Undercover Badge; Next Generation

Chapter thirty-two

I kept walking, following a swarm of college students onto a corner store. They b-lined for the candy isle. I went all the way to the back. The meager veggies section had a lack of food my mother would be impressed by, but there was a bag of crisp green apples. I didn't check if they were organic- I wasn't in the mood for disappointment. A jar of double-crunch peanut butter made its way into my arms and a plastic spoon from behind the soups to go. I waited behind the rowdy young group, and instead of feeling awkward as an outsider to their fun and gaiety, I smiled instead at their good natured ribbing at each other. The girls hopped up and down to try keep their bare legs warm in the cold, and the guys laughed at them. They reminded me of the kids that had taken me home. They were nice people and open and fun.

I paid for my fruit, getting a look from the cashier- a greasy haired seventeen year old who smelled distinctly of the sweet smoke associated to certain herbs.

"Your fru-fru kind usually go for the gourmet place on thirty-first." He muttered. I scowled, fluffed up my scarf and pulled my leather jacket tighter around me. He handed me a plastic bag – again, my mother would not have been happy- and I walked out into the still buzzing side walk.

On the walk back to Matthew's, I took my time. I tried to memorize the feel of the wind slicing through my clothes and the cool air and the way my hair went flying in a hundred directions and how when my head was turned a certain way, the wind roared in my ears surprisingly similar to the way waves crashed on the shore and the sound thereof. It really was the windy city.

By the time I got back, it was half past one in the morning and Matthew still wasn't back, so I sat down against the wall next to the door, folded my legs and pulled an apple from my bag of apples, then promptly slathered it with crunchy peanut butter, and devoured it.

I was three apples in when heavy footsteps came down the hallway.

I looked up, happily munching, a deep hollow feeling in my gut telling me Matthew was about to kill me. But some part of me was relaxed. Chicago's streets had buzzed me- it was alive and amazing and it left me feeling invincible and anonymous at the same time, and with all the focus that I'd been putting on myself, it felt good to mean nothing. So Matthew tearing into me would not cut down my vibe.

The man walking down the hallway froze when he saw me, staring at the freak sitting outside an apartment eating apples and peanut butter, and he was decidedly not Matthew.

"Who the hell are you?" he blinked twice. "Actually, I don't care. I'm gettin' security." He turned and started walking away.

"Hey!" I cried, scrambling up. "I'm a friend of -Mathew's, I just... sort-of, locked myself out."

The guy was giving a distinctly land-lordy feel. The giant ring of keys dangling and changling on his hip, the tired, bored countenance.

"Prove it." He deadpanned.

"My bags are inside." I blurted before I could think better of it. "By the couch. It's a duffel. You could totally check."

 I sounded like a ditz, but after a few seconds of giving me the stink-eye, he sighed, rolled his eyes and muttered a "Oh, what the Hell." And walked over to the door, opening it for me. I grabbed my bag, my apples and my peanut butter, lurching inside after him, a grin taking over my features.

I'd directly disobeyed Matthew's orders and I even got back in the apartment without him. I'd conquered the streets of Chicago. It was a score on every scale. Satisfied that the duffle bag confirmed my story, the man left, but not before warning me that if Matthew and I intended to get up to what he called "Sexual Funny-Business", like it was capitalized, we had better keep it down.