"Is that everything?" she asks. I nod. "Yes, thanks."
"Twenty dollars and forty cents please," she says, looking up from the till, and for a second I think we've met before. Her brow furrows slightly but then she looks away, frowning.
"I'm from the internet," I say, hoping to jog her memory. I smile winningly at her and she only steps back a little further in surprise. "The internet," I add. "You might have heard of it," I go on, "it's- " I stop, having confused myself, "- it's, uh, everywhere." I trail off.
"Oh, I've been before," she replies and I don't know how to respond to this and before I can stop myself I silently pull my hands from my pockets and form them into a dual hands pistol shape, like some demented cowboy, and silently mouth, "pop! pop!" at her before blowing imaginary smoke from my finger tips.
She stares at me hard. "Yes, I went last year," she says after an excuciatingly long pause, "but I didn't like it. I'm not sure I'll go again. Too many people."
I put my hands benind my back where they writhe around like snakes, embarrassed for me, and I nod thoughtfully. "It can feel like that, especially when you're new to it," I say sagely. "Probably best to hang out in the more well known spots where the crowds are. Safer. Less- " I pause and gaze forcefully into her eyes, "dangerous," I finish. She nods earnestly and I inwardly high five myself. "Pop! Pop!" I add again before clamping a traiterous hand to my mouth in horror. She says nothing but her eyes don't leave mine and she's judging me intently.
"Is everything ok?" she asks and points to the queue forming behind me. "I'll need to help these people soon," she says but not crossly and I wonder if I haven't quite blown it yet after all. I feel my courage building and a hot jolt of electricity surges through my body like the time I urinated on the farmer's fence but it was designed for penning in animals and the shock threw me back 25 feet and left me with a bump on my head the size of an ostrich's egg.
"Yes," I say with a flourish, hands firmly in pockets. "More than okay actually!" I beam. "In fact, I wondered if I could meet you after work today? When do you finish?" I say, only mostly blurting it out, but also sounding masterful and in control.
"Well my shift finishes at 9pm," she says - perfect! I think - "and my dad is picking me up at 9.10pm so I've got enough time to get changed." My heart plummets and I feel inexplicably guilty.
"Your, uh, dad?" I croak weakly.
"Yes, he picks me up when I have a late shift. That's normally Wednesday and Thursday," she says. "I'm so tired at school the next morning!" she laughs and I stand back in horror.
"I don't know how I'll cope when it's exam year in two years time!" she says but I'm already stumbling away with my bags, the yoghurt falling out and making a splurt! noise on the floor, the tomatoes cascading out of their plastic bag, and the milk bottle landing with an oddly heavy smack! I'm walking quickly - running, really, well sprinting if we're being quite accurate - and I hit two, three, four people with my shoulders and they fall like skittles but even here, from the door which claims to be an Exit but it lies, oh it lies, I can hear her yell after me: "Next year dad's taking us all to Surrey! None of us liked Somerset!" and it takes a fraction of a second for me to register, to parse this, and I scream blindly back at her: "I said I'm from the internet not from Somerset oh my God what is wrong with me ..." and I'm in the car park but there are trees everywhere and I find a fox hole and I climb into it and I hide there until I hear the mournful cry of wolves that night but even then I stay still and silent.
