try grabbing it down.
That's one way.
Or ask the store clerk for help.
The man behind the counter doesn't seem to pay attention to the store.
He would rather drown himself in his phone's screen.
"Six blues," I come over to him.
He snaps out of his trance and turns around to grab six boxes of cigarettes.
"That'd be sixty-six."
I tap my credit card on the pay machine, "Hey, quick question. How long has she been standing there?"
"Oh, her? I haven't paid much attention to her nowadays. Guessing been an hour or so."
"You don't find that weird?"
"At first."
"She's a regular, you saying?"
"Wouldn't say that, she's hardly a customer. Maybe a visitor is a better fit. She comes here once in a while."
"She came here to just, what, stand?"
He gestures his head to turn to look at her.
Then continues, "I once bold enough to ask her if I can help her with anything."
"And?"
He shrugs, "Said I'm not worthy."
The store clerk is more than tall enough to reach the jar.
And I don't think his arm would wither by just picking it, too.
Maybe she's looking for something else.
"Best not to talk to her anyway," he says. "Silver hair. Bad news."
I've heard that before.
Varrie said that about her.
Wonder what all that's about?
Are they, like, some sort of killers?
I grab the boxes and walk away from the counter.
My feet stop.
She hears.
The girl who was fixated on the cookie just now cocks her head, facing in my direction.
Her grey eyes rest on my face.
The longer I watch, the deeper I fall into them.
I approached her hoping I could learn something about my student who also has silver hair.
It could either be just a waste of time or the biggest mistake I've made.
Two things that I can afford.
Her lips move.
Smile.