Page 46 of Battle of the Bookstores

RJ.Reads:I’ve had better.

BookshopGirl:What happened?

I don’t really want to get into it, but for some reason, I find myself sharing a little.

RJ.Reads:Remember our conversation about wounds? Well, someone said something today that pricked at one of mine. Basically implying that I’m not a good person. I’ve always thought ofmyself as a good guy. But around THIS person, I’m not, and it sucked to realize that.

BookshopGirl:If it’s just around this specific person, I doubt it’s your fault. It’s probably theirs.

Maybe, maybe not. And blaming my behavior on Josie isn’t the mature thing to do, even if she does needle me like no one else.

RJ.Reads:I have objectively not treated this person all that great. But I’m not sure if I can do anything to change our dynamic.

BookshopGirl:Maybe you can’t. But my little sister (she’s in grad school to become a psychologist) would say that if you can’t directly make amends with this person, consider doing something kind for someone else. It won’t erase what happened, but it can help shift your energy in a positive direction.

BookshopGirl:I know that sounds hokey. I’m not sure I believe it, but maybe it’s worth a try?

Interesting. Though I have no idea how I’d do anything like that.

RJ.Reads:Huh. I’m willing to give it a shoot.

I read my message and shake my head, irritated at myself, the way mistakes sneak in despite my best efforts.

RJ.Reads:*shot

RJ.Reads:So…can I do anything for you? ;)

BookshopGirl:Ha. Idk. Like what?

RJ.Reads:My helpfulness is limited over chat, but…anything you want to talk about?

BookshopGirl:Maybe? Ever since our conversation the other day, I’ve been thinking about what I told you—how I dropped out of college. And I realized that I haven’t ever talked about it. Like, ever.

Warmth creeps through me, and I leave the dishes to go sit on the couch.

RJ.Reads:If you think it’d help to talk about it, then I’d be honored tolisten. And I mean that truthfully. Not just to shift the energy.

BookshopGirl:Okay. Well. During fall semester of my senior year, my sister was in an accident—hit by a car while walking home from school. She broke eleven different bones in her body.

My stomach drops to the floor; she’s sounded so protective when talking about her sister. Now it makes sense.

RJ.Reads:Oh my god. That’s terrifying.

BookshopGirl:It was. At first, they weren’t sure she’d make it. I hardly left her side during the two weeks she was in the hospital. Then she went home and I went back to school. I thought she was doing okay until my mom took off.

RJ.Reads:Wait, what? Your mom left?

It gets worse. BookshopGirl tells me the whole story: apparently, this was something her mom did a lot, chasing some guy, forgetting she had daughters to care for. In this case, she was dating an asshole who got fed up with the fact that BSG’s mom was “distracted” caring for her injured daughter. So her mom left, leaving her young, wheelchair-bound daughter home alone.

BSG went home to help her sister, which doesn’t surprise me at all. What does surprise me is what she tells me next, how she blames herself for the way it affected her schooling.

BookshopGirl:I should have been able to keep up—I was an English major, so all I had to do was read and write. I could do that from anywhere.

RJ.Reads:Except you were overwhelmed and scared. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that your mom took off. You were just a kid yourself.

BookshopGirl:Technically speaking, I was an adult. And I’ve spent my whole life taking care of my sister, so I’m used to that.

BookshopGirl:Anyway, I tried to make it work, but I failed two classes and lost my scholarship.

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