The next day, I went by two of the places I’d left a job application. The first had taken their “Help Wanted” poster down, so I didn’t even go inside. The second had new cashiers at the front: young high school kids, so I wrote that off, too.
I stopped to get gas at the station on Main Street.
As I was pumping gas, a car drove up beside me.
“Amy Gilbert!” I heard as the window rolled down. “I heard you were back in town!”
It was another of my classmates: Ronnie Sheldon.
“Hi, Ron!”
“You’re looking good,” he said. “What ‘cha doing here?”
I looked down at my hand. “Pumping gas!” I answered.
He laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d heard in ages. “I can see that. You home for good?”
I shook my head. “For a while. I’m between jobs.”
“Bummer. You living at your folks’ house?”
