Take Me To Your Reader: An Otherworld Anthology Read Online Free
Author: Amy A. Bartol, Tiffany King, Raine Thomas, Tammy Blackwell, Sarah M. Ross, Heather Hildenbrand, Amanda Havard, C.A. Kunz
my surprise, SOA answers, "I am."
I almost smile. "I do have mace..." the door still doesn't unlock. I sigh, "Unless there is another option—"
The door unlocks with a click. "Be careful."
Nervous now, I open the door and step out of the truck. It smells different here than a gas station in the city. There 's hardly any exhaust fumes, just the sweet scent of pollen on the wind. As I shut the door, I notice that the truck's windows have all darkened; no one can see inside. I take the nozzle off the gas pump and insert it in the tank before choosing the ultra grade. I wait several moments for the pump to engage, but it doesn't reset. I look toward the convenience store. After a few moments of staring at the outline of the clerk behind the counter, he moves to push a button. The pump resets and I fill the tank.
When I 'm done, I walk slowly toward the store, wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my denim shorts. I pull the door open; a bell above it clangs loudly. A twentysomething man, leaning against a magazine rack, idly flips through a Guns magazine. He rubs the bristles on his chin as he eyes me critically. The conversation that was transpiring between the clerk and the rough-looking patron leaning against the counter abruptly ends with the bell. I ignore them all and move to the aisle that's filled with cheap bottles of wine and liquor.
I pluck two bottles of red and a bottle of white from the shelf and then turn back toward the counter. They 're all watching me. I hesitate for a second, staring back at them. The clerk has a skeptical look in his eyes. Without glancing away, I defiantly take a bottle of inexpensive vodka from the shelf, adding it to the others in my arms. The bottles clink together in protest. When I reach the counter, I push them onto it.
" I had eighty dollars on pump one," I state clearly, before selecting a pack of gum from the stack beside the cash register and laying it next to the bottles.
The clerk stares at me for a moment; his eyebrow arches in challenge. "You sure you're old enough to be buying alcohol. Lemme see some I.D." I relax. He's not some backwoods hick ready to abduct me. He's actually sort of cute in an outdoorsy, I-kill-my-own-food kind of way. His eyes show no wrinkles around them, so he might be my age, but his beard makes him seem older.
I pull my wallet from my purse and hand him my I.D. He studies it for a second before he takes off his camouflage baseball cap and scratches his short, dark hair. His strong arms are covered in heavy sleeve tattoos—this can 't be his only job because no one gets arms like that by hanging out in a gas station all day. "What brings you to the U.P. from Chicago, Violet O'Shea? Business or pleasure?"
" Uhh...pleasure—vacation," I lie and eye the bottles of alcohol on the counter. "A friend of mine lent me his house for a few days. I'm just going to lay by the lake—read a little—veg. "
He pauses in his assessment of the bar code on a bottle. The man next to me straightens a little—stiffens. "Your friend gotta name?"
" Yes." I nod, pretending to play coy, but all of a sudden I'm back to being uncomfortable.
When I 'm not forthcoming with that name, the clerk says, "Well, looks like you're either having a party or a funeral, Violet." He smiles at the bottles in front of him.
" Something like that," I reply with a wary smile. "How much do I owe you?"
He puts his hat back on his head and begins to scan the items into the register. "Where are you staying? What lake? Is it around here?" the clerk asks casually, his blue eyes glancing at me.
" Why?" I ask in my best don't-eff-with-me tone. "You thinking of stopping by?"
The clerk frowns. "Ned and I could check on you. It can get scary up here when you're all alone, eh, Ned?" he asks his friend next to me with a lift of his chin.
" Eh, Clyde." Ned nods sharply. "Scary."
" Who says I'm alone, Clyde?" I ask and glance out the window. I see two men in white wifebeaters and camouflage
I almost smile. "I do have mace..." the door still doesn't unlock. I sigh, "Unless there is another option—"
The door unlocks with a click. "Be careful."
Nervous now, I open the door and step out of the truck. It smells different here than a gas station in the city. There 's hardly any exhaust fumes, just the sweet scent of pollen on the wind. As I shut the door, I notice that the truck's windows have all darkened; no one can see inside. I take the nozzle off the gas pump and insert it in the tank before choosing the ultra grade. I wait several moments for the pump to engage, but it doesn't reset. I look toward the convenience store. After a few moments of staring at the outline of the clerk behind the counter, he moves to push a button. The pump resets and I fill the tank.
When I 'm done, I walk slowly toward the store, wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my denim shorts. I pull the door open; a bell above it clangs loudly. A twentysomething man, leaning against a magazine rack, idly flips through a Guns magazine. He rubs the bristles on his chin as he eyes me critically. The conversation that was transpiring between the clerk and the rough-looking patron leaning against the counter abruptly ends with the bell. I ignore them all and move to the aisle that's filled with cheap bottles of wine and liquor.
I pluck two bottles of red and a bottle of white from the shelf and then turn back toward the counter. They 're all watching me. I hesitate for a second, staring back at them. The clerk has a skeptical look in his eyes. Without glancing away, I defiantly take a bottle of inexpensive vodka from the shelf, adding it to the others in my arms. The bottles clink together in protest. When I reach the counter, I push them onto it.
" I had eighty dollars on pump one," I state clearly, before selecting a pack of gum from the stack beside the cash register and laying it next to the bottles.
The clerk stares at me for a moment; his eyebrow arches in challenge. "You sure you're old enough to be buying alcohol. Lemme see some I.D." I relax. He's not some backwoods hick ready to abduct me. He's actually sort of cute in an outdoorsy, I-kill-my-own-food kind of way. His eyes show no wrinkles around them, so he might be my age, but his beard makes him seem older.
I pull my wallet from my purse and hand him my I.D. He studies it for a second before he takes off his camouflage baseball cap and scratches his short, dark hair. His strong arms are covered in heavy sleeve tattoos—this can 't be his only job because no one gets arms like that by hanging out in a gas station all day. "What brings you to the U.P. from Chicago, Violet O'Shea? Business or pleasure?"
" Uhh...pleasure—vacation," I lie and eye the bottles of alcohol on the counter. "A friend of mine lent me his house for a few days. I'm just going to lay by the lake—read a little—veg. "
He pauses in his assessment of the bar code on a bottle. The man next to me straightens a little—stiffens. "Your friend gotta name?"
" Yes." I nod, pretending to play coy, but all of a sudden I'm back to being uncomfortable.
When I 'm not forthcoming with that name, the clerk says, "Well, looks like you're either having a party or a funeral, Violet." He smiles at the bottles in front of him.
" Something like that," I reply with a wary smile. "How much do I owe you?"
He puts his hat back on his head and begins to scan the items into the register. "Where are you staying? What lake? Is it around here?" the clerk asks casually, his blue eyes glancing at me.
" Why?" I ask in my best don't-eff-with-me tone. "You thinking of stopping by?"
The clerk frowns. "Ned and I could check on you. It can get scary up here when you're all alone, eh, Ned?" he asks his friend next to me with a lift of his chin.
" Eh, Clyde." Ned nods sharply. "Scary."
" Who says I'm alone, Clyde?" I ask and glance out the window. I see two men in white wifebeaters and camouflage
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