It was a bright morning. A blinding morning. I had to put on sunglasses just to go outside to get the mail. Of course, my eyes were more sensitive than most, but it was still really bright. Since it was so bright I had closed all the blinds inside the store, making it dim, but still cozy. Even though I was only 16, I knew how to run a bookstore and I was really good at it. It was technically my parents' store, but they entrusted me to run it a little over three years ago. They gave it to me when they realized I would have to be homeschooled, and there would be nothing else for me to do.
I love this place. It's little, but every square inch of space is covered with words, with books, with stories, with lives just waiting to be lived. I like to stand in the middle of the books sometimes and just smell the books. Old, new. Doesn't matter. It's still the "book smell". It still smells like home. I painted the place last year a deep maroon, and added chandeliers to the ceiling. I still smile when I walk inside. Right now I’m sitting in one of the comfy armchairs looking into the fire. I should be restocking books, but I have the worst headache. Curse my eyes.
“Rae!” I turn around in my seat to find a stick skinny woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose frowning at me.
“Yeah, mom?” I ask tentatively. Whenever she’s wearing that face it means I’m in trouble. I don’t think my head could take any yelling today.
“Rae, we have a bunch of new books in the back that need to be shelved. Now.” I make to interrupt her but she holds her hand up, “I know, I know. We should keep our noses out of the store, you have it under control. I trust you, you know that. But those boxes are blocking the back door. Go.” She pushes her glasses with her pointer finger and turns about. She walks toward the front of the store, and then says over her shoulder, “I’m going home for a little while. I’ll be back later.”
I mumble an affirmative, and drag myself out of the armchair. Passing a few browsing customers, I walk into the storage room. Mom was right, there are a lot of books back here. Goodness, I’ll be lucky to be done by dinner.
I scoop up a dozen random books and balance them on my knee as I pull my hair into a French braid. My hair is always getting in my way. I’m constantly having to put it up to be able to see what I’m doing. It’s a really weird strawberry blond color, and it’s really long. I really should probably just get it cut, but I can’t bring myself to do so. I tie my hair off with a ponytail holder and pick the books back up.
I open the door to the store with my elbow and work my way through the bookshelves until I find the place to shelve a copy of Little Women. Florence and The Machine is playing throughout the store and I dance as I shove books into their places. Most bookstores play softer music, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Flo.
“Excuse me.” I pause with a book in the air and one foot in a very awkward position. The voice had interrupted a very weird dance move I had been maneuvering in a vacant isle. Apparently it wasn’t so vacant anymore. I spin around to face the person the voice belonged to. There were five people standing there, two of them were looking at books, two were talking to each other, and the last one was the one who had spoken, and he was looking at me.
“Can I help you?” I ask politely. I try not to stare at him… because he’s… well he’s really very cute. He’s got dark hair, and bright eyes. Of course, that could change any second now. Right now they’re blue. Blue is calm. Well that’s good. It’s probably his default color. It’s a popular one.
“Do you work here?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and raises an eyebrow. Cocky fella.
“Actually I own the place. How may I help you?” I set my remaining books on a nearby table and wait for his response.
His eyes flash gray. Gray for confusion. “Wait, you own this place? How old are you?”
I smirk. “Yeah, I do. And I’m 16. Again, what can I help you with?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens his eyes again they’re still gray. “Okay. I won’t ask, then. I was wondering if you could help me find a book?”
I grin, “Yeah sure. Which book?”
He pulls out a list from his pocket and squints at the writing. “Um, The Picture of Dorian Gray by,” He squints harder. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I can’t read this.”
I start walking towards the W’s. “It’s cool. I know who wrote it. He’s one of my favorite authors.”
He jogs to catch up with my leaving his friends behind. “I have to read it for school. Not that thrilled to be honest.”
I run my hand across the spines of the books. When it hits The Picture of Dorian Gray I stop and pull the book out. “You’ll love it. He’s a great author.” I hand him the book and watch him read the back of it.
His eyes slowly turn a deep pink. Pink is disgust. I can’t help but smirk as I watch his finish reading it.
“Looks… interesting…” He lies.
“Glad you think so.” I manage to say without laughing. I saunter back over to my pile of unsorted books and start flicking through the titles.
“Thanks,” He says as he walks back to his friends who are no longer looking at books and are being rather noisy. I nod in response, and watch his friends. They’re so confident in themselves. So different from me. I hastily pick up a stack of books to keep myself from thinking about how my eye color completely reflects who I am.
YOU ARE READING
Irised
Teen Fiction"That's Knox Parker, Rae." "Thank you Captain Obvious. I know who he is," I roll my eyes and buckle up. "What's wrong?" "That's the biggest jerk at school. He's popular and he knows it, he's good looking and he knows it, he's funny and he knows it...
