[Anela]

This was always embarrassing. If I look back at my life, I can remember the two times I had to do this before. Once, when I was only seventeen, it came back positive. And the second time, a few years ago before Colorado split into the West Division, and it was just a scare.

Buying pregnancy tests is so awkward.

Looking down and up the aisle, I quickly attempt to swipe one into my cart, but end up sending it flying to the floor. In my panic, I had swiped it too far, sending a loud clatter erupt through the store. Everyone in the aisle turned, including an older woman buying diapers and some teenager buying condoms. They look just as embarrassed as me. This must be the aisle of shame, where the grocery store owners doom you to inevitable awkwardness.

Cursing, I grab a new box from the bright shelves, and race away. Then thinking twice, I circle back to grab condoms and tampons; just in case the pregnancy test is negative. I need more embarrassing items than most, I guess.

Then I check my list. My son wants chipotle adobo and water chestnuts. I have no clue what either of those are. Ever since he got his first tooth, when he was just a baby, Aiden has loved to eat. And once he was old enough to cook, the rest was history. He sears fresh caught trout perfectly and knows how to turn a truffle into an oil. He can make anything, from a rare Au Jus sirloin to a steaming-hot curry. I'm not sure where he gets it. His father was a businessman; the CEO of a luxury car brand, and he hired all his cooks. I, on the other hand, am excellent at making instant ramen and boxed mac and cheese. Still, his passion is there. I am constantly being sent on missions to the grocery store, looking for items that I didn't know even existed.

"Excuse me," I say, tapping a grocery store employee on the shoulder. He's got an airpod in, and he's struggling with a box of seltzer's, which indicates the last thing he wanted to do was deal with me. Angrily, he looks over, but as soon as he sees me the expression changes. I'm used to that. It's not really something I enjoy, but it's part of my job. I am distracting.

My hair is stark blonde, curtain bangs framing my heart shaped face. Small lips elevate my large, blue eyes and button nose. The white top I'm wearing is sleeveless, but covers my slender arms. Over the shirt, I'm wearing an unzipped puffer jacket, followed by a short jean skirt which I can see he's trying to peek up into from his position on the ground. I take a step back so he can't.

"Yes ma'am?" he says. A southern accent. He must have moved up here after the South decided to become its own country; The Free Southern Republic.

"Where would I find water chestnuts?"

He puts his airpod in his pocket, and walks down the aisle. He has completely abandoned his current task. I don't look behind me, but I know there are cameras positioned on the roof. An operator is working behind them, watching shoppers every move. That's standard now. There is usually a cameraman and a security guard posted at every major store. They are not trained officers, and they have no education; just minimum wage workers straight from highschool who are given tasers and told to protect the store's merchandise. Sometimes, the lack of training makes me more afraid of them than I would be a cop. They have no clue what they are doing.

It's not uncommon to hear horror stories, especially in The Free Southern Republic, where the guards are given guns instead of tasers. The guards are quick to kill, beat, and blame the innocent. The little power they have gets to their head.

Coming to a stop, the man starts rummaging through the aisle, looking for the water chestnuts. I lean in close, nearly touching him, acting as if I am looking into the aisle too. I position his body to hide mine so that the camera can not see over him. He unknowingly acts as my shield. Then, while he is distracted by my closeness, I tuck some of the items in my cart into my puffer jacket, which has pockets hidden on the inside.

He finds the water chestnuts, and I smile at him before putting it in my cart. I turn to walk away, knowing this grocery trip would be another success. They always were. Cameraman and security guards; nothing they put in my way would ever stop me.

I have to steal in this world in order to give my son the life he deserves. I never want him to work the way I have had to just to survive. I want him to follow his passions. I want him to become a great chef and own the world's greatest restaurant. His life will be nothing like mine was.

I'm good at stealing, and even though it's probably wrong to admit this, I kind of like it, too. It's exciting. The life I live isn't for the faint of heart. It is full of constant risk.

"Ma'am?" the man calls to me.

I freeze.

"My shift ends at four, if you're interested."

I turn around and face him. He's looking at me expectantly. As if I owe him something for finding me the water chestnuts.

"Sure, if you buy my groceries," I reply instantly. I am a well trained actress.

His eyes flicker to my cart, which is now mostly empty. I'm sure he's thinking that's an easy trade, considering I don't have much.

"I can do that," he says, flicking open his wallet. His eyes are twinkling. He pulls out a twenty.

When I see it, I simply shake my head. He pulls out a fifty instead. With a sly smile, I let him hand me a fifty dollar bill and in exchange I give him my business card. The smile on his face instantly drops when he reads it.

"You're an escort?" He says it like it's an accusation.

"Yes, sweetie, but call me at 4 if you're still interested. I'll give you a discount since you bought my groceries." Then, I am gone, disappearing from the aisle before he can demand his money back.

Men like him don't usually hire me; they don't make enough money. Only men with money have the taste and the finances to afford a high-quality escort like me. I am nothing like the idea most people have. I don't sleep with clients. We go to dances and charity dinners; I make exes jealous and teach men how to talk to girls. I escort men by spending time with them, I do not do anything more. Unless I want to, which sometimes I do. playe

At checkout, a girl with bright braces scans my groceries. Nowadays, there are limits on everything; a carton of veggies, one protein, two canned items. Everything is kept under tabs. She scans my phone, which holds my grocery ID. Then, she begins to scan my items. When she comes to the pregnancy test, she stops. I bristle. I completely forgot to hide that item in my jacket. For me, pregnancy tests are illegal.

"Do you have your Pregnancy Approval Card?" she asked me. Quickly, I scan the girl. She is probably in highschool. Her uniform is sloppy and stained. There is a hickey on her neck and a nicotine patch poking out from her sleeve. She can be bought.

"How old are you?" I ask her, dodging the question.

She looks at me skeptically.

"Sixteen," she replies.

"If you just put the test in the bag without scanning anything, I'll buy you a bottle of whatever drink you want and leave it in the bushes outside the store for when you get off of shift."

She pursues her lips, and without breaking eye contact, drops the pregnancy test into my bag.

"32.81 is your total. I want Everclear," she says. I handed her the fifty the guy gave me. Instead of breaking the change, she called out for the next customer. Clearly, she's keeping the change as a tip, too. Too bad. If she didn't do that, I truly would have bought her that drink.

I walk out of the store with my water chestnuts, pregnancy test, and chipotle adobo, my jacket sagging from the countless groceries I've hidden inside of it. I wink at the security guard while I walk by.

By this time, my son is probably home, doing homework in his study. He has football practice at five tonight, and he's cooking a new recipe for the cook-book he's writing. When I was his age, I was a housecleaner at a hotel in exchange for a free room.

Without thinking, my hand reached for my belly. Is it just my mind, or can I nearly feel the presence of someone in there? As if I can sense their newly formed soul awake inside of me.

I sigh, knowing it will be much better for me and my son if the test I take is negative. After all, it is illegal for me to get pregnant right now.

In this world, you either act your way into success, like I do, or somebody has already paved the way for your success. No matter what, my son is going to have his path paved. Even if that means my entire life is one big acting gig, where the scene never ends. I'll do it for him, but could I do it for one more?