Well...Not Anymore.

Well...Not Anymore: Chapter 2

"Hey Zara," I greet as I walk into the warm and comfortable atmosphere of the local book store. It's not a huge Barnes and Noble like they have in the city just a few-mile drive down the interstate. It's more like a quaint little place that always smells like fresh paper and coffee due to the coffee house right next door.  

The Corner Street book store has always been my favorite place in the world, back when I didn't work here and even now that I do. Even when I'm not scheduled to work, I'll still come in and sit on the recliner that my boss, Zara, has dubbed to be mine, and read a book or two before I go home. I've read pretty much all of the books that sound somewhat interesting to me-it's the romance books that really get me-and so every day I come in all excited over what books have been delivered. 

Back in eighth grade when Zara Moore decided that I spent too much time here to not be paid, she hired me and said that since I wasn't old enough, she'd slip me a few twenties at the end of every week. For a few years my heart would jump in my chest every single time that a police officer walked through the door. 

We never got caught, though, and the moment that I turned sixteen-the legal age to work in this city-Zara drove me down to the bank and helped me set up a checking account. That same day Lucas threw a surprise birthday party for me at his house, complete with a cold chocolate cake (my favorite) and a mix CD of all of my favorite bands. 

But it's not really time to think about him, I realize, as I watch Zara wave to me in response as she hunches over a cardboard box that is filled with new deliveries in the back of the store. Since not one customer is in the store, which is pretty usual for this place, she calls out to me, "Come shelve all of these! You can read the backs and decide which ones you want to steal for yourself while you do." 

I give her a guilty smile, that familiar feeling of an excited child on Christmas morning starting to peep through. This right here, in my little book store with the one person that I can honestly say has never been anything but good to me, is my happiest place. I absolutely love it. 

So I practically skip down the rows of books to where she's standing and yank the pair of scissors out of her hand. I smile, "Thanks Zara." 

She pats me on the shoulder as she rises to her feet, her maxi skirt going back to draping its way down to the floor. Zara has always been somewhat of a free spirit, what with her three facial piercings and tattoo on her wrist, but if you talked to her one the phone you'd never know. She's only different by the way she dresses, not the way she acts. She's so down-to-earth and so fiercely loyal, two things that I admire so much in people. She's practically my best friend. 

In response to me she says, "No problem, you're my best customer here, even with your twenty percent employee discount." 

"Got to love that discount," I joke. 

She shakes her head at my complete addiction to books and says, "You'd be broke without it." 

Thirty minutes into the afternoon, I'm sitting with my back propped against one of the book shelves, reading yet another back book cover about a girl falling in love with her best friend and the two of them living happily ever after. I make a face at the book, wondering why on earth people believe that best friends can always fall in love, and then shove it onto the shelf in its rightful place. 

I'm so sick of people thinking that best friends are automatically soul mates. They're not. I learned that in the hardest way possible. 

"Don't hurt the book," Zara says dryly from behind me, making me jump in my spot. I hadn't even heard her sneak up on me. 

"God, Zara! I had no idea you were right there." 

She laughs, "Obviously. But why are you so angry at that book? What'd it do to you?"