What Lies Beyond the Veil(Of Flesh & Bone #1)(30)

These books ain’t nothin’ like the books in the secondhand store. I run my fingertips along spines that smell like fresh trees and feel sturdy in my hands. I look around at the sections of books to choose from and find two sections that might be for me: kids and young adult. I can’t decide where I fit between the two. I look over at the kids’ section, where there’s a Black girl with braided hair, bout my age, reading a book with her momma. Then I peek at the young adults’ section, where there’s a teenager bout Nia’s age, quietly thumbing through a book on her own. I take one last look at the little girl and her momma, then wander over to young adult.

The first book I pick up is called The Secret Garden. On the cover, there is a little girl dressed in all white—white dress, white shoes, white hat—to match her pale skin. She stands in front of a strange door, looks like it’s hiding beneath a bunch of vines and trees. I turn to the back cover to read more. After some words I can’t understand but some I can, I think it’s a story bout a girl, bout my age, who loses her parents but finds a secret garden. Even though the garden is old and dying, she tries to bring it back to life again.

I don’t look at another book. I head straight to the cashier with The Secret Garden hugged close to my chest. I can’t be sure, but I bet this will be my new best book.

“That will be nine dollars and fifty cents.” The cashier gives me a look like he knows I ain’t old enough to be here in this store, buying books by myself. But I reach casually in my pocket for the money wadded at the bottom. Like I been having money and buying stuff by myself for years. The last time I had money to buy something, besides lotto tickets, was five dollars that I got from Daddy for gettin’ all A’s on my report card. But then he came back the next day after giving it to me and wanted the money back. Cept I had already spent it on a pack of pencils, two quarter bags of Hot Cheetos, and a two-liter of peach Faygo that I split with Nia.

I take the two bills from my pocket, slide the twenty-dollar bill cross the counter. “Here you go,” I whisper, hearing Momma’s voice in my head telling me it costs too much. It’s too much to spend on one thing, and especially cause it’s one thing I want, and not one thing I need.

“You can just give me the ten if you want,” says the boy, nodding in the direction of my other crumpled bill.

“Nah, I need this one for something else,” I say, embarrassed to let him know that I wanna spend the twenty just to get all the change. He fake smiles, like he knows I’m a liar but gotta be nice anyway.

“Here’s your change. Have a nice day.” He looks away as he passes me a handful of bills and coins that I stuff in my pocket before running out the door with my book and receipt.

As soon as I am far enough away, I reach my hand in my pocket and shake the fabric so that the coins move around. They clink in my pocket like tiny bells. I take out a five-dollar bill, hold it to my nose, and sniff in, deep. The smell is new again every time I smell it, like my uniform shirts on the days Momma brings them back from the laundromat, crisp and folded. I shove the bill back into my pocket and think I might add this money to my getting-home fund, since I ain’t found any bottles. But then I remember Granddaddy said we need to buy a dress for church, so I look for another store.

I walk and walk til I spot a store up ahead with a mannequin in the window wearing a pretty dress with pink flowers and dancing green stems. I’m nervous cause I never shopped alone, but I stroll inside and begin to look around. The store is big, with clothes for kids and for grown-ups. I wanna touch everything on the racks. I imagine what it would be like to run my fingers cross fabric soft like cotton candy or smooth like butter. But I don’t touch, cause whenever we’re in stores, Momma always tells me don’t touch nothin’ and don’t ask for nothin’.

I walk around the store two times before I finally find the dress from the window. It looks even better up close. It’s all white, with little flowers that are decorated pink and green and yellow, like fresh-watered blossoms in a garden. The dress ain’t too long or too short. It’s perfect.

“Can I help you?” A woman with a red tag on her shirt and red lipstick clinging to her teeth approaches, looking down at me over the top of too-big glasses.

“No,” I whisper, looking down at the ground. The woman stays there for a minute, watching me, but since I stay frozen, she eventually walks away. I let go of the breath I been holding.

I stare at the rack, filled with that same dress over and over, search for my size. This past winter I grew outta my 8/10 clothes and had to move up to the next size, with my very first 10/12 hand-me-down dress, burgundy and stiff, a gift for my daddy’s funeral. I find the last dress in my size and check the price tag: $89.99. I put it back on the rack and leave the store, rushing past the saleslady, who’s still watching me with mean eyes. No point even looking around more, when I already found the perfect dress that I can’t have.

“Kenyatta,” speaks a voice behind me just as I leave the store. It’s Granddaddy, slowly shuffling my way. I look past him at that giant food court clock and it’s only been thirty-six minutes, so I guess Granddaddy got back over here early. But right on time.

“Granddaddy.” I plan to smile, but instead my eyes fill with tears as soon as I speak.

“What’s wrong?” Granddaddy asks, now standing in front of me. I want him to reach out and touch my shoulder, or maybe even give me a hug. But he just stands there. Cane in one hand, shopping bag in the other.