Page 4 of The Baller

“Why?”

“Why not?” she replied, her eyes wide in challenge, because she knew getting me anywhere was a challenge – one she always rose to. “Radley, we should go out.”

While I’d been staring at the trees, the knot between my shoulder blades – the one I could never quite reach to ease – had loosened, but the thought of going out where other people were, tightened it right back up again. It was one thing to walk through a park, it was another to be stuck in a room full of drunk college students.

“I dunno. We haven’t been here a month yet. I should stay under the radar a little longer, especially while it’s a bit crazy.”

From the look on Millie’s face, I knew my argument wouldn’t work, just like I knew nothing would deter her once an idea took hold. I should probably give up now.

“Radley, you came here to live your life. Youneedto live your life, not hide from it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t let the actions of one miserable fraction of a person dictate what you do.”

I glanced back up at the trees, like the answer would be there, and side-eyed her. “And your solution to that is to playpool?”

“No, but our afternoon will be spent discussing poets of the American Revolution, so I think we’ll need to blow off some steam in a way that staying in the dorm another night won’t do for us.”

I knew she was right; we couldn’t stay in the dorms forever. I also knew deep down that it wasn’t what I wanted either. What I wanted was to live out my final teenage year and head into my twenties in the way everyone else did: to the fullest.

Not by dwelling on the mistake which had put an end to that.

Except wanting something and putting it into action were two completely different things. But I also knew that one way or another, I’d be playing pool tonight.

I sighed in defeat. “I’ll let Jake know. Anywhere in mind?”

“Somewhere close with a pool table?” she laughed, taking in my raised brows when she offered up nothing more. “What? I came up with the plan, Jake can execute it. See if he can find the grossest, divey-ist bar in the city. I’m talking sticky floors covered in shells and everything. He’ll love it.”

We both knew that was a big fat lie, and it kept us laughing until we left the park.

Ten minutes later we’d crossed the sidewalk opposite Brown’s, an independent bookstore I’d always wanted to visit, and a cornerstone of New York’s literary world. Ava and Ethan were standing at the front doors as Millie and I approached; Jake and Meg were somewhere close behind us.

“Radley, it’s quiet inside. If you want to stay and look around, Jake’s cleared it. There’s a couple of people on the second floor and a handful more on the first, but not a frat boy in sight. You timed it right.”

I grinned at the two of them, suddenly brimming withthat absurdly happy feeling again. As much as I wished my protective detail wasn’t around, I was grateful they tried to make concessions for me when they could. And they knew how much I loved to spend time in a bookstore.

I’d live in one if I could.

“Thanks, guys. You’re the best,” I said, walking through the doorway Ethan was holding open for me.

I stopped on the threshold.

It was gloriously empty.

A big vestibule with six large tables, neatly stacked with the latest best-sellers, greeted us. Piles and piles of colorful covers and spines were aching for shoppers to pick them up. Beyond that, along the far wall, stood a bank of cash registers, and to the side of them began the rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim. In the corner, the bottom of a long winding staircase began its loop around the store to the second and third floors, where, according to the signpost, I could find non-fiction, and children’s books.

My nostrils flared as I inhaled as deeply as I could, breathing in the scent of fresh literature.

It was almost a sedative.

Millie tugged on my sleeve. “Come on, Rad. Disneyland is open. I’ll go and pick up the textbooks, you go nuts on the shelves.”

“Okay, come and find me in Women’s Fiction!” I called, not giving her a second glance as I took off.

Following the signs toward the back of the store, I spotted another arrow pointing in the direction of the rare books section, and my little bibliophile heart kicked up in a steady pitter-patter of excitement. Glancing back the way I came, I found Millie talking to a store assistant, while Meg and Ethan were with Jake. My eyes cut to the sign again – they’dfind me if they needed to. The store wasn’tthatbig, and I was only a couple more rows over.

The floor changed underneath my steps; the hard wood leading from the entrance had become a softer carpet, muting the sound of footsteps and bringing a sense of reverence. If you hadn’t known you were entering a sacred space, you did now.

Stopping at the end of the section, I found myself among locked glass cases of the rarest books, including shelves and shelves of first editions, all kept safe from sticky fingers and high-end thievery. It almost felt like I was in The Library of Congress as I ran a fingertip along the glass, only to hastily remove the smudge my finger had left with the sleeve of my sweater.

Here the books weren’t sectioned by alphabetical order, they were split according to era, all lined up in varying shades of worn brown leather and faded gilt lettering, inside individual protective sleeves; Victorian, Regency, Romantic, Modern… and on and on it went. My heart leaped as I spied a first edition of Pride and Prejudice next to Mansfield Park. In the next section ran Dickens, Brontë, and Arthur Conan Doyle. Shakespeare was carefully housed in a cabinet all on its own.

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