No response from my agent about the roles I want — the ones that could let me be more than just a pretty face. I crave challenges that will allow me to showcase my talent.

  I glance at the packaging, but none of the brands look familiar.

  Maybe I could slack off, break the stereotype, and take on different roles. But would I be compromising my career? What if they don't like me anymore? Jessica would be furious, and I'm already so used to my routine. Why should I change who I am just to be truly valued for who I am?

  The empty shelves are the evidence of the unexpected crowd that has invaded this convenience store. It doesn't make any sense. The last town we passed through had fewer inhabitants than the number of people crammed into this tiny space.

  Ella approaches with a basket. My cousin — who could pass for my sister — has the same blue eyes as our grandfather and the same golden hair as our grandmother, only in a shorter and feminine package.

  "Stop checking your cell phone all the time and help me talk to him," she complains, tossing items into the basket without even looking at them. "In the end, it's all the same bullshit. We know none of it is healthy," she flashes.

  "If the doctor says so..." I reply. My phone vibrates in my other hand, and she raises an eyebrow.

  "Are you still at it?"

  "I only checked my phone this last time. Maybe the road we're taking doesn't have a signal," I try to justify my distraction to my cousin, who roped me into this mission. "Someone needs to know where we are."

  "You mean, your girlfriend needs to know where you are," she says with a knowing smile, then shrugs. "What did you think of Wally? Worrying, isn't it?" She looks outside, searching for her husband.

  "He looks a bit down, but nothing to worry about. Sometimes people get like that."

  My cousin's look of disagreement tells me my answer hasn't convinced her — that we should continue the intervention.

  "Remember how he used to spend hours in the backyard teaching neighborhood kids to play?" Ella's eyes follow her husband as he stares blankly at the gas pump. "Now the yard's so quiet."

  "People change. Having a family does that."

  "Does it make them stop being themselves? He's been like this for over a year, and he refuses to see a psychologist," she says.

  "But if he managed to overcome his injury so well, I can't imagine what could be affecting him now. Especially since nothing serious has happened, and he's been happy like this for years. Why? It doesn't make sense. He's always been strong."

  "It doesn't always take a big reason; sometimes, it's just the weight of smaller ones. Maybe Wally never truly faced the end of his career, staying in denial all this time. Then, he kept himself busy taking care of Zoe. But now... she's in kindergarten, and even though he works in the mornings, he spends hours alone at home."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Ella looks away toward someone next to us. I hear a whisper nearby.

  "I think that's him..."

  I signal discreetly to my cousin, suggesting we finish up and leave without attracting attention. But it's already too late.

  At the checkout, I feel the eyes on me. The cashier drags out the process, savoring every second as he analyzes me.

  Product, beep, a long look at me.

  He takes his time while I feel the movement of people stirring. Many with their phones in hand, and whispering.

  Again. Product, beep, another look.

  A wasp nest preparing to strike. And I'd better not be inside this enclosed space when it happens, otherwise getting out will be much difficult.

  He opens his mouth.

  "Aren't you..."

  "Keep the change," I interrupt with a friendly smile, pulling Ella outside before he can finish his question.

  I speed up toward the car, but a crowd has already gathered around, excited by their confirmed suspicion.

  "Wow, that's a lot of people for a gas station in the middle of nowhere," I say, trying to keep my tone light as I move between the raised phones.

  "It's because of the off-road festival. I don't think anyone expected to see you here, right at the last stop before the wilderness. Are you going to the festival too?"

  Nor did I expect to be here. It wasn't my plan. But a call from my cousin, just as I was finally free, asking for help with Wally, brought me to this corner of the world. Now, here I am, surrounded by fans and flashing cameras, trying to maintain control.

  "Are we going?" I ask Ella, who confirms with a nod.

  I don't even know where we're going. I've just come to be a good friend – someone who shows up when needed, even without knowing what to do.

  I sigh and try to organize the situation. I smile for the cameras, hand out a few autographs, and attempt to set limits without being rude. But it's difficult when some people ignore all notions of personal space. Hands pull at me, grope me, and even express a certain aggression. As if I were a trophy on display that everyone wants a piece of as a souvenir.

  In the middle of the confusion, a man – calm and passive, the only one who avoids approaching and merely watches – catches my attention. The strange man is leaning against a small white truck, arms crossed over his green overalls. Cap, sunglasses, impassive expression. He doesn't seem impressed. On the contrary, there's something amused in his gaze, a mischievous smile that oozes superiority.

  When he notices my gaze, he tilts his head sideways, almost theatrically. Then extends his gloved hand, making an exaggerated gesture of permission.

  "Please, you can pass, your Highness." No words, but the sarcasm screams.

  I force myself to contain my irritation at the stranger's mockery. Turning my attention to a fan in front of me.

  "It's hot, isn't it?" she comments as I wipe off the sweat before picking up her pen.

  "Yes, what's your name?"

  "Then take your shirt off," someone suggests in the background.

  The excited shouts confirm that the idea has been well received.

  I pretend not to hear, but inside, I already know where this is going. Predictable. Not a surprise. The woman in front of me blushes, embarrassed that her comment has triggered such a reaction. Shyness, she answers my question.

  Finally, we made it to the car. My cousin gets in first, and as I wave goodbye for the last time, a few women shout.

  "Gorgeous!"

  "I love you!"

  "Marry me!"

  I smile politely and nod before turning around and getting into the car. On the outside, I keep my expression impeccable, my smile trained to look natural. But inside, the discomfort spreads.

  No matter how many times it happens. I never completely get used to the feeling of being reduced to an image — just a desired body, not a person.

  Only when we're back on the road do I allow myself to feel shame.

  Hey readers!

  a lot! JJ handled the crowd (mostly) like a pro, but that little gas station moment? Yeah, something tells me that’s gonna stick with him. ??

  but never really known—and how JJ wrestles with his so-called “perfect” image. And that mysterious guy at the gas station… what’s his deal? Any theories?

  so much!