Page 39 of Summer Reading

“Have you read this one?” he asked. It was a different book by an author I didn’t recognize.

Honestly, book people can be such badgers.

“No,” I said. At least that was true.

“Why don’t you borrow it?” he asked. “You can give it a shot. I guarantee it’s not ‘meh.’ ”

I glanced at him. He was so eager to share his books. It was ridiculously adorable, and I didn’t want to let him down, but I also didn’t want to torture myself with trying to read the book. I could feel a headache start even thinking about it.

“Thanks, but I’ll just catch the movie,” I said.

“You can’t. There isn’t a movie version,” he said.

Damn it!Thankfully, I didn’t say this out loud. Instead, I picked up the book and looked at the print on the back. It jumped. It did backflips. It was like trying to read a computer monitor while it was spewing code. Bleh.

“Sure, I can give it a try,” I said. I have no idea why these words came out of my mouth.

Em looked at me with her eyebrows raised up above her glasses as if to say this would be a good time to mention that I have dyslexia, but I shook her off. Why did I have to mention it? It wasn’t as if this thing with Ben and me was going to last more than a few weeks. Heck, it might even fizzle after a few dates. Just because a guy was hot did not mean he was a good date, although, after that kiss, I found it hard to imagine that Ben was a bad date.

“Mr. Reynolds, I’ve been looking for you all over the building.” A middle-aged woman wearing a navy blue and pink floral dress strode toward us. Her mousy brown hair was highlighted, curled, and sprayed into a cloud on her head. Her style reminded me so much ofpictures of my parents from the eighties. It was as if she were frozen in time.

“And you’ve found me, Mrs. Bascomb,” Ben said. He sounded friendly, but she didn’t even crack a smile in return. She merely stared at him over her reading glasses. Her gaze took in Em and me, and it was clear she did not approve of Ben chatting with us while on the clock.

“This is the contract for the cooking program with the teens,” she said.

“Excellent,” Ben said. “This is Samantha Gale, who will be doing the program. The contract is for her.”

Mrs. Bascomb studied me, taking in my tie-dye dress with a look of disapproval that was hard to ignore.

“This is very irregular and last minute,” Mrs. Bascomb said. “These papers are supposed to be signed and turned in before the start of the summer reading program.” Her disapproval slid over to Em, who studied the notebook in front of her as if she hadn’t heard the censure in Mrs. Bascomb’s voice.

“You’ll need to sign these right away,” Mrs. Bascomb slapped the papers onto the table in front of me. She clicked a pen and handed that to me, too.

“Oh... um.” Em met my gaze. She must have seen the panic in them. “Sam should probably look it over before signing just to make sure it all checks out.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Mrs. Bascomb said. “These need to get to human resources right away.”

“Mrs. Bascomb, I’m sure Ms. Gale can take a few minutes to look over the contract without the world coming to an end,” Ben said. His voice was calm but also very firm. Mrs. Bascomb let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest.

I stared at the papers in front of me. I could feel them all watching me. “Talk among yourselves,” I joked. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Em got the message and immediately asked Ben about his latest motorcycle trip. He told her he’d taken it up to Nova Scotia recently and was hoping to do it again soon. While they spoke, I studied the papers in front of me. I couldn’t read a thing. Panic was making it even worse. I could feel my heart beat in my throat, and I clicked the pen nervously with my thumb. Mrs. Bascomb shifted from foot to foot, letting out an audible sigh as she loomed over me.

Hoping I wasn’t signing away a kidney, I scribbled my signature in the first blank space I could find. I handed it to Mrs. Bascomb with a smile and said, “Here you go. Thank you.”

She glanced from me to the paper. Her face squinched up in a frown and she asked, “What’s this? Is this a joke?”

I felt all of the blood drain from my face. Em and Ben stopped talking, and they turned to see what had Mrs. Bascomb in a tizzy.

She dropped the paper down in front of me andtapped it with a pink-painted nail. “You signed where the human resources person is supposed to sign. You’re supposed to fill out all of the pertinent information up here, print your name, sign your name, and date it.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said. My face felt hot. I stared down at the top of the table. The old familiar sick feeling of shame welled up inside of me, choking me, making me want to run, to cry, to hide, to be anywhere but here.

“Mrs. Bascomb,” Ben began, but my tormentor talked right over him.

“Sorry?” she mimicked me. “You realize I now have to go all the way downstairs and print another one? What were you thinking?”

“Hey!” Em protested. I glanced up at her and saw her eyes flash. She was coming in hot. Mrs. Bascomb didn’t care. She was on a roll.

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