It smells like old paper in here. Old books.
God, I love that smell. If it was a perfume I would bathe in it. Just kidding. That would be kind of gross.
Looking around, I see tables with several people sitting and minding their business reading. The bookstore is quite old. The aged wooden bookshelves look as though they are about to break from holding all the different stories. The light hardwood floors are covered in scratches.
This store is one of my favorite places.
I came here looking for friends since I'm a lonely bitch. And for books as well.
At home I still have five books left to read so I really don't have to be here, but a little book browsing never hurt anybody.
I want to read some romance.
I mean, when am I ever not in the mood to read romance?
Strolling past the isles a figure sitting against the bookshelf catches my eye.
Possible friend?
Yes.
A smile immediately arises on my face. I can't see his whole face, he is looking down into a book. I can see some of his really nice side profile. His bed head dark brown hair is falling slightly into his eyes.
I walk straight towards him.
Closer up I'm able to get a better view of his face. He has light freckles spread across his nose and cheeks. They are so faint that they're kind of hard to notice.
His hair is messy and wavy, sitting on top of his head carelessly. His lips are quite plump and rosy. I'm jealous.
Since he is looking down into the book I get a great view of his eyelashes. They're long and dark, fanning out like feathers across his cheeks.
That's not fair. Why does he have better eyelashes then me? What the fuck?
He seems to be tall too, must be around six feet.
A black crew neck and black dickies with white air forces adorn his body. A single silver ring sits on his middle finger.
I like his style.
He should tell me where he shops.
All my clothes are old and kind of falling apart at the seams. I just tell myself it looks vintage. When in reality it doesn't look vintage, I just look homeless.
Suddenly his grey eyes meet mine. Oh shit.
Why does he have prettier eyes than me too? What the fuck?
"Are you just gonna stare at me like a fucking creep?" There is harshness in his tone. He obviously doesn't seem too appreciative of my presence.
Well, I mean I did interrupt his reading, so I guess I would be irritated with me as well if I were him.
I open my mouth but no words come out. Speak. Why can't I speak?
I blink and choke out a fake cough in an attempt to cover up whatever the fuck just happened to me. My brain system malfunctioned I guess.
Taking a seat on the ground next to him I put a serious look on my face, showing him that I mean business. That soon fades though when I internally laugh at my inability to be serious.
"I have a proposition." He furrows his eyes brows at my statement.
"Who are you?" He ignores what I just said.
"I'll tell you once I say my offer." I insist.
He looks so utterly confused. It's kind of cute.
"Want to be friends?" My smile brightens even more and I hug my knees to my chest.
He looks at me as though I am psychotic. "No."
My smile fades.
Then he turns his head to look back down at his book. Eh, understandable. I'm not really sure how to approach people without sounding like a weird ass bitch.
"Do you want to be my acquaintance?" The corners of my lips are tugged back in a smile.
His eyes move back up to meet mine and his body stills.
"No."
My face goes straight.
Damn.
"Well too bad, you're my friend now whether you like it or not." I give him a sarcastic smile and play with the laces of my beat up converse.
He doesn't look very pleased with me. Oh well. His annoyance towards me brings me subtle joy.
I think something is wrong with me.
I stick out my hand to him, "Luna." He better shake my hand back or else this will be embarrassing.
More embarrassing than my existence already is, and that's saying something.
He stares at my hand. Then looks up to see me smiling at him, then looks back at my hand reaching out towards him for him to shake.
Shake my fucking hand bookstore boy.
"No." He gives me a flat look and looks back down at his book.
Maybe I should rethink this whole "finding friends" plan. I'm doing something wrong.
I sigh. "I'll be back here tomorrow afternoon if you rethink your decision buddy." I get up and look down at him one more time. He is too engrossed in his book. I don't think he even heard what I just said.
Sighing in defeat, I trudge away. Another failed attempt.
I'm starting to think it's a problem with my face. It seems to scare people off.
Looking at the antique clock on the wall I check what time it is, 5pm. Oh God, I'm going to be late for dinner. Ma is going to kill me and then revive me. Then she'll ground me.
I love my mom. She is scary, but she cooks great.
"Bye Mrs. Harp!" The old librarian looks up from the paperwork she's currently doing and stares at me for a second before looking back down at the papers.
She isn't the kindest old woman. Her greying hair, and granny clothes would make you think that she is one of those sweet old people that give the warmest hugs. Except she is the exact opposite of that. She has a frigid personality. I've only heard her say a few words out of the seven years I've been coming here.
I've been coming to this bookstore since I was young and she has never seemed to like me.
She has practically seen me grow up. Well, if she was paying attention. Which let's be honest, she probably wasn't.
A small smile rests on my lips as I pull open the door and the fresh air hits me.
It's quite rejuvenating. I think I will start reading outside more. I heard fresh air is good for the brain or something of that nature.
While starting the journey home I think back to bookstore boy. Hopefully he'll be there tomorrow, and hopefully he'll rethink the decision of becoming my friend.
I think if someone gave me the chance I would be a fabulous friend.
I miss elementary school when you could just go up to another kid and say "want to be friends?" and a friendship then blossomed. Chasing each other giggling playing tag, swinging on the swings together, feeling the breeze blowing through your hair.
Life was so much simpler back then.
Elementary school.
For many it was a time of great memories.
Playing with their friends on the playground.
No worries.
I shiver and clench my jaw as the memories start to pile in and entangle themselves into my web of current thoughts.
Pushing the upsetting thoughts to the little cave of misery in the back of my mind, I force myself to smile again.
Tomorrow is another day. A new day.
Redirecting my focus, I feel a wave of excitement washing over me as I think back to the dinner ma is cooking.
The thought of food always manages to put a smile on my face.
As I make the walk back home I go to Google and start typing,
"How to come off less odd."