Winning Me Over

Winning Me Over

Amber Garza

Cover Models: Brett Patterson and Erin McMackin

Cover photographer:
Juli Losee

Graphic Artist: Lisa
Eneqvist

Author Photo: Megan Squires

Copyright © 2013 Amber Garza

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

To
anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider

ONE

PAIGE

T
here is a man standing in front of me wearing a black mask with crude holes cut out of it. His black eyes stare out of the holes reminding me of a creepy Halloween costume. And he is holding a gun to my head.

I so do not get paid enough for this.
I knew I should’ve quit this stupid job at this stupid coffee shop weeks ago.

As he orders me to give him money, I dart my gaze around.
Where is Jon?
When I started closing down the coffee shop he went into the back room to go over inventory or something. Shouldn’t he be back out here by now? Then again, I’m not sure that Jon would be much help at this point. He’d probably piss his pants and run away.

No, I’m pretty sure I’m the tougher one out of the two of us. The masked man is more insistent, the gun trembling in his
fingers. My heart races and sweat slides down my shoulder blades. I walk swiftly to the counter, the masked man following me. For one moment I imagine turning around and attempting to fight him off. Perhaps if I did I’d end up on the news as a local vigilante. Nah. I’d probably end up getting myself killed. There’s no way I’m risking my life over this place. The guy can have the stinking money. I step behind the counter, push in a few buttons on the register, and the drawer shoots open with a ding. The eyes peeking out of the mask flicker down to the drawer. I take advantage of the momentary distraction by reaching under the counter and pushing the panic button. When I dip my hands in the drawer and start grabbing out the cash, I pray that the cops get here soon.

My eyes land on the sign that reads CLOSED that is lit up in the window. I had just been about ready to lock the door when this guy burst in here. If only I’d been faster. This is exactly the reason I hate working the closing shift.

The man with the gun thrusts out a gloved hand. I deposit the cash into it. That’s when my gaze catches on the bottom of a tattoo that snakes out from under his long-sleeved jacket. I can’t make out what it is, but I file the information away for later.

The man’s movements are jerky and desperate as he shoves the cash into the pockets of his jacket. Clattering sounds behind me, as if something has been dropped in the back
room. That must be Jon. The man stiffens at the sound, and I freeze. My breathing is coming out more labored, and I just want the guy to get the hell out of here.

As if reading my thoughts, the man glances around one last time and then races out of the shop. I exhale loudly and lean over the counter. The room sways a
round me and my stomach rolls. When my mouth fills with moisture I think I might puke, so I breathe deeply until the feeling subsides.

I am so quitting this job tomorrow.

“What are you doing?” Jon’s tall, lanky frame lumbers toward me. His ear length dirty blond hair swishes around his face
, and he blinks behind his glasses. When he glances at the open, empty register, his dull brown eyes widen incredulously. “What happened?”

I can’t even believe this guy is my boss. He’s only a few years older than me. In fact, he’s not even out of college yet. And he’s the most incompetent manager I’ve ever known. But he’s Bud’s son, as in
Bud’s Bean Shop
. Yeah, stupid name, I know. And apparently being the owner’s son qualifies this guy to be a manager.
Go figure
. “We were just robbed, genius.”

“What?” His cheeks turn bright red. They do that a lot. He blushes more than any girl I know. Some girls might think its endearing. I think it makes him seem like a
wuss. “And you just gave away the money?”

My mouth gapes in exasperation.
“Seriously? You expected me to risk my life? The guy held a gun to my head.”

He softens at this. “Oh. Are you okay?”

His tender words almost break me. The truth is that I don’t think I am okay. My insides are quivering, and even though I’m holding it together, I fear that I’ll fall apart at any second. It actually helped me to be angry with Jon, because then I didn’t have to think about how scared I am. I clear my throat, knowing that I can do this. I can remain calm even if I don’t feel that way. It’s a skill I perfected years ago. If I hadn’t, I never would’ve survived everything my family went through. “Fine.”

Sirens sound in the distance
, and my shoulders visibly relax. Jon glances up at me. “You called the cops?”

I nod. “I pushed the panic button.”

“Smart thinking,” he says, surprising me. Then his face grows serious. “I better call Dad.”

“Yeah.”
I cast my gaze downward as he walks off. Within minutes the parking lot is filled with cop cars, red and blue lights illuminating the dark sky. Inhaling sharply, I stare at the colors that remind me of the Fourth of July, and steel myself for what’s to come. As a large policeman stalks toward the front door, I yank my phone out of my pocket to text my mom. I have a feeling I’ll be home late tonight.

The longer the officer interrogates me, the more I crash from my earlier adrenaline rush. My eyelids are starting to droop a little, and my body aches with exhaustion. There isn’t much to tell anyway. All I know is about how tall and skinny the masked man was. And I gave them the information about the tattoo, even though I only saw a tiny portion of it. I rack my brain for anything else, trying to pluck out information from nowhere. I’m reminded of the time I lost my earring in the lake. For hours I combed through the mud and debris under the water, but I never found it. It was too buried. That’s how I feel now. Like I will never find any information to help the cops find this guy. And it frustrates me.

Also, it scares me a little. Not that I would ever admit it to anyone. I’ve been holding it together all night, and I refuse to lose it. I won’
t give the masked man the satisfaction of breaking me. Unlike Jon, who is sniffling like a little girl. Of course, I’m sure it doesn’t help that Bud showed up and got on him for leaving me out here alone at closing time.

“Nothing unusual happened during your shift prior to the robbery?” The officer, whose name I’ve already forgotten
, asks. He pinches his bushy brows together and purses his thin lips. His salt and pepper hair falls over his forehead, and he stares down at me with dark brown eyes. For a police officer he really doesn’t look very scary, with his tall, lanky frame.

I start to shake my head when
a memory surfaces that stops me cold. Something interesting did happen tonight. In fact, before the robbery it felt significant. I definitely hadn’t been able to think of anything else for several minutes afterward. But then the masked man forced his way in, and I’d completely forgotten the whole thing.

“Yeah, actually.
A few minutes before closing a guy came in.”

The officer cocks one of his bushy brows. It’s so large it looks like a giant caterpillar is sitting on his forehead. I force myself to look away.

“I’d never seen him before,” I continue. “He said he just moved here from out of town, and he seemed to be about my age. I wouldn’t have thought anything about it, except that he didn’t order anything. He just chatted me up and then left. Minutes later the masked man came in.”

“What do you mean,
chatted you up?” The officer leans forward at the little round table we’re seated at.

My cheeks warm, and it angers me. I’m not really the blushing t
ype. That’s more my best friend Hadley’s style.  The truth is that I thought the guy was hitting on me. And I kind of liked it. There was something different about him, mysterious, yet sexy. I’ve never really been interested in the guys at my high school. Unlike Hadley, who had a crush on the popular Tripp Bauer for years before they got together. The guys at our school do nothing for me. But this guy did something for me. He stirred up feelings that both excited and terrified me at the same time.

I squirm under the police officer
’s intense gaze. “Um…I don’t know. He just asked me a lot of questions.”

“
What kind of questions?”

“Um…like what my name was, where I go to school
, and what time I got off work.” I wring my hands in my lap, the skin raw and chapped from the motion.

“What time you got off work, huh?” His eyebrows knit together.

That’s when I’m hit with the realization. That guy completely sucked me in. He was just milking me for information. He was probably working with the robber. Or maybe he was the robber. I feel like an idiot.

“What was this kid’s name?”
The officer asks, his pen poised over his little pad of paper.

“
He didn’t tell me his last name, but his first name is Colt.”

TWO

COLT

I
t was a mistake to talk to the girl tonight, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been watching her for a few days now. She’s seriously hot, but not in the typical way. No, she has a quirky style that’s different from any other girl around here. Ever since I moved to this uppity suburban town I haven’t met one person who fascinates me. Honestly I thought I was doomed to a life of solitude. It seemed that all this town had to offer me were bleached blond, over-tanned girls who liked to shop and drive expensive cars.

But then one day I passed this little coffee shop with a cheesy name and there she was. I froze, unable to look away. She wore striped stockings, a
little black skirt and top, her pink streaked hair in pigtails, and large black glasses perched on the end of her nose. A tiny stud glistened in her nose and more studs lined her ears. When she glanced up at the customer she was helping, she smiled the most genuine smile I’d ever seen. Her blue eyes sparkled, and as I stared I felt the pull to her like I was a magnet and she’s the fridge. 

So I kep
t going back to the coffee shop trying to get up the courage to talk to her. Finally tonight I made myself do it. Only now I feel stupid. I mean, I didn’t even order anything. And then I babbled on for a few minutes before rushing out of there. I’m sure she’s suspicious of me now.
Good going.

After the few mile walk home
from the coffee shop in the dark, I arrive at my aunt’s house. I guess it’s my house now too, but it doesn’t feel like it. Then again, I can’t remember any place ever feeling like home. I’ve never really belonged anywhere.

The minute I push open the door my eight
-year-old brother Zander runs to me, wrapping his arms around my legs.

“Hey, champ.” I rub my hands in his thick brown hair.

“Colt,” he breathes my name like oxygen, and it makes my stomach clench. He shouldn’t rely on me like he does. I don’t want to let him down again.

“Oh, good.”
Aunt Callie appears in the doorway of the family room, holding my baby sister Bristol in her arms. “You’re home.” Bristol opens her mouth and starts wailing. My aunt’s face drops at the sound. Her caramel color eyes look tired, her dirty blond hair disheveled. She wears a wrinkled t-shirt and sweat pants, stains in the knees.

“I’ll take her.” I reach my arms out, my worn black leather jacket sliding over my arms.

Zander tightens his hold on my legs, his fingers digging into my ripped jeans. “But I want you to read me a book.”

“Later, buddy. Okay?” I say to him, while taking Bristol from my aunt. She smells like urine
, and I scrunch up my nose. Her crying doesn’t quiet even when I hold her securely against me. In fact, her tiny face turns bright crimson with the effort. Bristol cries constantly. I know it’s draining on my aunt. Hell, it drove my mom over the brink. That’s why I make an effort to help Aunt Callie any chance I get. I don’t want her to snap the way my mom did. Mom always said that Bristol was colicky, but I know the truth. There’s more to Bristol’s problem than just that.

Bouncing my little sister up and down in my arms, I speak soothingly in her ear.
Zander slinks off down the hallway, his shoulder’s stooped. He’s already wearing a pair of pajamas bearing the likeness of some superhero he likes. It hangs off of his slight frame, and I feel like the three of us could be on one of those commercials. You know the ones where they show a bunch of kids and then ask people for money every month in order to feed them? I guess that means we could be the poster children for poverty. Just the thought of that makes a gruff laugh bubble from my throat.

“Hey,” I call after him.

He turns to me, a question in his dark eyes.

“You okay?”
I ask.

He nods. “Just some kids were being mean to me today
at the park.”

Protectiveness surges. “Which kids?” I take a step forward. “Need
me to take care of it?”

“Oh
, no, you don’t,” Aunt Callie admonishes me. She makes her way to the beige couch and sinks down into it. The large painting hanging on the wall looks like it’s balancing atop her head. “You need to stay out of trouble, Colt.”

Her words unnerve me, but I shake them off. Bristol’s cries quiet down to sniffles as I continue to bounce
her. She reaches up and grabs my lip ring with a chubby finger. I extract her hand, not wishing her to rip it from my lip. I stick out my tongue and wiggle my tongue bar around. Her eyes widen in fascination. It gets her every time. I steal a quick kiss on her round cheek.

“You sure have a way with them.” Aunt Callie pushes a swea
ty strand of hair from her flushed face. She crosses one slender leg over the other, circling her bare toe in the thick reeds of the tan carpet.

I shrug. “They’ve pretty much always been my responsibility.”

“Oh, Colt. I’m so sorry.”

I wave away her words, not daring to look at her. The last thing I need is to read the pity inside them. “Got anything to eat? I’m starved.”

“In the kitchen. Here. You want me to take Bristol?” Aunt Callie opens her arms.

“No. She can come with me.” I glance down at her. “
Wanna go with big brother to get something to eat?”

She flashes me a toothless grin, reminding me of an old man. I head into the kitchen, Bristol still in my arms. She’
s so tiny that it feels like I’m holding a feather. Just as my feet hit the tile, I hear a car pull up. I step forward and peek out of the heavy, dark curtains in the kitchen window. My aunt’s house looks like it was decorated back in the seventies, done all in tans and dark browns. There’s no one outside. My shoulders relax when I catch sight of my aunt’s neighbor pulling into his driveway. As I drop the curtain, allowing it to fall back into place, I wonder when I’ll stop looking over my shoulder. I wonder when I’ll stop being scared.