Tadpoles in My Jar

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Betty

Within a month, I had packed up my entire room and all my belongings into my red Care Bear suitcase. James always poked fun at my suitcase, saying "it's childish looking," but I didn't care. My grandparents gave it to me.

I planned one last trip to McGregor's Nook to return the 10 books that he had lent me: Dracula, The Canterbury Tales, Walden, Romeo & Juliet, Frankenstein, Peter & Wendy, Sense & Sensibility, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and Mr. McGregor's favorite: Moby Dick.

Stepping into the bookshop, I'm greeted by the cheerful chime of the little bell that rings every time the door swings open.

"Betty!" Mr. McGregor calls from atop a ladder, dusting the books on the shelves. "How are you today?"

"Hi Mr. McGregor," I reply. "I've come to return those books you let me borrow."

"So soon? I just gave those to you at the end of March. You're a quick little reader!" he chuckles, climbing down the ladder. "What did you think of them?"

"I loved Romeo & Juliet, but my favorite was probably Peter & Wendy," I say, handing him the stack of books.

"Both excellent choices," he says.

"Mr. McGregor, I have to tell you something," I say, my smile fading. "I'm moving back home to Gallipolis next week."

Mr. McGregor looks at me solemnly, a slight twinkle in his silver eyes. Setting the books down on the oak desk, he places a hand on my shoulder. "Of all the customers who have wandered into my little shop over the years, you are by far my favorite."

"I really appreciate you letting me borrow all these books, Mr. McGregor. You're one of the only friends I've made in New York," I say. "I'm going to miss you—" Fitzgerald scampers out from behind the desk and pounces onto the stack of books. "—and Fitzgerald, of course."

"You always brought a certain magic into my shop," Mr. McGregor replies, a hint of sadness touching his voice. He fumbles around in his pocket, pulling out his red lapel pin. "Here, I want you to have this. You are a bright young girl, Betty, and I believe that you would do incredible things at Cornell University."

"Thank you, Mr. McGregor," I say, taking the pin.

"Never be afraid to pursue the sublime," he adds with a smile.

As I step out of the door, I collide with Patrick, sending a stack of books tumbling from his grasp. The sound of hardcovers thuds against the pavement.

"Whoa! Sorry!" I exclaim, my heart racing as I quickly bend down to help him gather the scattered books. "Let me get that for you."

He chuckles, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his cheeks. "It's fine, Betty." I hand him the last book, a thick volume with a weathered cover, and he flashes a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"You've got quite the collection this week," I say, gesturing to the pile he clutches tightly. "Reading anything good?"

Patrick glances down at the books, his brow furrowing slightly as he contemplates his answer. "Well, I just finished a novel about a guy who travels through time." 

"Interesting," I say.

A slight pause hangs between us as he studies my face. "I, uh, didn't mean to eavesdrop in there, but I overheard you talking to McGregor. You're going home, back to Ohio?"

My smile falters, replaced by a mix of apprehension. "Uh, yeah, I leave next week." I kick at a pebble on the sidewalk, suddenly feeling a heaviness settle in my chest. "It's a little weird to think that I won't be coming here anymore, you know?" I admit, glancing back at McGregor's Nook.