My father got the job when I was eight years old. I was never told what he was doing; every time I asked, my parents would change the subject. Being a child I never thought to push the matter, but as I grew I started to wonder more and more. I knew very little about the job. One of the things I did know was that we moved around so much because of it. My father would always tell me that we’d settle down someday, that I shouldn’t worry about it. But every time, it was the same. We’d stay somewhere for a month or two, six if we were unusually lucky, then we’d pack up and relocate. Small wonder why I’d never really had any friends.

By the time I was ten, the job was still upon us, and I began to notice tension between my parents. I remember seeing my mother with other men while my father was out. Sometimes I would ask her about it, when she was alone. Luann, she’d say, sometimes a woman’s got to have a man around. I was still too young to really understand, so I would leave it at that and go back to whatever it was I’d been doing. Occasionally my father would come home smelling like smoke – which wasn’t really any surprise, as he was a smoker – and alcohol. If I had known back then what I do now, I would’ve known immediately that he had been to a bar. I never did figure out why Mom never did anything about it. Even if she was seeing other men, she could’ve done something.

Now I was sixteen. My father still had that stupid job, and it was still common for us to move over twice a year.

The latest town we had come to was Fairmont. It was a small town, out of the way, and surrounded by farmland. I had been told to suck it up or be left behind, when I complained. At the time I wanted to stay with my parents, I still had hope that we could be a happy family, so I kept quiet. Fairmont could’ve been interesting, anyway.

The most exciting thing I found during my first walk around town was a dirty penny wedged between one of the cracks in the sidewalk.

I took it upon myself to save the unfortunate currency from its little prison. It took me a while, but eventually I had the penny in the front left pocket of my jeans. When I got up off the ground, there was someone watching me. They weren’t looking at me like I was an idiot, though. In fact, they looked curious, and somewhat amused. It was a boy, who looked like he was around my age, with shaggy, shoulder-length black hair. That was really the first thing I noticed about him. The second thing was the chain-adorned pair of bondage pants that I could catch a glimpse of over the balustrade, lining the porch that he was standing on. When he came down, it looked like he was going to come and talk to me, so I averted my eyes in an effort to refrain from staring. But he didn’t say anything, and walked past me.

That was the first time I saw James.

I went on my merry way, but that boy never left my mind. Just because my walk was boring didn’t mean the people in that town were boring too. In a way, I wished he had talked to me. At least I wouldn’t have been alone that way. But I was, and it stayed that way as I walked around the block back to my house.

“Thanks for leaving,” my mother said, not bothering to try to mask her sarcasm. She was moving an end table that I knew had already been moved at least three times.

“You said I could go,” I said. “If you wanted me to stay and help then you should’ve said so.” It hadn’t come as a surprise that she was like this. She always found some sort of problem with almost everything, around a move. “Where’s Dad?”

The words were hardly out of my mouth before she gave me an answer.

“At work,” she answered simply. I could tell she was in one of her fussier moods by the way she was looking at the poor furniture, like she was trying to glare it into moving just the way she wanted it. Being furniture, glaring at it would do no good, and I don’t doubt that my mother was perfectly aware of that. For a moment I just watched her in her picky glory, and she seemed to notice my silence and my watching. “We need milk.” That was all she needed to say in order for me to go right back outside, only this time I had an actual destination in mind.

The first place I found was a combination of a gas station and a convenience store. I had learned by now that places like this could very possibly have milk. It couldn’t hurt to check, so I went inside. The man behind the counter gave me a polite smile, probably customary to everybody who came and went. I was about to go look for myself, but then I figured I’d get myself lost, and something would distract me, and in the end I would forget all about the milk and blow my money on gum and a bottle of Coca-Cola. I stepped up to the counter, the front of which held a display of various candies and magazines, and smiled politely.

“You have any milk?” I asked. The man nodded.

“ Turn right and go straight to the end. Can’t miss it,” he said. My smile relaxed a little. I liked the way his voice sounded. I could tell that, working in a gas station, he was well-educated on the diversity of people, and I, a dark violet-haired teenage girl with hot pink eye shadow and black clothes, was nothing all that special. He had a kind face, and I felt like I could trust him.

“Thanks.” I turned around and followed his instructions, and sure enough, I found the milk. I chose one of the bottles of two percent, with the purple caps – there were other brands of milk in the refrigerator, only they had red caps, and I liked purple better than red – and walked back to the counter, where I proceeded to pay for the milk, then leave. Not even three steps out of the place did I get bumped into, and drop it. The bottle had only been plastic, and it was obvious now that it wasn’t very good plastic: it had cracked right in two when it made contact with the cement, and for a few seconds I just stared at it. Then I looked up to find out whom I had collided with.

It was that boy again.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and made to move around me to get inside the store. I blinked, and almost let him get away, before I turned around and cleared my throat.

“I’m not going all the way back home to get more money for another milk,” I stated. He stopped and turned around, looking at me with cerulean eyes. “You either give me the money for it, or you buy me a new one.” He seemed to think about it for a second or two. Then he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “I guess it’s only fair, even though I wasn’t the only one not watching where I was going, otherwise you would’ve moved.” I wanted to slap him for the smirk on his face, when he said that, but I stayed calm and smiled some; he had a point, after all, and I was getting what I wanted, so why fuss?

The boy moved away from the door and held it open, which surprised me; there were still members of the male species out there that held doors open for girls? Astonishing. I smiled and walked inside, and let him lead the way back to the milk.

“Which one?” he asked.

“Two percent,” I replied. He reached for one of the red-capped bottles, and I practically slapped his hand. “Purple, if you don’t mind.” He looked at me with a slightly confused, yet entertained look, to which I simply smiled. This time he retrieved the right kind of milk, and we walked back to the counter. The man smiled at us and raised one of his eyebrows at me.

“Went through that last bottle mighty fast, didn’t you?” he queried, at which myself and the boy exchanged looks, and I laughed. I had been about to answer, but I got beat to it.

“Strangest thing, Sam,” the boy began. “It exploded on us.” I nodded, deciding to go with it due to my amusement. I didn’t feel like being contrary, anyway. The man – whose name was indeed Sam, which I would’ve noticed before had I paid attention to the nametag that I supposed he was required to wear – chuckled and shook his head, scanned the milk, and took the boy’s money. He handed him the change, and glanced between us.

“Don’t you get any ideas now, James,” he said, wagging his finger at him. James laughed.

“What ideas? I only rescued her from certain death by milk,” he remarked, grinning lightly as he handed me the new bottle with one hand, and pocketed his change with the other. Sam made a jokingly disbelieving ‘mmhmm’ sound, and I waved goodbye as I walked out the door.

“Thanks,” I called before the door shut. I wasn’t expecting a reply, so I kept walking, careful not to get myself hit by any cars that were either coming to get filled up or leaving.

“You’re welcome.”

I turned around, and James was behind me. Unsure of his reasoning, I didn’t say anything at first, and I blinked. He blinked as well, and appeared to be looking for an explanation for it, himself.

“Making sure this one doesn’t explode too,” he said. I grinned, deciding that was acceptable enough, and silently allowed him to walk with me. Quite an accomplishment, to get a bodyguard on my first day in town.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” I asked. I knew there was a smile on his face, and I couldn’t help but wear one of my own when my ears picked up the jingle of the chains on his pants. Man did I love those pants.

“I figure there are some exceptions to that rule,” he said. “Especially girls with purple hair who make me replace things they dropped.” That was good enough for me, considering it was a pretty decent description of my situation.

“Well aren’t I special then,” I laughed. I could see him nod from the corner of my eye.

We talked the rest of the way to my house. I found out his name was James Bradford, and he was, as I had suspected, sixteen, just like I was. Although I invited him inside, he said he had things he needed to do, but he did let me know where he lived if I had to deal with any more unruly milks anytime soon. I watched him go from the porch, and waited until he was halfway to the corner before I went inside. The sound of the refrigerator door opening signaled to my mother that I was back.

“What took you so long?” she called from the living room. I grinned to myself as I set the milk on one of the shelves, and shut the door.

“Had to get another bottle,” I said. “The first one exploded.”