Page 14 of The Silence Between

As we packed up, I found myself reluctant to end our session. “There's this bookstore, Second Chapter, not far from here. I work there part-time, so I get a discount. They have some great poetry collections.” The invitation felt momentous somehow. “Maybe you could stop by later? After you drop Mari off?”

Leo hesitated, uncertainty crossing his face. For a moment, I was sure he would refuse. Then he nodded. “Maybe. Give me the address.”

I scribbled it on a scrap of paper, oddly nervous. “I'll be there around two.”

Outside the library, we parted ways with an awkward goodbye—not quite friends, not quite just debate partners, but something shifting into new territory neither of us had mapped.

* * *

Second Chapter Bookstoreoccupied the ground floor of a Victorian house that straddled the invisible boundary between East and West Riverton. Inside, mismatched armchairs and floor-to-ceiling shelves created a labyrinth of literary treasures. I'd been working there for six months, though my parents believed I volunteered. They didn't understand why I would want a minimum wage job when my trust fund covered my expenses.

The truth was, Second Chapter felt like neutral territory in a town divided by invisible lines. The owner, Eleanor Chen, hired staff from both sides of the river and stocked everything from academic texts to paperback romances without judgment.

I arrived at one-thirty, ostensibly to start my shift but really to wait for Leo. By two-fifteen, I was convinced he wasn't coming. By two-thirty, I was shelving returns with more force than necessary, annoyed at myself for feeling disappointed.

“Looking for someone?”

I turned to find Leo standing in the poetry section, hands in the pockets of his worn jacket, watching me with an expression that might have been amusement.

“Just shelving,” I lied, then immediately abandoned the pretense. “I wasn't sure you'd come.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted.

A strange tension hung between us—the awareness that this meeting was different. Chosen rather than required. Leo moved along the shelves, fingers trailing over spines, occasionally pulling out a volume to read the back cover.

“I've never actually been in here before,” he said. “Always looked interesting from outside, though.”

“It's my favorite place in Riverton,” I told him, leading him deeper into the store's maze. “They have first editions hidden in corners, poetry collections no one's touched in years, weird literary magazines from the seventies...”

For the next hour, we wandered through sections, pulling books from shelves, reading passages aloud, arguing good-naturedly about authors and genres. In the music section, we discovered a shared appreciation for indie bands no one else at school seemed to know. In science fiction, we debated whether dystopian futures were warnings or inevitabilities.

In the poetry section, our hands brushed reaching for the same slim volume of Pablo Neruda. The brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through me. I pulled back quickly, confused by my reaction.

“Ethan! Is that you hiding back there?” Eleanor Chen's voice broke the moment as she appeared around a bookshelf. Her gaze moved to Leo with curiosity. “I don't believe we've met properly. You must be one of Ethan's school friends?”

“This is Leo,” I said. “We're debate partners. Leo, this is Mrs. Chen, the owner.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leo said politely.

“Reyes, correct? I think I've seen you come into St. Mary's Community Center,” Mrs. Chen said. “I volunteer there on Wednesdays for the food pantry. Your mother came in once or twice last year.”

Leo's demeanor changed instantly—his shoulders tightening, his expression becoming carefully neutral. “That's right,” he confirmed, his voice flat.

“How is your family settling into Riverton? It can be difficult being new in a small town.” Her question was kind, but I could see Leo's discomfort growing with each word.

“We're managing, thank you,” he replied, the polite words at odds with the tension in his jaw.

“Well, you're always welcome here,” she said warmly before turning to me. “Ethan, when you're done helping your friend, can you check the new shipment that just arrived?”

After she left, Leo remained tense, his earlier openness vanished behind an invisible wall.

“You okay?” I asked, the question feeling like a breach of some unspoken boundary between us.

He shrugged, replacing a book on the shelf with deliberate care. “Fine.”

“Leo...”

He sighed, meeting my eyes with reluctance. “My mom got hurt at work last year. The medication...changed things.” He paused, weighing his words. “The Community Center helps sometimes. With food, when things get tight. It's not something I advertise at school.”

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