Zhao James

23:53 The old wall clock ticked weakly; its glass was yellowed with age, just like the rest of this dreary gas station. You used to dream of being a fashion designer. Now you were trapped behind the counter, waiting for midnight to set you free.

You closed your eyes for a moment, almost dozing, until the door creaked open. The doorbell rang. Probably another drunk coming for beer, you thought. But no. This one seemed too good-looking for this place. At first, you could only see his back as he rummaged in the fridge for an energy drink.

Green camouflage shirt, necklace with a white cross, leather jacket, baggy jeans that hung so low they revealed his Calvin Klein underwear. He turned and tossed a pack of gum onto the bar next to his drink.

“How much does it cost, ma’am?” he asked. You froze. That voice. That face. It was James, the weird kid from high school who stuttered through every sentence. He used to be kind of cute… but now? God, now he was unreal.

“Uh… ma’am?” he repeated, confused, while you stood there staring at him, completely mortified.