Page 23 of Stacked
“You—”
“I’m good with a stapler and scissors.” Still cradling the books, she crossed her arms. “That’s it.”
“Please help me,” I begged. “We don’t have to make it crafty. But I can’t let Gwen down. She loved what I did last year, and she’s expecting something great again.” I stepped into the room. “And it’s huge advertising for the store.”
My friend regarded me but didn’t say anything, which I took as a good sign. At least she wasn’t outright saying no.
“I’ll pay you,” I said. “Whatever you want. You’ve been so good at helping me out here, anyway. You’re a godsend.”
She laughed. “I know when you’re buttering me up.”
I shrugged. “I bet we could come up with something awesome.”
“I’m not going to let you pay me.” Morgan placed the books she carried on top of a nearby table. “But okay, let’s talk this through. What’s the theme again?”
I smiled. She was going to do it. She was going to help me out. She didn’t have to say she’d already decided she would. “Lady Liberty.”
“Predictable.”
“Probably.” I crossed to the metal chair next to the stack of boxes and sank into it. Thankfully, this restocking shipment wasn’t much, and we were more than halfway done. “We could probably go any way with that.”
She took her water bottle from my desk and drank a long sip. “Maybe something with history?”
“That could work.”
“And something with, I don’t know, costumes? And some books?”
“I like that.” I spread my hand. “See, you’re already coming up with better ideas than me. I was stuck on the Statue of Liberty.”
“She could be made of them.” Morgan cocked her head, and I could almost see the wheels in her brain turning, see her slotting in ideas, building out the float in her mind. “We wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Not if we get some of your theater contacts to help us. What about that guy that owns Standing Ovation?”
“He has a lot of great costumes,” I admitted.
“Maybe he’ll lend us a few things,” she said. “Especially some of the more historic costumes.”
“Worth a call.” I brightened. “See, I knew you couldn’t resist the challenge!”
She laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
I rose from the chair and picked up the sorted books she placed on the desk. “I’m glad we stayed friends after high school. And not just because you’re helping me.”
“Me too.”
“You were so nice to me when I moved back. I appreciated how you reached out when you saw my Instagram post about taking this job.”
“I was sorry we weren’t as connected as we used to be, so getting you back in town made me pretty happy.”
I smiled at that. I was sorry about it too. Morgan and I met in first grade, Mrs. Schiff’s class. She arranged the desks in pods, and we sat beside each other. It wasn’t long before we were close, spending the night at each other’s houses, playing on the same soccer team, writing notes we’d leave in the cubby holes of the other’s desk. We stayed that way through high school, but when I left for Kenyon College and she enrolled at the University of Cincinnati, we lost touch. That happened more then, back in the days before social media. I went a few years without talking to her.
But once we reunited, I remembered how much I missed her.
“I’m not leaving ever again.” I shrugged. “At least not until I win first place in the float contest.”
“You were always competitive,” she said.
