Leah went through sports bras the way most girls went through tampons.
The boys had simpler needs; Emily bought stacks of mesh shorts and left them in neat piles next to the baked goods. Sweet, scarred, stupid Emily. She offered to buy the bras, of course, saying it would be no trouble at all. But some things Leah just needed to keep for herself.
After Jake fell in love with the newborn, the leeches bought him a Volvo with a baby seat in the back. Creepy as fuck, if you asked Leah, but no one ever did. She was left with the Rabbit, thick with his smell and his history. Everything on the rez was damp with history, clingy and unpleasant and so goddamn constant. So unlike Walmart.
Lit by a thousand sputtering florescents, Walmart was the easiest part of Leah's life. It was clean. It was organized. It did not judge her bimonthly purchase of a dozen sports bras. And if the Port Angeles branch failed her in any way, there was another just up the 101 in Sequim.
She was not one for pretty underthings, particularly when they were just torn to pieces, or left mildewing beneath the evergreens. Into her jaunty blue basket went four Fruit of the Loom three-packs, a Cherry Coke for the ride home, and a Hostess cupcake. She would save that for an evening at Sam and Emily's--there was some small pleasure in Emily's face as Leah rejected her homemade banana muffins in favor of processed chocolatey goodness. And what was Leah good for, if not the occasional cringe?
She placed her items on the conveyor belt, idly examining the different gum options. Her eyes swept across the colorful packaging, slid upwards, and snagged, a sweater on a bent nail. Shaggy brown hair. Silver hoop through one ear. Big nose, long neck, blue smock. A nametag: Walmart. Kyle. Our people make the difference! And indeed, in that moment, he did.