Page 59 of The Tattered Gloves
And I thought, sometimes, I wanted that, too.
“No,” I finally answered. “I’m okay.”
She nodded, rising from the spot on the bed. I watched the mattress return back to normal, and I resisted the temptation to move my hand to that spot, knowing it still held her warmth.
The door creaked as she exited, and the only sound I was left with was the slow inhale of my breath as it returned to a natural pace.
My mind drifted back to the boy in the corner from my dream.
“Don’t you know, Mittens?”
Don’t I know what?
The only thing I knew for sure was that I never wanted to think of that night.
And I never wanted to go back to that apartment again.
“WINTER BREAK IS in exactly four days, one hour, and”—Allison looked at her phone—“two minutes,” she said as we met up in the hallway between classes.
“That’s precise,” I said, smiling at her sideways, as I adjusted my backpack.
“Hey, you can’t blame me. Two and a half weeks off school? That’s worth a countdown.”
“Agreed.”
And I actually did.
It was the first school year that I didn’t have to hear the words, “Go try and find something to do during the day, so you don’t wake me up,” from my mom. I’d scheduled extra hours at Page Turners during the break, which meant extra spending cash, and Allison had threatened to personally check in on me if I didn’t call her every other day.
She’d caught on quick.
“I can’t believe you’re working the entire break,” she whined, throwing her hands across her chest in a grand gesture, like a forlorn child.
“I’m not working the whole time.”
“Every single day is the whole time, Willow!”
I laughed. “I’m not working Christmas or New Year’s. And it’s just a few hours every day. You’re making it sound like I’m being thrown in there with no breaks, doing backbreaking work.”
She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You could get a job yourself,” I suggested.
Her face turned unpleasant. “Ew. No, thanks. I’d rather help out at home by clipping coupons and finding bargains online. That’s my true calling.”
“At least you’re good at it,” I shrugged.
“I really am! Are you good at… whatever it is you do at the bookstore? Shelving?”
I laughed once more as we stopped in front of my last class. Hers was directly across from mine. The bell hadn’t rung yet, so we had time.
“The best,” I joked.
“Sam doesn’t give you a run for your money? He’s been working at that store since I can remember.”
That surprised me. “But he’s only sixteen.”
“Well, I’m not sure he was a real employee until recently, but he’s always been in there, helping out his sister when she started and his dad and his—”
