18Sunday. There's a bruise on my stomach the size of Texas, and Greg's having poker night. As such, I've been kicked out until further notice. So a pretty average night.
And it's cold. Like, really cold. Cold like I need to be indoors. And what am I wearing? A paperthin windbreaker and duct taped shoes. The bookstore it is. I haven't gone in a week or so; maybe something new and exciting will be out. There. Now I've got something to look forward to.
It's not the longest walk but it is colder than it has any right to be. At least it isn't raining, though; the sky is clear and the moon is winking down at me, so it isn't dark enough that airplanes blend in with the stars. I've never seen a shooting star. I wonder if wishing on them really works. It probably doesn't but it's a nice idea. It would make me feel better at least, and that's always something.
The bookstore is warm and bright, and I gotta admit that I feel a little grubby and suspiciously hobo-like standing in there with my taped up shoes. But it's okay. I mean, I am alive, right? That's something. I've got my health and use of all four limbs (sometimes). I could be worse off.
I find the book I had last time, and start reading it again. Now that I'm not exhausted, it's actually pretty good. Some kid who's a clone of a drug lord or something, a hundred years in the future.
I can smell cookies or some other sweet magical thing from the coffee shop, and I'm suddenly hungry. I grimace when I remember I'm broke. It's almost closing time and I turn to leave the store. I shove my hands into the front pocket of the windbreaker and touch paper. When I take it out, I find a crumpled ten-dollar bill. Oh. It's from yesterday. That seriously just made my weekend.
The book I'm reading is $6.49, probably seven with tax. That leaves me three dollars to rot my teeth with. Okay, I seriously doubt there's anything I sweet can buy for 3 bucks that's enough to rot my teeth, but a guy can dream.
I go to the checkout line with the book. Hollis is at the checkout counter.
"Hey, it's Johnny-boy!" She says with a smirk.
"Uh, yes." I replied, remembering not to call her ma'am. It was strange. She gives the book I'm buying a cursory glance.
"You have good taste; this was one of my favorites when I was younger. Still is, actually." She glances at her watch.
"I can give you a ride home if you don't mind waiting twenty minutes or so." She offers absently, unceremoniously shoving my book into a bag and handing it and my change back at me. I nod as I take the money and the receipt.
3.09. I was right. Cinnamon bun here I come!
"Thank you, ma—" I stop when I remember the no ma'aming rule. She smirks a little.
"He can be taught!" She says, coming around the counter with a stack of books in her arms.
"Uh, y-yeah."
"I've got to re-shelve these so I'll be along in a couple minutes." I nodded, heading toward the coffee shop. The barista is wiping down the counter.
"We're closed," she informs me breezily, "Last of the coffee got dumped 5 minutes ago."
"I—uh, just wanted a cinnamon roll," I say, half-gesturing at it. She rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh.
"That'll be 1.06," she says in a bored tone.
"Uh, can I have a brownie too?" She rolls her eyes in exasperation and I inwardly cringe; I don't want to be a bother.
"2.44." I count out the money and slide it across the counter. She hands me the bag and I dig in, hurriedly shove the receipt into my pocket.
"Thank you, ma'am." The barista gives me a look of puzzled disbelief, but before she can say anything Hollis comes back, slinging a denim jacket around her shoulders.
"Ready, kid?"
"S-sure."
"Hols, you know this kid?" The barista asks her incredulously, and I'm really on a roll with these vocabulary words.
"Johnny-boy? Yeah, we go way back."
"Is he for real? I mean seriously, ma'am?"
"He's a good kid," she shrugs in explanation.
The barista says something I can't hear with a catty grin, but Hollis shakes her head with a grimace.
"Brooding about it won't help none."
"Neither will sleeping with you," Hollis mutters darkly.
"If you say so," the shorter woman shrugs with an easy smile, "But still, I mean it as a friend. You gotta get yourself together. Move on; you'll only be happier for it. She wouldn't have wanted you miserable."
"Whatever. I'll see you tomorrow or something," Hollis says tightly, picking her keys up from the counter. What is this all about?
"C'mon, JJ," she beckons. I follow without question.
Back at the apartment, the cars are gone, but the door is still locked. I curse my idiocy in not bringing a thicker jacket. I elect to go and sit in the 24 hour Laundromat near the liquor store. Maybe not the most wholesome place, but the guy who works late night lets me sit as long as I like. The ancient wall clock says eleven thirty.
I read my book and munch on the pastries with tiny bites; who knows when I'll have more? The book is good, and I keep reading until long after my eyelids have started to droop.
When I open my eyes, the attendant is tapping me and the hazy pink of dawn is peeking through the window.
"Hey, kid, you gotta get going."
"Yes, sir."
I get up and there's a crick in my neck from the awkward way I slept. It'll go away soon. The clock says seven o'clock and I'll make it to school on time if I hurry. I don't have my bag, but isn't as if I did my homework last night. I never do.