Yeah, I was making some serious assumptions. But her entire life was tattooed on her too young face.

“Get the hell out of here,” I said firmly.

The dark haired girl smirked but I barely paid her any attention. Girls like that would never learn until life forced them to. I would be wasting my breath saying anything to her.

I reached out and touched the blonde haired girl’s shoulder and said something that I wished someone had said to me all those years ago. Not that I would have listened though.

“You can do better than this.”

The girl’s lip curled in derision. “What the fuck?” She backed away, looking at me as though I were crazy. And I felt something like disappointment when she and her friend left, tucking some candy bars beneath their shirts, which I didn’t even bother to comment on.

Had I really expected some vague Yoda advice said by a convenience store clerk to make any sort of difference? I thought about myself at that age and how I would have responded.

I would have probably been a hell of a lot nastier.

I went back to my spot behind the counter and had just sat down on the stool when the bell droned from above the door.

The blonde haired girl rushed towards me and dropped two Milky Ways on the counter. The same ones I had seen her tuck in the waistband of her jeans. Then she handed me five dollars.

“To cover the whipped cream,” she whispered, as though she’d be overheard.

Before I had a chance to say anything she was gone, slipping out the door.

Things were never set in stone and people could change. In a single moment a life could be altered forever.

And I wished for that girl with the blonde hair and sad eyes for a thousand moments that could make things better for her.

Just as I had hoped them for myself.

Chapter Twenty

-Flynn-

A few years ago

“Chicken. Mayonnaise. White bread. Dog treats.” I read my grocery list over and over again. I don’t want to forget anything. These are things I need. It is important that I find all of them.

I walk down the aisle as close to the shelves as I can get. The rows are too narrow and people stand too close to me.

I try to go to the store when I know it won’t be too busy. It is eight-thirty at night. The store closes in thirty minutes. I have twenty-five minutes to get my groceries. It takes about five minutes to ring the items up and put them in bags.

“Chicken. Mayonnaise. White bread. Dog treats,” I say again, looking for the packet of chicken breasts for $4.00 that I always get. I look and look and can’t find them.

“Where are they?” I ask. A lady with white hair stares at me. I move away from her to search for the chicken. I don’t like being looked at. I never have. I have gotten better with it now that I’m a teacher. The students look at me all the time. But the way they look at me is different than the looks I get everywhere else.

Like the way the lady is looking at me as if there’s something wrong with me.

Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me.

I know I’m different.

I know that I’m too loud and I get mad easily. I say things I shouldn’t and tell people stuff that should stay in my head.

Ellie tells me when I’m being rude. So does Leonard. But it’s hard to remember when I’m by myself. Then I just say things because I think it.

“Why are you looking at me?” I ask the lady with the white hair. Her eyes widen and I know I’ve said something bad.

The lady with the white hair looks scared.

Is she scared of me?

Am I scary?

Instead of saying anything else to her, I keep looking for the chicken. And I still can’t find it.

I feel myself getting angry. Leonard calls them my triggers. When things don’t go the way I want them to.

He’s been teaching me how to handle it.

I try to remember what he’s told me.

But I really just want to find the chicken.

I look at my watch and see that now I only have fifteen more minutes until I have to go to the check out and leave.

I start tapping my hand on the freezer. I don’t rub my hands together anymore.

But when I tap my hands and feet I feel better.

It’s not helping me this time.

“Where’s the chicken?” I ask loudly. Why won’t anyone help me find the chicken?

“What chicken are you looking for?” someone asks me.

I recognize the voice and I don’t like it.

“Go away!” I yell, holding my hand out so she won’t come any closer.

“Flynn, it’s okay. I just wanted to know if you needed help with something.” Dania is mean. She doesn’t like me. She was always nasty and said awful things. Ellie isn’t friends with her anymore and that makes me glad.

Dania has a baby strapped to her front in some strange looking bag thing.

“Why do you have a baby attached to you?” I ask.

“She’s my daughter. Her name is Lyla. And she’s in a sling,” she answers and I don’t care. I want her to leave.

I keep looking for the chicken. I start pulling packages out of the refrigerator and throw them on the floor. They’re in the way. I need to find the two chicken breasts for $4.00 that I always get.

“You need to stop doing that or they’ll throw you out of the store, Flynn,” Dania says, and I ignore her. I don’t care what she has to say.

“Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll help you find it,” she says.