The Iowa Review congratulates Olivia White, whose short “Evening at the Hy-way Mart” has been been selected as the winner of our annual David Hamilton Undergraduate Creative Writing Prize for 2026. This prize is sponsored by anonymous donors who wish to honor the mentorship and support that students at the University of Iowa received from Emeritus Professor of English David Hamilton. In addition to publication online, the award comes with a $500 scholarship. This year, we had a characteristically excellent selection of University of Iowa undergraduate submissions, and we thank those faculty members who nominated student work for this annual award.
Evening at the Hy-way Mart
Lily watched through the dirt and rain-streaked windows of the gas station as the sky settled into darkness for the night. Across the bare plains, the only signs of life were the twinkling lights from houses spread far out into the flat land.
Dim lights flickered above the broken gas pumps, swarming with bugs. That’ll go out soon, she thought, and leaned further back in the cracked and wobbly stool at the register. If they did, the only lights nearby were the anti-abortion billboard down the deserted highway (the only intact billboard for miles, with the others torn down and graffitied), and the neon sign proudly displaying “Hi-Way Mart” in red capital letters above the gas prices.
They climbed higher by the day, slashing their customers again as fewer people could afford to drive anywhere. Hell, she never saw anyone in town drive anymore unless they commuted for work, and those people had more money than most of the residents of Clearwater, yet even they were dwindling.
The clock on the wall dragged on forever, its hands moving slower every god-awful minute. Merely three hours into her twelve-hour shift, she convinced herself she would grow old and die before it was over. Be grateful. That’s what her sister always said. Cause there’s hardly anyone your age who even has a job here.
Still, it was difficult to see the positives when a headache crept in from the smell of chemicals and the greasy, stale food in the warmers. She welcomed the next few weeks when Mike announced to all four of his employees that they would no longer have to worry about cooking any of it. There wasn’t a need to, not when you barely get customers and it cost more to buy the stock than the money they made from it. But her stomach still turned at the thought.
Her penny-pinching boss would soon look for other means of cutting costs, and the evening shift saw fewer and fewer customers. He promised to keep one of them on instead of closing early in the day. Two on the day shift. One in the evenings. One person whose hours got cut. But which one? Between her and Gage, she felt the choice was obvious, even if she felt a little bad for him. Despite his general laziness and unhelpfulness, he was a nice enough person and entertaining to talk to during their long shifts. Maybe nostalgia colored her perception. They were closer friends from elementary into early high school when his brain wasn’t fried and he still cared about school and planned for college. All before he got involved with Angel.
Anyway, the old man took a liking to him for some reason, never commenting on his work ethic (or lack thereof). He didn’t even care when Gage sold a guy weed out behind the gas station. And it wasduring his shift. A few years ago, the idea would’ve been laughable. Right, Gage Weber. That little nerd was selling weed. Are you high?
The whole situation left her in jeopardy. Between her and Miranda, what scant money they brought in was just enough to scrape by after their dad got laid off at the hospital. He knew it was coming, he told them that evening. You didn’t need that many nurses when most people stayed at home playing doctor.
Speaking of the issue. Gage strolled in from the back. Black shaggy hair plastered to his forehead, his ripped and fraying T-shirt and jeans were soaking wet, and he stank of his beloved American Spirits and weed. How in the hell could he even afford cigarettes?
“Damn, still smells like puke in here,” he said, hoping the enraging memory of the drunk guy upchucking by the chip aisle merely an hour ago would distract Lily from the fact that he took his third smoke break in three hours. His red eyes were mere slits in his face. She looked irritated, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t worried. She’d get over it.
He felt like he was moving in slow motion as he sat down at the table by the always empty coffee machines. Lily watched the clock. He stared at them for a solid two minutes in contemplation. “Dude,” he coughed, “like why do we still even have those?”
“Beats me.” Coffee was too expensive to stock. She tapped on her shattered phone screen and knit her eyebrows together. “You have any idea when the rain is going to quit? I can’t get the Wi-Fi to work to see the radar.”
“No clue,” he answered, “I literally don’t even think Mike is paying for the internet anymore.” He leaned backwards in his chair and snatched a bag of fruit snacks from a stand, set it on the table, then grabbed another one to offer to her. Lily rolled her eyes. She was just jealous because Mike wouldn’t let her get away with something like that. Don’t hate the player.
A white car, cleaner and with a suspicious lack of rust than most the gas station hosted, pulled up to the pumps. A stocky older guy in a suit jumped out.
“Yuck.” Lily wrinkled her nose.
“Someone’s jealous,” Gage snorted.
As if she would ever be jealous of anyone who worked for Green Earth. She imagined them leaving a dismal concrete building in lines like robots, after a long day devising ways to drive people into further debt. All in the name of saving dying American farms and returning to the glory days, so they said. How noble. Luckily, they remained a rarity at the store. She supposed they got gas in Hartford most of the time because, though those prices couldn’t be much better than here, stations on the highway dwindled.
“My dad says they’re going to build another agricultural complex in Gurney.” Gage smacked his lips as he shoveled more fruit snacks in and talked, a childhood habit that persisted to Lily’s irritation then and now. “He thinks they’d take me on for it.” Any promise of work led people around like pigs following a carrot on a stick, and what the hell? He didn’t mind being one if it meant getting out of this place. College was meant to be that option. A pipe dream with tuition costs nowadays. So he’d take anything he could, but Angel might be harder to convince to come along. He didn’t know why she clung so damn hard to stay. Her brothers could take care of the rest of them just fine.
Lily burst out with a laugh at the idea. Gage, though twenty-two or so, looked like he just hit puberty, made of thin twiggy limbs and a patchy, pubic hair looking mustache. He could barely lift the bigger boxes that came in from the trucks and often hid…somewhere, leaving her to manage moving them. Oh yeah, he was exactly what a construction company wanted in a worker. Weak and lazy. Uh-huh.
Seeing his clouding expression, she raised her hands up. “Hey, you know what? Maybe they will.”
“Thank you for your confidence in me,” he said in a saccharine voice, tossing the empty bag towards the overflowing trash can. He missed. Whatever, he’d probably pick it up later.
Something banged outside at the pumps. “Shit,” Lily muttered.
The man, flushing beet red, stormed up to the doors and rammed them open. He ran his hands through his dripping wet, thinning gray hair and placed his palms on the counter, leaning in to glare at Lily. However, his face, eerily smooth and tan, fought the action. “I have spent the last…I don’t know how many minutes trying to get that gas pump to work.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he spoke. She stepped back from the splash zone, clutching her useless phone to her chest.
“You’re on pump four?”
“Sure am.”
Lily sighed, mostly out of annoyance. One of two remaining pumps even worked, and of course it broke right when this Green Earth guy pulled up. God wanted to torture her by making her put up with him.
“Did you try the other one?”
He laughed in her face, sputtering in disbelief. “Obviously.”
She tried to keep her expression blank, but she knew her attempt was useless. “Our tanks might be out. We get a refill at the beginning of next month.”
“I’m running on fumes here,” he practically shouted at her.
“Right…” she said.
Gage, at some point unnoticed by Lily, appeared by her side and grinned. A disturbing customer service cadence Lily never heard before took over his voice. “I’m sorry about the inconvenience. We should’ve been aware and closed off the pumps. Are you from the area? We can direct you to another station if that helps.”
The guy relaxed at the suggestion. “No, I don’t. Not very well, I guess. I’m here on a work trip and my damn phone isn’t getting any reception.”
Gage made an earnestly sympathetic noise. Lily almost snorted at the fakery. Though he could barely form a thought in his head, couldn’t read the clock (or in general), and the world started to spin, he would put on the show of a lifetime to get in good with this guy. Shit, if he was like some super great help, maybe he could get him in on the Gurney job. Networking: college crap he never got to bother with. Who you know matters. You know?
Lily did know. She knew what he was trying to do. And she also knew that it’d never work, never in a million years. Besides it being Gage for God’s sake, built like a twig and the motivation of a sloth, they didn’t want people like him. They’d stock up on cheap workers; the ones willing to work for pennies wouldn’t complain about it. Lots of desperate, wandering people coming in to escape the droughts out West, and anything was better than starving on the street. Or worse.
“Is the one in Maverick closer, or is it the one in Scottsdale?” Gage asked her.
“Scottsdale.” Screw helping this guy. He could run out of gas on the side of the road for all she cared, and tow trucks took a while to get out here from Hartford. There used to be one in Clearwater before it closed.
“I think Maverick’s something like almost eighteen miles down this highway and Scottsdale is ten going…that way.” He pointed towards the back of the store. “I think.” He squinted in thought, his drooping eyes closing completely. The storm poured down heavier, thunder booming as the lights flickered in the store and outside.
“I saw a sign for Scottsdale about right before I pulled in. Thanks for the info,” he said to Gage while glowering at Lily. “Good help is hard to find these days.”
He turned to leave and just got his hands on the door when Gage stopped him. This was his chance. He’d get a better job so Angel would finally quit playing games and marry him and they’d be out of here. “I was just wondering—” The man’s eyes flicked back and forth from them to his car in impatience. “You work for Green Earth, yeah? My dad said they’re gonna start building a complex out in Gurney pretty soon and need workers, so I was gonna apply. Could you keep my name in mind or something? Gage Weber in Clearwater?”
“Sure.” The man flashed a tight, flat smile and nodded, then stepped out right as Gage was telling him to “Have a good night.”
Gage gave Lily a gloating look after they watched him go, the kind he used to make after beating her at some game when they were younger. Forever a sore loser, it always made her want to punch his smug little face. It still did, but she settled for a less violent comeback. Would that tiny shack in the complex camp be worth it, Gage? Not quite. A smile crept up on her thin, cracked lips.
“What?” He asked, then with growing panic when she turned away from him to fiddle with the sparse shelves of cigarettes, “What the hell are you smiling about?”
“Have you been to Scottsdale lately?”
He stared at her. Time crawled along, and an eternity passed in his mind before she answered.
“That gas station closed down last month. Somebody said the owner died and no one could afford to buy it.” She tried not to laugh when his eyes flicked fully open at the realization. “Some company did though. An out of state one. There’s a sign in the window about it opening next spring.”
“You bitch,” he spat in disbelief, slamming himself down in the chair at the table. Snatching another bag of fruit snacks from the stand, he smacked them even louder than before as he chewed, shooting death glares at her. “You knew that before, didn’t you? You hoped the guy would run out of gas trying to get to another one.”
Lily glanced at the clock. Eight and a half more hours was a long time to be stuck with a pouting child. “No, I really didn’t remember until just now, and his car was already out on the highway. Honestly,” she said, hoping he’d take the lie.
“If you did know, that’d be really crappy of you,” he said, “With your attitude he’ll think we told him that on purpose.” He ate more bags and they sat in silence. A piece of a fruit snack got lodged in his teeth and he stuck a finger in his mouth to get at it. The storm raged outside. She prepared for a peaceful, anger-tinged quiet for the rest of the night.
“Jenny’s leaving in a couple weeks.” Lily was surprised he actually said anything else to her.
“Jenny told you she’s quitting?”
“Nah, Mike did. Going to live with her sister-in-law in Tallahassee. It’s whatever. He was gonna fire her anyway. She doesn’t do anything.”
Lily smirked. “He’s keeping you on nights?” She reached in her bag for her battered library book. Two months overdue. The librarian wouldn’t come knocking. There wasn’t enough money to keep the place open most of the month.
“Probably.” He shrugged. His head ached, and he laid it down on the table to press his forehead against the cold metal.
She watched him draw his legs up and hug his arms at his sides, a pitiful curled up ball. “You’ll find something else,” she said, “I mean, even if you don’t get the job in Gurney. You’re a smart guy. There will be something else.”
“Better be,” he grumbled. Next month marked his five years courageously serving this dump. Could his head hurt any worse?
“I’ll miss working with you.”
The sudden sincerity made him raise his head in suspicion. Examining her face, he couldn’t figure out if she was being sarcastic. Giving up, he yawned and dragged his heavy body to standing, pressing a hand against the carton in his pocket.
“Me too. I guess.” He walked towards the back and leaned on the doorframe. “Can you watch everything quick? I’m gonna take a smoke break.”
“That’s fine,” she said, thumbing through her book. Outside, the highway remained empty and abandoned. The lights above the pumps flickered once more, then went out completely. Lightning danced across the sky, but the rain finally slowed to a drizzle. In the absence of thunder, all she heard were the buzzing store lights and the ticking of the clock.
Olivia White is a senior at the University of Iowa majoring in English with a minor in News and Media Literacy. She obtained her Associate of Arts degree in 2024 through Northeast Iowa Community College, where she was a winner of the Larry Kruse Memorial Writing Contest. Outside of writing stories, she can be found collecting an absurd number of houseplants, rummaging through thrift stores, and being terrorized by her cat, Liberty Jean.
