Page 60 of The Tattered Gloves
“Oh,” I said, guessing what she was going to say.
“Yeah.”
The bell chose that moment to ring, and we both quickly waved our good-byes, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that Sam’s loyalty to the bookstore was more than just another family business.
Maybe this was his link toherand everything she’d left behind.
I HADN’T SEEN Sam since having the weird dream the night before.
Okay, that wasn’t true.
I hadn’t spoken to Sam since having the weird dream in which he was a boy version of himself, lost and confused in the crappy apartment I’d once shared with my mom.
I’d seen him plenty.
Or at least the back of his head.
I’d spent the better part of sixth period staring at it while I tried to figure out what it all meant. I’d dreamed of that apartment, the place I used to call home many times before, but it never wavered.
It was always the same.
The same summer night, the door creaking open…
I was so deep in thought, I barely noticed the awkward footsteps behind me as I made my way to the bookstore.
“Wait!” Allison called out, breathless.
I stopped to turn and saw her running after me, her clunky UGG boots slapping against the damp pavement.
“What are you doing?” I said as she finally caught up to me.
Her cheeks were red from the cold air and the exertion she’d obviously just put out to catch up to me.
“Why are you walking so dang fast?” she asked as she gulped in air.
“I’m on my way to work,” I explained, grabbing my phone out of my pocket to check the time.
Crap.
I normally would have given her a minute longer to recover from her jaunt across town, but I didn’t have one to spare.
“I know that; that’s why I’m following you.”
“Okay…”
She laughed, a sort of strained laugh, as she tried to regain her breath. “I wanted to see you in action, you know. Plus, I haven’t seen Sam in a while, outside of school, so I figured a trip to Page Turners was in order.”
“You were bored.”
She nodded. “Yeah, basically that. Is Sam some sort of evil overlord or something? Why are we walking so fast?” she asked, quickly noticing I wasn’t waiting for her. She hurried to catch up.
“No, he just likes me to be on time,” I explained.
She looked at her own phone, and by the expression on her face, she must have figured out the time I was expected to be in the store. “But that’s ridiculous. You’d have to basically—”
“Run,” I said, finishing her sentence.
“Why would you do that? I would tell him to bite me unless…”
