Conner sits on the bench across from my workstation, and Olivia speaks briefly to him, but doesn’t seem bothered that he’s making another appearance. If anything, it brightens her night whenever Conner talks to her as she walks past.
Green. He loves the colour green because of how people feel when they see his work—at least, that’s what I’m gathering from what he just said.
His work is unique. The drawings and paintings at school hold so much attention to detail. I envy how realistically Conner draws, while mine spiral through emotions and imagination.
If he asks me to draw him, I fear he will look completely different from the portrait I set out to create. But if I ask him to draw me, I can feel the stroke of the pencil against my lips and the shading of my nose. Every flick of hair will be unique, and he will work tenderly on my eyes, lining them perfectly.
“Noya,” Conner clears his throat.
I blink back to reality and see the man waiting with his card pinched between his fingertips.
“S-sorry,” I say as I spit the EFTPOS machine in his direction. “That’s seventy-six twenty-five.”
“Do you often drift off like that?” Conner asks after the man leaves with his groceries.
“Yes,” I answer.
“How do you pull yourself out?”
“I don’t.” I place the receipt in the drawer, then close it. “My surroundings do that for me.”
Conner purses his lips as he leans back in his chair.
“What’s your favourite food? Mine is Milo cereal. Lunch and dinner are the same. I could eat pork roast all day, every day. And my favourite snack is salt and vinegar chips. Yours?”
“Um…” I lean against the counter and relax while Olivia turns on the electric roller doors. “I like Rice Bubbles, but there has to be a lot of sugar on it.”
Conner laughs.
“As for the main meal.” I shrug, finding it hard to pinpoint when one comes to mind. “Pizza. An actual fresh pizza. Not the frozen ones.”
“You aren’t a pineapple on pizza girl, are you?” he questions, his eyes narrowing.
“Maybe,” I reply.
“Noya!”
I rest my hand over my mouth and giggle.
“And what about a snack? Dessert?”
“Snickers bar,” I answer, fondly remembering James sneaking me the chocolate bar whenever I went to the service station. I’m sure he didn’t realise how much that chocolate saves me on the days when there was no food at home.
I could have stolen from the service station. I doubt James would care—but it’s the principle that I can do this without stealing. And there’s the thought that if I get caught, Dad would be the first to know about it.
“All right, kids. It’s time to leave and head home.” She points to Conner. “Tell your mum I’m definitely coming over this weekend for that glass of wine she offered me.” Then she points to me. “I’ll see you next Wednesday, Noya. Now go and enjoy your weekend.”
* * *
I lied to Conner.
I told him I didn’t need to go to the service station tonight. He didn’t press, which I’m grateful for, but my stomach cramps whenever I lie to him.
He has been open towards me since we started talking, and I am over here hiding everything I can.
And I know he wouldn’t pressure me if I asked him to take me to the service station. Yet, I want to hide the number of times I need to come here. He’s too curious. If I bought beer every day and went home with it, he would be smart enough to put two and two together.
So, I pretend I’m entering Mrs Crawford’s home. Conner leaves, and after he’s gone, I walk the way we came and towards the Service Station while I fiddle with my earphones.