Page 2 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

Even when my brain was saying “Nah. That can’t be true. She’s got to be pulling your leg.” I found myself believing that an agency of a hundred people got the day off because it was my birthday.

Yeah. She’d made me look ridiculous, and I absolutely adored her for it.

Thank goodness she hadn’t noticed my crush on James, or who knows how she’d torture me over that.

I opened the group chat on my phone that the five of us had going. Tamara, who loved to name things, had called it GAL PAL, which was an acronym for something I couldn’t remember.

I typed out a one-word message and attached a photo of the invoice.

Me

Samantha?

While I waited for someone to reply, I shuffled to the thermostat, upping the heat. I knew Josie, the most environmentally conscious of us five, would turn it back down to save on fossil fuels when she came home Monday night, but until then I could happily bake in our drafty little abode.

Samantha

Is this what you owe Book Emporium?

Ha, ha. Yeah, okay. So I had a little book problem, which was especially noticeable at the moment, since both Samantha and I were currently temping at a book depository. Everyone said I had a horseshoe up my you-know-what, because I always seemed to get the best temp jobs. Which was true—the job part, not the horseshoe.

Not to brag, but I was a fantastic manifester. For example, I’d wanted the apartment to myself for a few nights to binge watch some Discovery Channel history documentaries without judgement, and to drool over possible tours I could book as a surprise for my dad, and suddenly my roomies all had plans this weekend. (Thatneverhappened.)

As for my book hoarding? I firmly believe it’s not hoarding if it’s books—unless the stacks become so numerous and precarious that they threaten to topple and kill you on a regular basis. And even then, I could just buy more shelves or get creative. For example, a solid stack of hardcovers made a great bedside table.

As for my noticeable bookish problem, over the past week, a number of books that were destined for destroying, had found their way home. I mean, with the discount they were offering us at the emporium, how could I not bring them home like poor abandoned kittens?

Samantha, on the other hand, was heartless. She hadn’t brought a single book home despite her plush savings account, rescuing absolutely nothing from the clutches of the spine grinder or page shredder. Completely. Heartless.

How many innocent books had been pulped on her watch?

Then again, she might actually leave her position at the end of our two-week stint with a pay cheque, unlike me. Again, my savings were not expanding and compounding like they should.

Tamara

Tamara

Me

I’m not falling for this one, S.

Gabby

Wait. ur first name’s Oprah!?!?! I’ve got to tell Lamonte. He’s going to die.

I rolled my eyes. Everything with Gabs was always about Lamonte. How had the man not yet figured out how eager she was to leap out of the friend zone? Then again, maybe he wanted her to stay there.

Just like hunky James. He probably felt I was best-suited for the friend zone, too.

Gabs and I needed to start falling for guys in our own league.

Tamara

Her mom’s a big Oprah fan.

Tam-Tam was my bestie for a good reason. She was always there for me. Just like I was with this apartment when her high school sweetheart decided—like most people in long-term relationships seemed to—that he wanted more excitement in his life. In other words, not Tamara.

We were currently in the process of showing him we were very exciting and doing just fine without him, thank you very much. (Not that I thought he was watching, but just in case.)

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