Where the Stars Still Shine(53)

“Well, I think she’s like any mom. She’d probably keep me forever, if she could.” Ariel laughs. “But I think she’ll be relieved to have her shop back to normal.”

“Why does she let you do all this?”

She shrugs. “It’s kind of our thing. I work for cheap and she leaves me alone to do what I want. But when I’m bored, this is the result.”

“Well …” I look around at the handmade signs. They’re a nice touch and I think Ariel has the right idea—just not the best execution. “I think it’s funny, but I can see how customers might be insulted by the suggestion that their favorite books suck.”

“Oh, I’m fully aware,” she says. “What my mom needs is someone who is invested, who will keep her from turning it into a haven for little old ladies who read bodice-ripper romances, but isn’t, you know, me. Someone like … you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You just strike me as a book girl.”

“A book girl?”

“The last time you were here, you looked for the books you wanted instead of whining about not being able to find them, the way most customers do.” She lowers herself off the counter. “I’m Ariel, by the way.”

“From The Tempest?”

“Thank you. God, just—you have no idea how many people assume I’m named after The Little Mermaid. What the hell was my mom thinking?”

“It could be worse,” I say. “She could have called you Dogberry or Elbow.”

“You know your Shakespeare.” She smiles. “I like that.”

“I’m Callista.” I try out my full name, but then change my mind. “Callie.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Anyway, think about the job, okay? I’ve got a good vibe about you, Callie, and I believe in vibes.”

I allow myself to imagine working here. Rearranging the pillows into kinder words, making the sections more user-friendly, and playing music that isn’t quite so—loud. I can picture girls like Kat lounging on the couch, drinking coffee and talking. Or girls like me, tucked in the corner with a book. “I will.”

“Take your time.” Ariel walks back over to her stepladder and the pile of books perched on top, waiting to be shelved. “I’ve scared off everyone else who has applied because they’re just not right for the job. When you’re ready, it’ll be here.”

After setting my new computer to my preferences, I spend the next couple of hours choosing a small stack of books. A couple I’ve read, but have always wanted to own. A couple more are books I’ve never read. And one is a book on architecture for Greg for Christmas. Ariel raises a judgmental eyebrow at Hiaasen.

“My, um, this guy I’m—” I trip over my tongue describing Alex as my boyfriend. I mean, he is. I think. But it feels strange talking to someone else about him. “He reads these and—you shouldn’t judge.”

She laughs as she enters the price of the paperback novel into the cash register. “I didn’t say anything.”

“He likes other stuff, too.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend him—or myself—to her, but I do. “He mostly reads Thoreau.”

“Sweet baby Jesus, you’re not talking about the Walden tattoo guy, are you?” Ariel slides her hand down her forearm from elbow to wrist—the exact location of Alex’s tattoo. “He buys books here all the time and, yeah, that guy can read anything he wants. Are you and him …?” The words taper off into empty space as my cheeks catch fire.

“Well, it’s still kind of new and he’s gone most of the time, but, um—I guess we are.”

She grins. “Not gonna lie. I’ve been secretly hoping he’ll use a credit card so I can find out his name, but he always pays in cash.”

“His name is Alexandros. Alex.”

“Of course it is.” She begins bagging up my purchases. “I mean, what other kind of name would a Greek god have? And you, Callista … the two of you should just get married and have beautiful demigod babies and—”

“Demigods have one human parent.”

Ariel reaches across the checkout counter and pushes her fingers against my forehead. “Shut up, egghead. You’re spoiling my story.”

I can’t help but laugh. “What are you? Twelve?”

“We don’t get many guys in this store, let alone hot ones,” she says. “So this is a big deal for me. Anyway, he looks like the kind of guy who could be a total dick, but he’s always really polite. And quiet. And please tell me he’s a good kisser.”

I nod. “So good.”

“I hate you.” She hands over the bag of books and my receipt. “Get out of here and don’t come back until you’re ready to take the job. Got it?”

“See you later, Dogberry.”

There’s a short stick of white chalk lying on the top of the sign outside the store, so I use it to write on the empty sandwich board a Zen quote I remember from a book: Leap and the net will appear.

I mean it for Ariel, but I hope—I so hope—that it’s true.





The moon—which was full and bright on the night of my sponge lessons in the gas-station parking lot—is absent, and the dark seems so much darker than usual as I ride to the house on Chesapeake. The breeze seeps through my sweatshirt, making me shiver. It bothers me that I’m sneaking out in the middle of the night again—that all I ever seem to do is sneak—but if Mom is at the house I can talk to her. Make sure she won’t be there when Greg and I arrive.