The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

25...

25…

 The bell over the door let out a light, tinkling noise as someone entered the shop. The old man behind the counter glanced up to see two young teenagers, shivering, with blue lips and tired faces, walking past the shelves of motor oil and anti-freeze toward the front counter.

            “What are you kids doing out here dressed like that?” he asked, groaning as he pushed off the stool into a standing position.

            “D-do you have a phone?” the girl asked. Her long, tangled hair was the color of honey, and she wore a dirty gray hoodie with a pair of torn shorts. The old man’s reddened eyes widened when he saw her bare feet. They were filthy.

            “Sure thing,” he answered, twisting around to grab the landline. The phone clicked as he lifted it from the cradle.

            “Stop it, Roy. He’s a nice man. You don’t have to be scared.”

            The old man glanced at the teenage boy, the one the girl had called ‘Roy’. Dark haired and pale skinned, he looked tense as he fidgeted with the fabric of his mud colored t-shirt. He wore an expression torn between fear and relief as the girl spoke to him.

            “It must be nice to come in out of the cold, eh?” the old man prompted, his eyes darting between the kids. The girl nodded. The boy didn’t move.

            “We’ve been trying to get a ride all morning,” the girl explained, tucking a clump of frizzy, tangled hair behind one ear. “But there doesn’t seem to be anyone out today. And then I saw this place.” A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth, briefly. “I know where we are, now.” She added.

            “You were lost?” the old man raised his brow confusedly.

            The girl bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at her friend. He was stiff as a board, with his eyes glued to his dirty feet. “We had a bit of an…odd…misfortune.”

            “Oh?” the old man’s hand gripped the phone. He hadn’t given it to her yet, although he wasn’t quite sure what held him back. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked, a little puzzled.

            “Yeah,” she nodded as she exhaled. “You’re Doug Meyers. We met a few summers ago. My dad rented your cabin.”

            “I thought you looked familiar. What’s your dad’s name, again?” he inquired.

            “James Whitman. I’m Lisa.” She glanced over her shoulder again. She seemed to be keeping an eye on her companion. “This is Roy.”

            The old man nodded with a smile and handed the phone to her. “That’s right. I remember you. Not him though,” he glanced at Roy. “He wasn’t with you.”

            Lisa shook her head, her trembling fingers pressing buttons with great zeal. “No,” she replied distractedly. “He’s never been here before.”

            The old man watched the two teenagers move away from the counter. The girl sent Roy a reassuring smile before moving to the back of the shop, near the fishing gear.

            They were acting very peculiar. The boy kept very close to the girl, as though she might up and disappear on him at any moment. She seemed to be keeping her eye on him in turn, but only when he wasn’t looking. They seemed close, but, oddly enough, they never touched, nor hardly spoke a word to each other.