There are things about the human race that you only learn when you work at Walmart. For example, the fact that some people think it’s okay to grab a sandwich from the deli, eat half of it, and then try to hide the evidence by wrapping a t-shirt around it and stuffing it behind the magazine rack.

“All right. You win.” Ciara gags at my discovery, pushing it away. “That’s got to be the weirdest LBAC.”

I held the previous record for Left Behind at Checkout, too: a man with a cart full of groceries and a very specific budget, who stashed, among other things, three raw steaks, a bag of frozen shrimp, and an entire birthday cake in my aisle. It took me half an hour just to find and return everything. 

“I’m back!” Whitney slides around the corner, her box braids swinging wildly. “You didn’t talk when I was gone, did you?”

“I would never.” I put my right hand over my heart like I’m pledging allegiance.

“But she did make a new LBAC record,” Summer reports. “Half-eaten deli sandwich, wrapped in a shirt, behind the magazine rack.”

It’s ten at night on a Wednesday and the store is dead quiet. There are no managers around to yell at us, because the night managers are ghosts who appear to clock in and clock out, and who knows what happens in between. Whitney’s supposed to be manning register 6, while Ciara and Summer and I have been recruited by the customer service desk to restock the checkout shelves and put away the day’s LBACs. Instead, I’m catching them up on the latest episode of ‘Lissa Tries To Find Somewhere To Live’. 

“Okay the sandwich is gross,” Whitney grants, “but back to the roommate. They actually arrested her?”

“They raided the apartment. It was full on Law and Order in there, I thought I was going to die. Turns out, half her stuff was stolen! All the fancy furniture, the TV. And that’s not even the worst part. She’s been smuggling stolen cars into Canada.”

All three girls gasp. I’m glad they think my roommate curse is entertaining, because for me, the endless string of catastrophes has just been exhausting. Especially this last one.

“So let’s tally up.” Summer hops onto the bagging carousel and counts on her fingers. “First we had the alien cult. Then there was the girl who fed the rats.”

“Not just fed,” I clarify. “She had them living in her room.”

I don’t think I’ll ever recover from waking up with one of the beady-eyed things on my chest.

“And after rat girl, there was the one with night terrors,” Ciara adds, dropping a pair of furry orange slippers into the miscellaneous bin. 

Whitney examines her nails. “I still think if anyone swings a baseball bat at you, you have the right to sue, medical condition or not.”

Summer continues tallying. “And then there was the haunted apartment—”

“Not haunted,” we all groan. Ciara, Whitney and I have all agreed that my roommate, whose parents had forced her to share the place they paid for, was just very determined to get rid of me. Summer insists the spirit of Mrs. Cadwallader was real. 

“And finally,” she finishes, ignoring us, “we have the klepto.”

“Don’t forget the time I tried to rent on my own.” I’d been living there for two days when the entire ceiling fell through. My upstairs neighbor’s piano nearly killed me. 

“On cap, you could not make this stuff up.” Whitney seems impressed. “So what’s the next move, Liss?”

“I don’t know.” I sink onto the floor, burying my head in my hands. “It’s ridiculous that I’ve had six apartments in the past three weeks. Enzo won’t even load my stuff off his truck, he says it’s pointless.”

“But what’s the point of having a hot older brother if he won’t do manual labor for you?”

I lift my head. “Whitney, my brother is twice your age.”

“So?” She’s offended that I feel the need to point this out. “So is Chris Hemsworth. Am I not allowed to enjoy Thor?”

“Yeah, don’t be a fascist, Lissa.” Ciara pops her gum. “Enzo’s a snack.”

Snack? Enzo is tall and dark-haired and there are things about him that could be called attractive in an objective, non-sisterly way, but snack just takes it too far.

Summer is kind enough to rescue the conversation from the disturbing turn it’s taken. “Didn’t you say your parents had a house they could let you stay at temporarily?”

“Yeah, but…” I cross my legs under me and start straightening the little toys on the bottom shelf. “It’s complicated.”

The girls perk up. When it comes to drama, they’re like a pack of tiny, brightly colored bloodhounds. Their cutesy jewelry and ever-changing rainbow of hair—this month, Ciara’s gone hot pink, while Summer swears her silvery white bob is here to stay—make them look deceptively harmless. I know better. Just this spring, Ciara got into a fight at homecoming and ripped a senior’s weave out. High school girls have no chill.

“Spill the tea,” Whitney orders. 

I don’t bother resisting. “My ex is living there. He’s the one fixing it up so they can sell it, and there’s this little guesthouse on the property and I guess they said he could stay there.”

“Is this the ex?” Summer asks meaningfully. 

“The one and only.”

“Big yikes,” Ciara mutters.

“So you can see why I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to move in with the guy.”

“Just make him move out.” Whitney looks over the rows of registers and sighs. “Crap, I got a customer. Don’t talk about anything important without me.”

As she walks away, I say, “I already asked him to give it up. He won’t do it.”

“Lissa.” Ciara gives me a flat stare. “You dated the guy for four years, and you’re telling me you don’t know how to manipulate him into doing what you want?”

  “Um… no?”

The girls exchange a look. It clearly says amateur.

“Okay, okay.” Summer holds a hand up. “So you can’t get him to leave. You said he’s just going to be in the guesthouse. You’ll have the main house to yourself, right?” At my nod, she says, “Then I’m not seeing what the problem is.”

Well, there is the little issue of my parents selling the house, meaning this would only be a quick patch on a problem I still can’t face. I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do permanently. But I don’t want to talk about that, because then I’ll have to think about it, and that’ll probably end in me having a nervous breakdown and doing something insane like shaving my head and fleeing the country. 

“We’re not on good terms,” I say instead. “The only reason we haven’t killed each other yet is because my family’s almost always there. And if I moved into the house, we’d have to… interact. Alone.” 

What was it he called me, when he came to pick me up that night? A spoiled kid who doesn’t know how to take care of herself. Yeah, the last thing I need is more opportunities for him to insult me. 

“It’s not like you have to share a bed with the guy.” Ciara rolls her eyes. “Just stay on your side of the property, and if you run into him, hit him with one of these.”

She goes deadpan, and her eyes turn so cold that a shiver of fear goes down my spine. Man that’s effective. She’s going to have to teach me that.

“Exactly,” Summer agrees. “And anyways, you don’t even spend that much time at home, so it’s not a big deal. I say don’t tempt the curse. Otherwise, who knows what kind of nightmare you’ll end up with next?” Her green eyes widen. “It could be a serial killer.”

“Bet.” Ciara looks thoughtful. “Like one of those guys on Dateline who likes to stuff his victims after he kills them.”

My stomach turns. “Ciara, sometimes you scare me.”

Before Ciara can reply, the slap of footsteps breaks the general quiet of the store, and a little boy appears in front of our checkout. He looks like he’s about five years old, with a dirty face and a mop of loose brown curls. Without saying a single word, he stands there and stares at us.