Seven/Eleven

3. Jared Kleinman

You never know who you might meet stranded on an island. It could be a literal ray of fucking sunshine or a really goth emo person. It could be a sassy woman with a sharp tongue or a really soft, lovable guy who just wants to sleep. Or it could be Racetrack Higgins. Not really an existing stereotype or clique for him. No real description available. Okay, maybe. Crazy, flirty, and ignorant. Maybe just a little bit like me. Maybe. 

He bumped into me. He was apparently walking backwards, and our backs collided. "Asshole," I whispered. "What, shortie?" he said. "You better apologize, ya little-" I said. "Oh, hon. I'd love to have a battle of wits, but it seems you've come unprepared," he spat. "Is that all you have. You know, brains aren't everything. In fact, in your case, they're nothing!" I sneered. "I'd give you a nasty look, but you already have one, soooo,"  quipped Race. (A/n: Get ready for some SICK insults). "Ya know, I don't think you're stupid, you just have bad luck thinking," I needled. "Oh, no you didn't," he muttered. "I'm really jealous of everyone who hasn't met you, shortie," insulted the guy who had bumped into me. "Mhmmm. I'm a good person. You're not. And I have proof," I said. "Tell me," begged the guy in the coldest way he possibly could. "Most people live and learn. You just live," I jeered. This went on for some time. 

"You were born on a highway, right? 'Cause that's where most accidents happen," he smirked.

"Any similarity between you and a human is purely coincidental," I quipped.

"Don't think, it may sprain your brain," warned the guy who had bumped into me.

"Hi, I'm a human being, what are you?" I mocked.

"Running out of insults," said the guy.

"Me too," I said, looking him in the eye. "Wait, I have one more," he said. "Bring it on," I dared. "Well, okay. You're so short you're the last to know when it rains"

"Can't argue with that"

"Honesty is the best policy. Thanks"

"You're awful," I said. "Thanks again for being honest. The name's Race," grinned the man. "Well, I'm the Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman," I replied. "Yeah, you're cool," chuckled Race. "Oh. I am flattered. You'd be cool if I hadn't seen your face," I grinned. "You too, shortie," then Race ran away. I was tempted to chase him, but I didn't. "What're you waiting for?" he called. "Okay," I sighed. I ran after him, into the woods.

*********************************

"W-where ar-r-e we?" asked Race. I could barley see his face in the light from my almost dead phone. "Um, I dunno?" I squeaked. We looked up at the dark sky, with all the stars coming out. We were lost. In the woods. On an unknown island. In the middle of the ocean. In short: We were as good as dead. "W-which w-way?" stuttered Race. "Ummmm, that way!" I stammered, pointing at a faint glow through the trees. We couldn't be that close to the crashed plane, could we? We had been in the woods for like half of the day or something. Anxiety suppressed all my sane thoughts. It didn't matter. We had seen light and we were walking, er, running towards it.

"A Seven/Eleven!" shouted Race. "I thought this was our camp, but nope, it had to be a freaking Seven/Eleven!" "Shut up, Race! It could be useful. Maybe we could get food. Maybe the owner knows a place where we can stay nearby," I declared. "You've failed me," whispered Race as we opened the door. "Hello, how may I help you," called a female voice as we stepped into the store.

Almost all the shelves were empty. Every. Freaking. Shelf. (almost). The only products that lined the walls were milk in the fridge, assorted spices, cool ranch doritos, and the slurpee machine, which was bigger than the last slurpee machine I'd seen. "So where are we?" I asked the woman in charge of the store. "Seven/Eleven, isn't that obvious, dork?" she replied. "N-no, I meant like in a broader spectrum"

"Well, to be frank, I haven't had any new costumers since the second year I worked here" something told me she'd been here for a long time.

"Wow, so who usually comes to this place?"

"The locals. They refuse to give their town a name. Anyways, one day a psycho showed up and bought them all slushies, now they praise him. I recall, he left for the mainland years ago"

"That explains the slurpee machine," I remarked. "Yeah, unless you're a fan of skim milk, paprika, or gross doritos, I'm afraid that's all I have," said the woman. "You've also failed me," said Race, "out of the two kinds of doritos, you have the kind I DESPISE!"

"Be more chill, Race. We're gonna get out of here as soon as we can, but until then, freak out as much as you want." I said. "Hey, I'm not supposed to do this, but ya'll look lost. Lemme get you a snack and then we can chat," suggested the woman, her reddish-blond hair floating as she speed walked out from behind the counter, "Oh, and I forgot. Feel free to dig into my secret stash of corn nuts!" "What the hell," muttered Race under his breath. "I don't know," I whispered back.

********************

We sat on some milk crates in the back room of the Sev/Elev while the woman got us some food. Race was trying to open a bag of corn nuts, and I fidgeted with the hem of my sweatshirt. "Okay, so I have 2% milk with cinnamon that I can put in that there microwave, and some cool ranch doritos. Dig in," said the woman. She put our drinks in the microwave and pulled over a milk crate. "Excuse me, miss, but why can't we have slushies?" questioned Race. "Because, I think you don't need any more sugar, especially in the middle of the night," she replied. "Wait, what's your name?" I ask. "Heather Chandler. You can call me Heather, C, Chandler, Heather C, that's it."

I sip my milk. "Why're you here?" asks Heather C. "Well, wewereinaplanecrashandwentfora... hike," I said. "Aaaaand, we got lost! Yay!" added Race. "Oh, there's a plane crash on the island? Be aware, it's not as small as it looks. Over here, you'll get lost very easily," said C. "What're you're names," she added. "Jared. Jared Kleinman, and this is my buddy Race."