Just Jump

13

"I want those shoes!” Darcie exclaims, pointing to a pair of patent leather boots way too big for her.

“And I want a pony, but sweetie, that’s not gonna happen,” Sheila answers.

“Okay!” Darcie opens the door, ignoring the No shirt, no shoes, no service sign.

A pimpled boy (man?) in his late teens glances at us as the entry bell goes off. “Uh, sorry guys, but no shoes means no service.”

“Seriously?” Ray asks, raising an eyebrow the way he does when he’s asked a stupid question. “It’s a shoe store. Why do you think we’re coming here? We need shoes, dumbass.”

“Whatever, jerk.” The boy goes back to his phone and mutters something that sounds like ‘ducking door on.’

“That kid was rude,” says Ray as he picks out five pairs of cheap flip flops.

“Maybe if you didn’t call him a dumbass, Ray!” Paul pushes Ray.

Ray looks disgusted. “Don’t touch me.”

“It’s July.” Darcie says to no one in particular. “It’s warm enough for flip flops.”

“That’s why we’re buying them,” I tell her as Ray and Paul continue to fight.

The entry bell rings again and two preteen girl come in, chatting about whatever preteen girl chat about.

“Oh my God, look at the little baby! She’s so cute!” One of them squeals, pointing at Darce.

“I’m not a baby!” the toddler protests. “I’m three years old. But I’m really smart.”

“Aww,” the other girl coos as she turns to Sheila. “Is she yours?”

“Yeah.” Sheila reties one of Darcie’s platinum blonde pigtails as she goes pink.

“What?!” I snap quietly as she kicks me in the shin. “What?!” I repeat.

“Aww, you’re like, soooo lucky,” the first girl says. “C’mon, Imogen, let’s go.” The two girls take off, leaving Ray, Paul, and I staring at the blonde seventeen-year-old.

“Why did you lie?” Paul asks softly. It’s a tone of voice I’ve honestly never heard on him – soft and warm and caring, a voice I didn’t know he could have, and one that convinces me he actually cares about us.

She shrugs. “It’s just an easier explanation.”

“Easier explanation? Sheil, now you look like a fourteen-year-old slut.”

Sheila glances at Darcie, who’s trying on Ray’s flip flops and giggling at the size. “Don’t use that word; I hate that word.”

“So she’s your daughter now?”

“Much easier explanation than ‘oh yeah, we come from a lab and we can freaking teleport.’”

“Okay,” Paul agrees, “I guess you’re right.”

“Ray!” I toss him the flip flops. “Go check out. Don’t call him any names this time.”

He smirks and head to the check out as the rest of us try and stop Darcie from trying on socks.

Sheila lied. Sheila’s never lied in her entire life.

Why did she lie?