“You should have thought about that before you knocked over eight bottles of juice,” the woman said.
I looked at Henry.
At his wet sneakers. His shaking hands. His name tag. HENRY.
At the tears starting to come down behind his thick black glasses.
I thought about Annie.
At the end of the checkout lane at the Super One. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I thought about Teen Beat.
“I’ll get him,” I said.
The woman turned around.
She looked at me.
Her expression softened. Instantly. Like a switch.
She smiled.
“Oh,” she said. “Thank you!”
She put her hand on her chest.
“Thank you,” she said again. “At least someone here has some common sense.”
She glanced at the people watching from the ends of the aisle.
Like she wanted them to see. To see that someone was on her side.
“I’m so glad,” she said to me. “Honestly. People today just don’t want to get involved.”
