Possessed Soul

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My mother's bookshop is situated in the middle of nowhere. I was pretty certain it used to be a small house, since it is in our residential neighbourhood instead of in a shopping mall. It would have been more convenient if it was in a shopping mall, as it would attract the attention of people who were buying clothes, or groceries or stuff like that. But that didn't necessarily mean it would be better. It just didn't seem right to sell books and clothes in places that were right next to each other. Clothes are material things, but books are so much more. They hold so much meaning and knowledge. That is one of the few things my mom and I have in common, we both believe that books should be cherished.

"How was the first day of school?" my mother asked, as I opened the door to her bookstore.

"It was great," I replied, smiling widely.

"Oh, don't give me that look." She stopped working the cash register for a second so that she could give me a death glare. She had braided her hair loosely into two plaits. A couple of strands escaped and clung to her orange sweater. She'd always been a fan of bright colours; she said it set off the pink undertones of her skin and I agreed with her. Her cheeks looked flushed but in an attractive way, like she was blushing at a comment someone had made about her. She looked way too young to be someone with a sixteen-year-old daughter. Her hair was a raven black that made me jealous. She could wear any colour; anything went with black. She had angular cheekbones and was extremely tall, even without heels or platforms.

"What look?" I asked, dropping my backpack onto a nearby sofa.

"Like you want me to look at your expression instead of listening to your words."

"I was smiling," I defended myself.

"No, you were fake smiling," My mother handed the customer a packet. "Have a lovely day," she told the short, old lady who had just purchased a couple of comics that I assumed were for her grandkids.

"I still don't understand why I can't just be home-schooled," I complained.

"Honey, we talked about this," my mother sighed. "I can't do Math anymore."

"Who needs Math?" I asked, but didn't wait for her to reply. Instead, I headed off to the shelf right at the back of the store, hoping to find something to occupy me for the afternoon.

This shop was filled with old books that people didn't want anymore. They were all dog eared and tacky, but they still held a certain magic in them. They smelled like dust; not the bad kind of dust that gave you allergies, but the kind I liked to refer to as pixie dust. All these books waited patiently on the shelf for someone to pick them up. Their pages each held a variety of words that transported you to magical places, like Fair Verona or Casterbridge.

I picked Jane Eyre, which is and always will be one of my favourites. It was interesting to read about someone who actually wanted to go to school, and put myself in her shoes; even if those shoes were decades old and out of fashion in these modern days. My mother always joked that I was an old soul who belonged in a Victorian dress and elbow-length gloves.

"Hey."

I was roused out of my fantasy world by none other than Ryan Simpson. He had ditched his leather jacket in favour of a grey sweater, and his hair was only slightly tousled. What surprised me the most was that now he was wearing glasses. They were rectangular shaped with a black frame, and suited his face nicely. Ryan noticed me looking and immediately offered an explanation. "My contacts were getting scratchy."

"Okay," I said.

"I was hoping to find you here." He slipped both his hands into his pockets and looked down at me.