Wanderer

I’m starting to think that hating is a professional sport. While some people do it as a hobby, others will strive to be the best hater on all social media, I think to myself as I walk down the darkened street.

The moon is almost non-existent tonight, just barely a sliver peeking through the clouds. It gives the street an almost suspenseful way about it, and I set my pace faster.

Today was not the best day to begin with, and I don’t want any more trouble. I turn the corner, almost at a slight jog now, heading towards the only store open 24 hours a night.

One of my good friends, or so I thought, Lilliana, decided that she would rather hang out with the more popular group. I shudder as I remember how she humiliated me in the town square just a few hours ago.

A small gas station just off the main street has its bright sign lit, and I share a quick smile as I think about the people behind the registers tonight. It could either be Hector or Olivia.

I hope it will be Hector smiling back at me, I think, as I open the door.

A blast of cold air hit me, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling, quite unlike the humid sticky air outside.
“You know, we should start charging you for using our fresh air,” a voice chuckles from behind the small counter.

I smile, and retort, “You know Hector, they should start charging you for all the cups of soda you drink while you are on shift.

I open my eyes just in time to see his scowl form. It was true, whoever was on shift got free refills, although the manager, Diana, isn’t too happy about it.

I prowl over to the small table with 4 chairs tucked into it: our usual meeting spot behind the counter. I don’t work here, but Diana is a friend of my mom’s, so I get a pass.

Usually, the working group isn’t allowed to sit down while on the clock, but the graveyard shift gets special perks. Hardly anyone comes into the small gas station at 2 am on a Wednesday, besides travelers and people who are night owls themselves, like me.

I pull the chair out and take a seat, waiting for Hector to do the same. He raises his eyebrows in question.

“Is the news really so bad that I need to sit down?” He asks but obliges a second later.

I clear my throat, trying to figure out how to tell him without hurting him.

“So, you know how I met your dad a few years ago, when he came back to try and seduce your mom?”
He scowls and mutters, “I don’t need you to remind me what happened. He came barging into the house and when she wouldn’t go out with him on a date, he burnt the house, blah, blah, blah.”

“I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up,” I say apologetically.

I take a deep breath and say, “Uh, so forgive me for being the one who has to tell you, but your dad is back in town.”

“What?!” Hector yells, his eyes wide.

He stands from the table almost knocking the chair down in the process.

“Are you sure?” he asks, staring at me with big brown eyes.

“I’m positive it’s him. The very devil, in the flesh,” I say, nodding.

I sigh. It is going to be a very interesting summer if Hectors father is here, I think to myself.