Page 22 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
“Then you’re good to go.” He presses a button on his register screen with a flourish. “I hope everything is good with Ava.”
“I’m sure it will be. Thanks.” I’m bummed that I can’t hang out, but Ava or Bek will always come first before any boy. Regardless, I’m not exactly excited about having to stop at Ava’s house. I wave the magazine in the air and back away slowly, not wanting to give up this pleasant rapport with him so soon. “Thanks for saving this for me.”
“Of course. Let me know what you think about that art…watch out!”
Just as he yells it, my heel full-stops against something. My momentum keeps me traveling backward though, and I feel my body tumble through the air. On instinct, I hold my coffee away from my timbering body. I hear the cascade of books before I feel my rear end join the avalanche and I slide to the floor.
Brent dashes out from behind the counter and skids to a stop in front of me, mouth agape.
I pick up a book and turn the cover toward him. “What athrillride.”
He slams his mouth closed, pinching his lips together. When it appears he’s mastered his reaction, he holds out a hand. I drop the book I’m holding to take it and a new kind of thrill runs through me. My feet slip as I try to find purchase so he can pull me up, but my butt slides as much as my feet do when he pulls.
Finally, a laugh bursts out of him. He’s laughing so hard, he has to bend forward. I continue to shuffle my feet, trying to sift them underneath the lake of books I’m sitting in to set my feet on the floor. The only good thing about all of this is that he’s still holding my hand.
At last, a foot finds purchase. “Okay, try again.”
He yanks and I’m finally able to lift off the continuously shifting pile. I’m still carefully holding my cup away from my body to avoid any sloshing. When I’m standing, I can’t help but brag. “No coffee was harmed in the destruction of the book tower.” I look around at the mess and groan. “I’m sorry, Brent.”
I think he actually wipes away tears. I narrow my eyes at him.
“No harm.” He takes a big breath, and his grin finally relaxes into a smile, which makes the whole embarrassing incident worthwhile. “It happens at least once a week.”
“Really? Then why do you keep building them?”
“Because of the entertainment value.” He shakes his head when I scowl. “I’m kidding. We have a lot of free time to do stuff like this.”
I find the magazine that got swept into the avalanche and pull it out. Brent takes my hand again to keep me steady as I pick my way across the ruined display. I wish I could think of a reason for him to keep hold of it. His is so warm and envelops minecompletely.
“Are you okay?” he asks when I’m finally out of the mess.
“Just embarrassed.”
He levels his megawatt smile on me and I’m ready to dive back into the display if it will keep his attention on me.
“Don’t be.” He waves my concern away. “Go take care of Ava.”
Oh right. That friend I swore always came before a boy. “See ya, Bookstore Boy.”
Brent cocks his head, his eyes alight. “See ya.”
Chapter Twelve
My stomach spinswhen I raise my hand to knock. Back in elementary school and middle school, Ava had nice things to say about her grandmother. We even saw her now and again when she would drop Ava off or pick her up from birthday parties, my house, or school. The only things I’ve heard about the woman the last few years are all pretty negative. It seems she has become almost as neglectful as Ava’s mother.
My hand is still poised in the air, ready to knock, but I can’t seem to make it tip forward and complete the action. I remind myself that though her grandmother has become neglectful, she hasn’t become mean. Ava always says that it’s her mom who starts screaming first. If I don’t start yelling at the woman, I doubt she’ll yell at me.
Finally, I force myself to knock.
I wait, straining my ears for the sound of movement inside. Nothing.
I knock again, harder this time, and listen. Still nothing.
My nerves are raw, and I think I’m going to jump out of my skin. Eyeing the doorbell, I gnaw my lip. I hate using the doorbell. My aversion has always struck me as strange sinceour visitors have to use the doorbell if they want anyone to know they are there. At least this doorbell isn’t one of those cameras recording my inner struggle for people to witness and laugh at later.
With a shaking finger, I press the stupid bell. I hear it ring inside the house. If Grandma is downstairs, she should hear that, right?
In no time, I hear some thumping and banging from within. I straighten my back and pull my tummy in, hoping it will fortify me.
