Between the Lines

Charlotte did another full turn in the space between the Romantasy table and the YA fiction, allowing her vision to blur. It was easy since her eyes were full of water. This crying was happening whenever now, just any old time, standing in the shower or in front of her old crush or anytime she had to talk in class. And now in the freaking bookstore, why not?

This was supposed to be her happy place. Every Friday after school, she treated herself to a visit, whether she had money in her phone case or not. She browsed the sale table, the new releases, the old favorites in new packaging. Her old favorites were not the “classics” they sometimes read for school (or were supposed to read), but serious graphic novels, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Witcher, and some Stephen King.

Would it still be her happy place if she carried out her plan? She blurred her eyes on purpose now, as she used to do in front of the Christmas tree to see the lights twinkle. She did it now, to imagine the room as part of a changed world.

“I can read your mind,” someone said. A boy. 

With a hard blink, she restored her vision. “I doubt it,” she said, surprised by how bitter the words came. She should be more civil. More careful.

The boy was shorter, younger, maybe thirteen, and hadn’t had a growth spurt he was owed. With curly black hair, freckles, and dark, searching eyes, he looked like he could live on top of a shelf in the bookshop. The grown-up gray wool coat added to his bookishness. And this boy had talked to her, which was astonishing. She wasn’t the cute girl that people wanted to talk to. The D20-sized lump in her throat began to soften. What if this scrawny guy could understand her? See into her mind even a tiny bit? How nice it would be to be . . . seen.

He waved to the shelves and declared, “You see the books and smell how new they are and you think, If only I could spend every minute of my life reading and nobody would stop me.”

She snorted. She had thought that before, lots of times, but not today. Should she blurt out what was really on her mind?

He wasn’t done. “I wouldn’t stop to eat until I was starving. I would never take a bath. Like those kids who sit there playing video games so long they die. And I would be happy that way, just reading and reading, forever.”

“As long as it lasted, until I died,” she punctuated, pushing her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie.

The boy smiled. “Was I right?”

“Yes. That is one hundred percent what I was thinking when you so rudely interrupted.”

Somehow they began walking the aisles, glancing at the shelves, pointing at books they loved, books they despised, books they coveted. His name was Rex. In the children’s section, he disclosed that his baby sister wasn’t allowed to come to the bookstore because she had once grabbed a celebrity cookbook off the shelf and chewed up the corner before anyone noticed. “Just like a puppy!” he squealed, and his voice cracked a little.

She told him about her favorite series and how the protagonist was nothing like her, but she could imagine being strong like this chick and kicking down doors and spitting one-liners whenever things needed to lighten up. Her tears were gone, and with them the DnD die. 

They made a full circuit of the floor before they realized time was passing and the sky darkening outside the big windows. When Rex checked his phone, his face fell. “I gotta go.”

Charlotte gave him her number and he texted HELLO!

“You shouted at me!” she said, fighting a giggle.

“Well, you lied to me.”

“What?”

“You said I read your mind, but I wasn’t anywhere close.”

She didn’t answer. It was risky, making friends and telling things.

Rex put his phone in his coat pocket. “It’s okay, Charlotte. I think dark thoughts too.”

“My thoughts weren’t that dark.”

Out on the sidewalk, they shivered in the wind. Rex pierced her with his dark eyes. She had to look down at him, but he was no less significant for being small.

“So you weren’t going to shoot up the place?” he asked.

His seriousness was too much, and she laughed nervously. “Geez, no. Nothing like that. You’re a terrible psychic.”

His shrug was theatrical. “What then?”

“You can’t tell anyone. Not one single human on this planet. And I didn’t go through with it, so it doesn’t even count.”

“I have no one to tell. You’re my only friend.”

At this, she hesitated. He was hers, too, maybe.

“I was going to steal that book.”

He blinked. “S-steal a book?”

“Yeah. The new one in the series.”

As if piecing it together, he mumbled the title she had pointed out in the store. Had she shocked him? Would he still be her friend?

Unable to stand the silence, she teased, “I’m a psychic, too, you know.”

He quirked an eyebrow, reminding her of a wizard in a movie.

“You’re thinking I’m a klepto and you’d better run while you have the chance.”

“Wrong,” he said emphatically. “That is one hundred percent not what I was thinking when you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Okay. What were you thinking?” She crossed her fingers inside her hoodie sleeves. Please be a real friend, please be a real friend.

Instead of answering, he reached under his coat and brought out a book. The very one, hot off the press, smelling of new glue and pages.

The lump in her throat returned. “When did you take it? I never saw!”

“Just after you came in.”

“How did you—”

“I just knew.”

She adored him for the gift. But whatever was beginning here, she needed it to be right. “We are so returning this. Come on.”

It took more skill to put it back on the shelf, he posited later as they strolled, bodies close, down his clean, tree-lined street. And more daring! He could still feel the rush.

She both heard him and didn’t hear. Her vision blurred, not on purpose, and the streetlamps twinkled like Christmas lights. Was this love or friendship, friendship or love? It was going to be something. She just knew.