Page 74 of Wicked Pickle

I keep paging through the book. “You might find this hard to believe, but Merrick and I got a lot of detention.”

Her laugh makes every muscle in my body relax. “How close are you two in age?”

“Ten months. We ended up in the same grade because I’m September, and he’s July. We both made the kindergarten cutoff.”

“So, you had a built-in best friend.”

“I did. To the terror of all who tried to tame us.” I can’t stop looking at the book. Every drawing, every expression, every plot point is like turning back time. I remember more than the story. I feel what it used to be like to be me, to think like I did as a kid.

“I love this about you.” Symphony sorts through more of the books on the display. “I was more of aJunie B Jonesgirl.”

“My sisters read those.” I find a page where Principal Krupp turns into Captain Underpants, and I can’t help but chuckle. “These are still good.”

She picks up aGoosebumps. “Now, these are classic.”

I glance up, instantly recognizing the cover. “I read them all.”

“I did, too.” She gathers a few of them, plus aJunie B Jones, and leads us over to a cushioned bench.

Here, the sound of the librarian’s exaggerated interpretation ofThe Very Hungry Caterpillarfilters over to us as we look through the old favorites.

Symphony reads me random paragraphs from her books. I point out my favorite pages from mine. We go through everything she brought over, then hunt for picture books we both knew well enough to recite when we were small.

She holds up an open page. “I love you all the way to the moon … and back.”

My body goes still. Mom read that one to me. Hearing it in Symphony’s voice makes something shift. A low-level panic spreads through my gut. What am I doing here with her? Why is this taking me back to my fuckingfamily?

The librarian pops her head over to where Symphony and I are sitting on wiggle seats by the board books. “Need any help finding something?” she asks.

I’m ready to bolt, but Symphony says, “Just remembering our favorites.”

The woman peeks at our choices, her dark hair falling forward. “It’s good to have core memories like these. A family that reads together is the best predictor of long, happy relationships.”

I slam the book closed. Not fucking true at all. Jesus. Does everything come back to that?

I turn to Symphony. “Am I fucking you or not?”

Symphony’s eyes dart to the librarian. “Thank you for your help.”

The woman turns away, her cheeks pink.

“What did you do that for?” Symphony asks.

“Well, that was why we came, right? Isn’t that why you have on your little schoolgirl skirt?”

Symphony stands up in a rush, no easy feat on the wobbly discs designed to keep fidgety kids active. “What the hell is wrong with you, Diesel? We were having a good time looking at books.”

Fuck. I don’t want to get into it. “You were going to show me the book room, as I recall.”

Her voice is shrill. “I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. Then she says, more calmly, “We’ve already startled the librarian. She’s going to notice us. You blew it with your own fucking audacity.” She flings her copy ofGuess How Much I Love Youat my chest and whirls around fast enough that I think I might have glimpsed her naked ass.

By the time I extricate myself from the damn seat, she’s halfway up the aisle to the door. The librarian who spoke to us watches as I chase after her. “Symphony, stop.”

But she doesn’t. She pushes straight out the door and down the steps.

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