The manager grabbed his arm—not hard, but firm—and led him toward the back aisle. Out in the open. Where people could see. Chauncy hesitated, then followed anyway, his grip tightening around the snacks in his hand.
“What you did back there,” the manager said, turning to face him, “that’s not okay.” A couple nearby slowed down. Not obvious. But enough.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Chauncy said quickly, his voice low but urgent. “Someone gave these to me outside. I swear.”
The manager shook his head. “I watched you,” he said. “Walking around, hands in your pockets… dropping items, picking them up like that.”
“That’s not what happened,” Chauncy said, louder now. “I was just trying to—”
“I’m calling this in,” the manager cut in, already pulling out his phone.
That’s when the panic hit. Not slow. All at once.
“No—please don’t,” Chauncy said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t take anything. You can check, you can ask—there were people outside—”
But the manager was already dialing. “I’ve got a kid here with unpaid items,” he said, turning slightly away. “Yeah—looks like shoplifting.”
The word hit like a punch. Shoplifting. People were definitely watching now. Not pretending anymore. Chauncy’s chest tightened.
