Page 16 of It's Me They Follow
“You’re cute when you’re on the defensive,” he said. “And fast. I wish I could pinch your cheeks.”
She ignored him. When she was on a mission, she was very focused.
“I’m just saying, word on the street is, you are a writer who doesn’t write. That you wroteConversations with Harriettyears ago and haven’t written anything since.”
“I could care less about the word on the street. I live in an apartment.”
“You should write that down.”
“What? My jokes?”
“Your EVERYTHING! Your dreams, your ideas, your angry rants, your love spells—do it for our great-great-great-great-grandchildren.” The Shopkeeper grinned at the thought of futuristic grandchildren still reading books as they floated around in outer space.
“Some of us spend our entire lives trying to find what you have.”
“What’s that?” She was puzzled.
“Direction.
“How’s the opening?” he asked. “What are you gonna make appear out of thin air next?”
She didn’t understand his question.
“You know, the thing you do when you say things, and then—poof—they appear, like your awning. What are you gonna make appear next?”
She’d never thought of it like that. “Well, to be honest, next on my list is furniture. Shelves, tables, chairs, desks, anything we can rest books on. But every time I make something appear—poof—out of thin air, it appears slightly messed up. Like my awning.”
“My great-aunt has a junkyard.”
“A junkyard,” The Shopkeeper replied. “No, that’s not what I need.”
“But she has furniture.”
“In her junkyard?”
“Yup. It’s free if you’re free tomorrow.” He power walked beside her.
“Free ninety-nine? Free like Harriett? Or free like free today, but now you’re indebted for the rest of your life?”
He nodded his head yes, then shook his head no. “Free like free your mind, and if so, then it’s a date.”
She wanted to blow him a kiss when they got to the university. But it wasn’t in her character. He waved goodbye and shimmied his shoulders like Will Smith. The Shopkeeper shoulder shimmied back and was early for class for the first time since she was a girl, and for the first time since she was a girl, she felt safe.
Chapter 9
JANUARY 9, 2020
5:33 P.M.
As opposed to stumbling into class as she usually did, The Shopkeeper catwalked in. She was prepared with her own notebook and blue pen this week. She looked around at the art school graffiti on the walls of the classroom. As she was running her fingers over clever sayings and lewd drawings, The Good Doctor walked in, wearing the same outfit she always wore—all black everything from head to toe—only this week, she was carrying a bright orange crate.
“Now, what do we have here?” The Good Doctor smiled at The Shopkeeper as she began to set up. The Shopkeeper knew her professor would be shocked to see her there—and early, no less. “It’s a miracle.”
“What’s this for?” The Shopkeeper asked, trying to change the subject. She pointed at the bright orange crate.
“It’s for today’s activity.”
“Which is...?”
