Little Utah 4

She was upset and he didn’t know why. He felt he should be the one who was upset. The weird little kid called hm out. Out of nowhere.

I mean, he didn’t really think his dad would give much of a shit, to be honest. They were Episcopal, not Baptist, or Jehovah’s Witness, or Pentecostal.

Or Mormon, like the little weirdo.

She was boiling. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t spend much one-on-one time with girls, and he sure didn’t know how to gauge, much less manage, their emotions.

They pulled in the store. She wasn’t going in.

“Get me an Ale-8.” She said. “And a 3 Musketeers.”

He went in by himself. God, he hated this town. The Express Mart was just down the street from the last working Tobacco Warehouse in town, just off the bypass, and the restaurant–which served burgers and some damn fine onion rings–always sent a cloud of cigarette smoke into the “mart” section.

He grabbed two ale-8s and a 3 musketeers, paid the mummified woman who just nodded, and headed back to the car.

“You STINK,” Morgan. “You smell like a bar.”

The way she said “Bar.” She sounded like she was from Kentucky then. She was cute even when she was pissed.

“You’ve been to a bar?”

“Yeah.” She was lying. Wouldn’t look at him.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I gotta be home in a little while. Let’s just drive around.”

She turned up the radio. He backed out, turned right, and headed toward the bypass.

Not sure if this section is a keeper, but I want to get more of a feeling for these characters. Morgan needs to be drawn out more fully. Right now, she just exists as an object of the narrator’s teenage longing.


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