taste | e.d

eleven

My fingers run along the worn spines of the books on the shelves, coming off gray with dust. No one ever likes these thick hardcovers anymore, and the fact that they're secluded all the way in the back of the bookstore makes them even more unwanted.

When I hear the bell of the front door jingle, I scurry over to check who it is. A girl around the age of fourteen smiles in delight as she observes the books. Her hand tightly clasps a wad of cash, as if it's the most sacred thing in the world. She has long, dark brown hair and big dark brown eyes. I nearly trip on a book that fell to the floor when I catch sight of her. My sister was eleven when she died. She would've been this girl's age, and the similarities are remarkable. She looks so much like my sister.

Tears threaten to flood my eyes, but I tug them back. I don't want to cry in front of her.

I stroll over to her and give her a friendly smile. "Hey, there. My name's Kendall."

She grins back, shyly. "I'm Danielle," she says. She seems nervous and doesn't make much eye contact. My sister was like that, too. Timid. Anxious. Unable to confront new people. I notice a few holes in her shirt along with the frayed hem of her faded jeans, and her fingernails are bitten all the way down.

"Can I call you Dani?" I ask.

"Yeah, I guess. No one calls me that," she says. She shakes her head and then quietly adds, "My dad used to. Before the cops took him away."

"Well, Dani, what kind of book would you like?" I ask, pretending I didn't hear her comment.

"I don't know. I've never been in a bookstore before," she says, gazing at the shelves in awe. "My mom got paid more than usual yesterday. It's just a little but it's something. This is just a small portion of it. She let me have it so I can have a book of my own and not that used donated charity crap. This book can be mine." She uncoils her fist and worriedly looks down at the crumpled up bills. "What can twelve dollars get me?"

I grin. "This way." I lead her back to the area of the store I was just inspecting. "We have all kinds of novels here. Sci-fi, teen romance, dystopian worlds, wizards, vampires, werewolves, you name it. There's a lot more of these here because not a lot of people like books with more pages. Seems like no one wants to dedicate time to a good book nowadays," I say, patting the shelf.

"Oh, I have all the time in the world. And that's even better! More pages means it'll take me longer to read them! Now I won't have to worry about begging my mom to get me a book for a long time!" Dani exclaims. She beams and grabs a book, excitedly flicking through the pages. Then she puts the book back in its spot and begins to explore.

She occasionally calls me over to help grab a book from a shelf she can't reach. I watch as she spends about fifteen minutes scavenging for books, not caring what genre. She simply scans the summary on the back and either sets the book back on the shelf if she isn't satisfied with it, or in a pile she has formed on the floor at the end of the aisle if she is. Once she has finished her search, her pile has twenty books in total. She sits cross-legged in front of the stack and starts to narrow it down. After a while, she ends up with just three books.

I have no problem waiting for her—it's rare for people to come at this hour, since most are working or in school. In fact, it's kind of entertaining, watching her pout her lip when she has trouble deciding on a book, or her eyebrows twitching from being furrowed for so long in concentration.

In a fit of frustration, she throws her arms up and huffs loudly. "I can't decide!"

"Let me see those," I say. She hands them to me and I examine them. I take them to the front desk and scan the barcodes to check the total price. $54 glows in bright green letters on the screen of the register. I grab my purse from a cabinet under the register, fishing for my money. Fortunately, I have $60 in cash. The register dings as the drawer pops out. I distribute my money, five dollar bills here, ten dollar bills there.