“And hide in bathrooms.”
She grins. “Exactly.”
I switch shoes and start washing the other one. I have a lump in my throat when I say, “Are you guys hiring? I’m looking for a job.”
“Yeah, but it’s probably not anything you’re interested in.”
She must not see the desperation on my face. “What are you hiring for?”
“Grocery bagger. It’s not full time, but we usually leave those spots open for teenagers with special needs.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t want to take a job away from anyone.”
“No, it’s not that,” she says. “We just don’t have many applicants because of the low hours, but we really are in need of part-time help. It’s about twenty hours a week.”
That won’t even pay rent, but if I worked hard enough, I could possibly work my way into a different position. “I can do it until someone with special needs applies. I could really use the money.”
Amy looks me up and down. “Why are you so desperate? The pay is shit.”
I put my shoe back on. “I, um . . .” I tie my shoe, stalling the inevitable admission. “I just got out of prison.” I say it fast and confidently, like it doesn’t bother me as much as it does. “But I’m not . . . I can do this. I won’t let you down and I won’t be any trouble.”
Amy laughs. It’s a loud laugh, but when I don’t laugh with her, she folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head. “Oh, shit. You’re serious?”
I nod. “Yeah. But if it’s against policy, I totally get it. It’s not a big deal.”
She waves a flippant hand. “Eh, we don’t really have a policy. We aren’t a chain—we can hire whoever we want. To be honest, I’m obsessed with Orange Is the New Black, so if you’ll promise to let me know which parts of the show are bullshit, I’ll give you an application.”
I could cry. Instead, I fake a smile. “I’ve heard so many jokes about that show. I guess I need to watch it.”
Amy rolls her head. “Yes. Yes, yes. Best show, best cast; come with me.”
I follow her to the customer service desk at the front of the store. She digs around in a drawer and finds an application, then hands it to me along with a pen. “If you fill it out while you’re here, I can get you in for Monday orientation.”
I take the application from her, and I want to thank her, I want to hug her, I want to tell her she’s changing my life. But I just smile and quietly take my application to a bench by the front door.
I fill out my full name but put quotation marks around my middle name, so they’ll know to call me Nicole. I can’t be wearing a name tag that says KENNA in this town. Someone will recognize it. Then they’ll gossip.
I get halfway through the first page when I’m interrupted.
“Hey.”
My fingers clench the pen tightly when I hear his voice. I slowly lift my head, and Ledger is standing in front of me with a grocery cart full of about a dozen packs of Gatorade.
I flip the application over, hoping he didn’t already see my name across the top of it. I swallow and attempt to appear to be in a more stable mood than all the moods he witnessed from me yesterday.
I gesture toward the Gatorade. “Special at the bar tonight?”
A subtle relief seems to wash over him, like he was expecting me to tell him to fuck off. He taps one of the packs of Gatorade. “T-ball coach.”
I look away from him, because for some reason that answer makes me uneasy. He doesn’t look like a T-ball coach. Those lucky mothers.
Oh, no. He’s a T-ball coach. Does he have a kid? A kid and a wife?
Did I almost sleep with a married T-ball coach?
I tap the pen on the back of the clipboard. “Are you, um . . . you aren’t married, are you?”
His grin tells me no. He doesn’t even need to say it, but he shakes his head and says, “Single,” then motions toward the clipboard on my lap. “You applying for a job?”
“Yep.” I glance toward the customer service desk, and Amy is eyeing me. I need this job so bad, but I’m afraid this might make it look like I’m going to be distracted by sexy bartenders while I’m on the clock. I look away from her, wondering if Ledger’s standing here talking to me is hurting my chances. I flip the clipboard back over, but tilt it so that he isn’t able to see my name. I start writing in my address, hoping he walks away.
He doesn’t. He pushes his cart to the side so a guy can get around him, and then he leans his right shoulder against the wall and says, “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”