Page 13 of Roses, Pearls, and Hot Summer Nights
When Julian smiled, it was breathtaking. I hated to admit it, but his grin made my lips spread in an equally goofy expression before I caught myself and stopped.Yes, he is dangerous.Just the type to get me to open up and then kick me around for it later. I wouldn’t fall for his charm and end up in a painful mess. I’d made that mistake twice already in my life.
I didn’t need a third emotional beating to learn it was a bad idea.
Once we reached the library, I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, letting my mouth fall open. “This is where they filmedGhostbusters.”
He nodded, his boyish grin charming and contagious. “The outside parts, yes.”
I remembered him telling me about his dream to become a playwright.Maybe that also includes movies?Regardless, it seemed like Julian knew about the film. “Where did they film the inside?”
“At a library in Los Angeles.”
I tried not to look impressed because he knew those facts offhand, but I sincerely found it cool. He nodded toward the door. “Unfortunately, no one was haunted in there, not really. Let’s head inside so you can pick my book and I can pick yours. We’ll read together for a little bit, then afterward I’m taking you for steak. Unless you don’t like steak.”
Are you kidding?“I love steak.”
“Good. There’s a place I love over here. We won’t need a reservation—they know me.”
A good reminder, so I glanced at his shoes again. I remembered from the night before how well a place could know Julian. I glanced down at my own outfit. “Am I dressed okay?”
I still wore the same outfit that I put on that morning, which wasn’t exactly fancy in Manhattan. Then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be the kind of person who could easily fit into their world. I’d hated the food we dressed up for in Chicago. The pretense of the meals, the fake fanciness, made me not want to eat at all.
“Sure,” he said and winked at me.
It wasn’t really an answer, and I gritted my teeth. I didn’t fear he would take me someplace full of people in ball gowns, but I would somehow be accepted simply because I came in with Julian. Still, I recognized the glances, knew the words whispered behind gloved hands. They would judge me based on my clothing, their gazes letting me know I might as well have rolled in filth on the street. Julian wouldn’t get those looks, but I didn’t think it mattered what he wore. I glanced down at his shoes again, reminding myself it was just how the world worked.
Still, the library was huge and beautiful. I was so glad to be inside of it that I was actually able to not think about myself for ten minutes as I looked through the catalog. They didn’t let people just browse around, which made sense because of thecrowds inside. I’d never been in a library with so many people just milling around. Maybe it had to do withGhostbustersor maybe I wasn’t as unique as I’d thought I was about where I wanted to spend my free time.
Finally, I decided what book I wanted him to read. It took him almost no time to come up with one for me. I didn’t know what it was, but we had to use his library card since I didn’t have one yet. I needed identification to get one, but so far, my aunt hadn’t gotten around to helping me get any.
Julian’s library card looked surprisingly well-worn, proving he wasn’t lying—he hadn’t run out that morning and gotten a card to impress me.
In the end, I picked out aWrinkle in Timefor him to read and he handed meDune. I took it, since I hadn’t read it, despite hearing good things. My lips curled in a grin, and I almost giggled despite myself. I loved the idea of sharing books, and they smelled so good. I took a good sniff, just to satisfy myself, before asking, “Okay. What do you love about it?”
“The world feels very unique to me, and it sparks my imagination. When they talk about fear … never mind. You need to read it. That’s the rule.”
I nodded, bringing it to my nose to smell it again.Yes, there it is. The library book scent.“I will.” I found it interesting that he picked a book because it spoke to him about fear. What could Julian Lent fear? I wondered if it would be something real or some imagined horror, and I wondered if the book would tell me.
He held up the book I’d picked. “Isn’t this a children’s book?”
I shrugged, categories not terrifically important to me. “It works on many levels.” He waited for me to say more, until I let out a long breath. “And maybe it speaks to me about love. You’re going to have to read it.”
Clearly not having missed my copying how he told me about his pick, he nodded. “Come on. I like it over here.”
He has a favorite place in the library?My stupid heart fluttered as I followed him. His shoes didn’t warn me that he had a spot that he preferred in the public library.Dang it.I didn’t know how to make the new information mesh with my mental picture of him.The Poor Relationwould know what to do. She would have a perfect quip, but I faltered, not sure of my own mind.
I could actually be friends with a person who had a favorite spot at a library, I realized. We sat down next to each other at a table, and I picked up my book. As I read, I decided he’d been right about the world building, since I got immediately sucked into the story.
Reading hadn’t come easily to me. Dyslexia had made it complicated, but by the time I was seven, I’d figured out some coping mechanisms that helped me keep going, according to what my mom used to say. She didn’t know about things like dyslexia, having not had it herself and not knowing anyone who had. By the time I was diagnosed and found ways of coping on my own, she decided I was just unusual, or that was how she put it.
Because of that, I knew how to read—it was my favorite way in the world to occupy myself—but it always took me a few seconds when I started to get going.
Then, magically, I could see the world in front of my eyes. The low buzz of the library disappeared and even Julian’s occasional bump on my arm didn’t disrupt me.
Time must have started to pass, because I flipped through twenty pages without interruption. The sound of the clearing of a throat made me jump in my seat.
Julian also jumped, reminding me of his presence, before he leapt to his feet, spine straight.
“You’re here,” he said in what could best be described as a whisper-shout. I could tell he was trying to stay quiet, but he’d been too startled to keep his voice down.
