The Library of Lost Things by Laura Taylor Namey

Author:Laura Taylor Namey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Winged

“Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.” I wish this could be me. To have only one thing to feel for the whole day. And that the one thing would be anything but him.

—J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan, and Peter Pan Mystery Scribbler

I may have broken Marisol. Two minutes into my run-through of last night’s events, I thought she was going to topple off our mosaic table bench. By the time I’d gotten to street tacos and Asher’s accident story, I’d shocked her completely into Spanish.

“¿Mientras que yo estaba a la escuela, tú estabas besando a Asher?” She fanned herself. I’d conveniently left out the part about her jacket being lodged against Asher’s back and a brick wall. Besides, she was too preoccupied with me lodged against Asher lodged against a brick wall.

“For the tenth time, I was not kissing him. I was pretending to kiss him. Big difference. Like, all the differences.” Not real. Make-believe.

She sipped the blueberry smoothie she’d brought, our Saturday morning tradition when I didn’t have work. “You’ve changed everything, though. Won’t it be weird now?” Marisol said, back to English.

I pressed my fingers against both temples. “There was nothing between us to change in the first place. Our alley antics were just me, remembering stuff I’d read and thinking fast. No big deal.”

Every big deal. His mouth resting against my neck. His—

“He probably thought about it all night, Darcy.”

“He didn’t, and I didn’t, either.” Only from midnight to four-thirty.

“He bought you dinner.”

“Because I saved his ass. And...and, he has a girlfriend. Whom you dressed in finery and just watched prance around the Jefferson stage.”

Marisol grinned that grin, and I knew it was gonna get bad. “You mentioned he has a girlfriend like it matters.”

“Look, he’s just a Jefferson graduate who happens to speed-read his way through his breaks at my workplace. Nothing more in my world.” I drank my mango smoothie, stopping just short of brain freeze.

Except it won’t stop feeling like something more.

But I couldn’t, couldn’t tell anyone—not even her, my shorter, curvier other half. My North Park fairy tale could never have any language of its own, whether Spanish or English, or anything out loud.

Behind us, a door slammed; a trio of tiny black birds fluttered from one of the courtyard olive trees, zooming past our heads. We both turned to see Thomas, manager of the year, cross the patio toward the staircase.

“Where does he buy his jeans? SaggyFrump.com?” Marisol whispered.

I closed my quivering lips around my straw as he stopped short of the stairs and turned to us.

“Ahh, Darcy. I was just heading up to see your mother about the bathroom fixtures.”

I tensed. “Sorry, what fixtures?”

“You didn’t get my flyer? About the rising cost of water in San Diego?” He tapped his chin. “They were in all the mailboxes a few days ago.”

“We must’ve missed that one.” Or I’d been too preoccupied with surprise letters and wigs and boys who didn’t matter.

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