The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(41)

There was an uproar. “Wait!” said Nina. “That’s totally unfair! That film isn’t even based on Kafka’s book. The guy turns into a cockroach, not a fly; it’s a movie, not a book; and besides . . .”

“Sorry, my decision is final.” Howard was firm, although he was backing away slightly from Nina’s pointing finger. Then, as Leah and Lauren turned up to join the fray, he took another step back and suddenly sat in the lap of a woman who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Drinks were spilled. Shells were split as pistachios skittered across the floor. People leaped to their feet and skidded on the nuts. There was falling. There was cursing. Menace to Sobriety showed up in force, and, twenty seconds later, so did security.

Half a minute later, standing outside the bar, Carter sighed. “Nina, why is it always you that gets us banned?”

She looked at him, still mad. “It wasn’t even a book question!” She shook beer from her sleeve and several pistachios flew out. “It’s the principle! If you don’t stand for something . . .”

“You’ll fall for anything?”

She turned around. Tom was standing there, shrugging on his jacket. “I thought you might need a ride home.” He grinned. “You seemed a little . . . heated.”

“Well,” said Nina, “I’m supposed to be getting a ride with Leah . . .” She looked around. Down the street, she could see Leah and the others disappearing around a corner. “Oh.”





Thirteen




In which we learn a little more about Tom.

Nina sat next to Tom as he drove her home, and, again, she smelled sawdust.

“Are you a carpenter?” she asked, the alcohol making her a little unguarded. “You smell of wood.” She leaned toward him and sniffed theatrically.

He laughed. “Sort of.”

Nina frowned at him. “Well, do you carpent, or not?”

“I don’t think that’s even a verb.”

“It should be. Why isn’t it?” She threw herself back in the seat. “I carpent, you carpent, he or she carpents . . .”

He shot her a glance, then went back to looking at the road. “Do you drink a lot?”

She shook her head. “No. I really shouldn’t drink at all; I’m hopeless at it. I get drunk right away, then hungover two hours later. I don’t do it well.”

He laughed. “So, not a boozer, then, that’s what you’re saying?”

She shook her head. “I usually end up crying.”

“Wow. Then yeah, you should stick to soda.” He flicked on the indicator, and Nina tapped her toes in time to the click.

“Soda makes me fart.” Then she closed her mouth tightly and promised herself she wouldn’t say anything else. Possibly ever.

“Well, plain water it is, then.” He looked sideways at her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with farting.”

She kept her promise and said nothing. Instead, she stared out of the window, noticing the usual things: homeless people waking up after a day of sleeping in order to be alert during the more dangerous night. Hipsters who dressed like the homeless people but with better shoes, crowding around doorways, or waiting for ride-share cars, looking up and down from their phones, reading license plates with more attention than they ever had in their lives before. Bodegas and liquor stores lit up like Christmas, their lights pooling on the damp and sticky sidewalks out front. Then they entered the residential part of Larchmont, where the streetlights were desirably vintage, but few and far between.

They pulled up outside the guesthouse. She’d left the reading light on next to her armchair, and the glow was inviting. Part of her wished she’d stayed home tonight, because now her head hurt and she hadn’t even won the trivia contest. She sighed.

“Nice pad,” said Tom.

“Thanks.” She was fumbling with the door handle, something that normally didn’t give her any trouble. Tom leaned across and opened it for her, pushing the door all the way open.

“Do you need help finding your keys?” He was teasing her.

She looked at him and shook her head. “I think not.” Something occurred to her. “Wait, did you desert your team? Weren’t you up in the next round?”

“Yeah.” Tom shrugged. “Without your team to play against, all the challenge was gone.”

She frowned. “And did your teammates see it that way?”

He nodded. “They don’t take it very seriously.” It had been Lisa who’d pushed him out the door to see if Nina needed a ride home, but he didn’t think he needed to mention that. “Besides, I’m sure QuizDick will reschedule it.”

“OK then.” She told her legs to swing around and get out of the car, but they weren’t having it. She frowned and made them do it—jeez, who was in charge of this bus, anyway? Once out and standing, she swayed a little, and then Tom got out and was right there, holding her arm.

“You really aren’t good at drinking, are you?” he said, smiling.

She looked up at him. “Do you read books?”

He frowned. “Sure. Occasionally.”

“Good books?”

“Well, books I think are good.”

“Have you read Jane Austen?”