Seek Higher Ground

At the eastern edge of Georgia, on a hot and humid August day, two teenage boys sit in an old sun-damaged Ford sedan in front of a rural convenience store and gas station. They scroll through their cell phones. Ray, in the driver’s seat, the older one with thin hair, says, “I’m bored. Let’s do something.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Bobby, checking out military tattoos on Instagram.

Ray watches a customer leave the store and drive off. There are no other cars in the lot. “We could rob the store.”

Bobby looks up, surprised. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It would be easy. No one knows us over here.” Seeing Bobby at a loss for words, Ray grins and adds, “Come on, we need some excitement.”

“Let’s just go home.”

“And do what? Don’t be a pussy.” Ray reaches to the back seat, picks up a bungee cord, and turns to Bobby. “It’ll make a man of you.”

Ray gets out of the car. He’s muscular under his T-shirt, with dark hair and a prominent tattoo of a dragon on his forearm. Bobby hesitates, then reluctantly climbs out. He’s shorter and slimmer, with thick wavy hair, and walks a few steps behind.

A bell rings as Ray pushes the store’s glass door open. The place is empty except for a young black clerk who reads behind the counter. She glances up, then returns to her book.

The boys wander around, pretending to shop. Ray nods toward a security camera dangling from loose wires and smirks. The clerk looks up.

“She’s watching us,” Bobby whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ray hands Bobby a bag of chips. “Take it to the counter and empty the register when I tell you.”

Bobby, panicked, looks around for a way out of this, but when Ray gives him a stern look, he does what he’s told.

As the clerk begins ringing up the chips, Ray steps behind a rack of magazines and removes the bungee from his pocket. Bobby fumbles for some bills, then drops them on the counter. The clerk looks at him curiously. He retrieves the money and hands it to her. When she opens the register, Ray moves behind the counter, grabs her arms, and pulls them tight behind her back with the cord. She lets out a sharp cry. Bobby stares at her staring at him.

“Get the money!” shouts Ray.

Bobby disconnects from her gaze and reaches for the open register. As he does this, a short, pudgy man, about forty, looks through the store window and sees the robbery in progress. Excited, he pulls a handgun from his pocket and reaches for the door. When the bell rings, Ray and Bobby freeze. They turn and see the man enter, pointing his gun at them. He assumes a military stance, holding the weapon in two unsteady hands.

Ray releases the clerk’s arms and the cord drops to the floor. She exhales and rubs her wrists. Ray starts to raise his hands in the air when the man, eager and impulsive, fires. The boys jump at the sound of the blast and the clerk falls to the floor. They all stare at her, horrified. Transfixed, the man lowers the gun.

Ray seizes the moment, grabs money from the register, and sprints to the back door. Bobby’s right behind him. As they run to their car, they pass a teenage girl, wearing a provocative halter top and shorts, pumping gas into her Toyota. She removes her earbuds.

“Hey, Ray, Bobby.”

The boys, surprised to see her, slow down and nod. “Miranda,” they say in unison before jumping in their car. She shrugs and continues filling her tank.

The car speeds along a two-lane road. Ray drives; Bobby holds the loose cash in his lap.

“Fuck! What was she doing there?” Ray shouts. “And who was that guy?”

“I think the cashier’s okay,” Bobby says, wanting it to be so.

“How much did we get?” Bobby’s so shaky he has a hard time counting the money.

“Do you think he saw the car?” Bobby asks.

“I dunno, but Miranda did. What’s she doing way over here?”

Bobby finishes counting. “Eighty-six dollars. You think she’ll tell on us?”