At 6:55 a.m. the customers are all complaining to Denny, because gas prices have suddenly spiked fourteen cents. People are talking about politics and getting slightly irate. No one’s paying at the pump because they want to come in and personally complain. Denny just keeps repeating, “It’s not my fault.”
I try to lighten the mood by offering free coffee samples. People glare at me. Then I mention how I fell down that morning trying to get away from the Doberman, and how the dog looked so pleased with himself when I wiped out and landed on my butt.
Denny starts laughing. So does the woman buying cigarettes, a soda, and chocolate cupcakes. I’m glad I can provide some comic relief. It’s like some sort of strange cathartic release; gas prices are through the roof, but laugh at the clumsy girl and you’ll feel better! We do what we can here at Gas ’n Git.
The truck driver with the minty-fresh breath comes in and is nice to me, and I almost ask him if he’ll give me a ride so that I can get out of here. I don’t really care where he’s going. He could drop me at the next truck stop, and that would be all right.
“You have a nice day now,” he says as he stuffs a dollar into the tip tank, and picks up a few wintergreen mints for the road. “Don’t let this heat get to you. It’ll pass.”
I reach up to touch my forehead, which has sweaty bangs sticking to it. I hadn’t realized how much the heat was affecting me, or at least my hair. “Thanks,” I say, and I smile at him. “You, too.”
I’m always saying “You, too” at the wrong moments, when the thing I’m responding to (like “have a nice day now”) is already forgotten. I just told the nicest customer in the world that he would pass, too. But at least I made Denny happy because I said “U2.”
After he leaves, I start wondering what’s happened to World’s Worst Coffee Breath, who is now five minutes past schedule. I can’t believe I’m worrying about him.
“Hey, Kristi Yamaguchi. In all seriousness,” Denny says when suddenly the store is empty of miffed customers.
“In all seriousness, don’t call me Kristi,” I say. “That’s my mom’s name. Spelled differently, but still.”
“Okay, then. Miss Farrell. If you want, I can give you a ride to work some mornings,” Denny offers.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. I can just picture my dad’s expression as Denny roars into the driveway on his motorcycle at 5 a.m.
Then I notice Mike Kyle, of all people, walking into the store. He’s wearing a baseball cap backward and his brown hair is sticking out from underneath. His T-shirt says, LIVING ON THE EDGE. He wears cutoff khaki shorts and red flip-flops.
“Hey,” he says to me. “I didn’t know you worked this early.” He hands a credit card to Denny. “It’s my dad’s, he’s outside,” he explains. “Pump four.”
“Okay,” Denny says. “You know, we have pay at the pump.”
“I know,” Mike says.
He looks at me, as if I’m supposed to talk next. So I do.
“So. Did you just finish your paper route?” I ask.
“Nah, I finished it at five-thirty. Now my dad’s driving me around to look for a new car.”
“Cool. But why this early?” I ask.
“He says we have to scope the lots before the salespeople show up,” Mike says. “So we can plan what we’re going to offer.” He rolls his eyes.
“But you’re getting a car,” I say, trying not to seethe outright with jealousy. Seething is very unattractive. Why I want to be attractive to Mike, I don’t know. Maybe he’ll mention to Steve that he saw me, and I wouldn’t want to come off as a jealous seether. “Car shopping’s a good thing,” I say. I peer outside at Mike’s father. The car at pump four is a teal minivan. Mr. Kyle must not be living on the edge, the way his son is.
“For him. He’s getting a Corvette. He’s trading in the Camaro and the van,” Mike says as he signs the receipt. “Then he’s getting me some cheap old beater.”
I shrug. “It’s a car. Right?”
“I guess,” Mike admits with a shrug. He smiles at me. “Don’t look a horse in the mouth when you get a gift and all that, right?”
“I definitely wouldn’t look inside any horses’ mouths,” I say. “Really questionable dental hygiene.”
Mike laughs, just as a familiar silver Lexus screeches to a stop in the No Parking zone. Speaking of dental hygiene.
“Now there’s a nice ride,” Mike says. “Well, gotta go, see you!”
After he walks out, Denny turns to me, just as World’s Worst Coffee Breath is walking in. “You’re not actually . . . friends with that guy. Are you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Why?”
“Let’s just say . . . he’s not the crispest crisp in the chip bucket.” Denny swipes a credit card through the cash register reader.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re mixing your really bad British metaphors,” I tell him.
“Just aspiring to be like your friend Mr. Western Wear,” Denny says under his breath.
“Good morning!” World’s Worst Coffee Breath greets me as he strides happily up to the counter.
“Hi. The usual?” I smile at him. I quickly pour him a giant Tanker-size cup from the new tank of High Octane Blend. “Did you know we have mint-flavored coffee?” I ask as I ring up his purchase. “Actually, I think it might be mint-chocolate. I’m not totally sure, but I could make some up for you.”
“Oh, no, thanks,” he says. “I hate flavored coffees. They just get in the way.”
“You know, sir,” Denny says, coming over to us. “We’re having a special today. Buy one coffee, get a pack of spearmint gum for, uh, fifty cents.” He holds up a handful of gum.
“That’s a special?” Coffee Breath asks.
“Usually gum is sixty-five, so it’s a deal,” Denny says. “Definitely a deal.”
“Hmm. Maybe next time. The special runs for how long?” Coffee Breath asks.
“Indefinitely,” Denny says. “Indefinitely a deal is what I should have said, actually.”
Coffee Breath laughs, and I turn to Denny and smile before making two lattes for the next customer.
After I finish that, and after Coffee Breath leaves, Denny and I both rush over to the door, racing each other. We fling it open and stand outside taking huge gulps of fresh air, before we realize this is a big mistake. You don’t gulp air here in Lindville. You sip it.