I wish I could have said that after talking to Luke, I ran to the book shop, yelling the truth all the way through town. But it took me a total of two more days of sitting on the front steps and wondering if it was right or if I was just being selfish, until I realised that I didn't care anymore.
The sign was still hanging precariously above the door as I nudged it uncertainly. The door was just cracked open and the bell hadn't rung yet when I heard Charlie and Maureen's voices. My heart jumped and nervousness struck. I wasn't expecting to have to encounter him so soon. I paused, listening, hoping that he'd go upstairs.
Charlie spoke, and although his voice was a little muffled, the distress filling it rang clear. “But I want to see her!” he said desperately. “Why don't they understand that?”
Maureen's voice was gentle. “I know, my love, but they're only thinking about what's best for you.”
Charlie's voice rose, and I knew then that he was very upset. He never got angry with Maureen. “What's best for me isn't the issue; I can take care of myself!” There was a pause, and then he spoke again, his voice miserably quiet. “Can I at least know where she is?”
Maureen sounded upset herself when she answered. “Charlie-”
“Forget it,” he said, his voice tight, and I heard the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs. Only after I heard them fade away did I push open the door, the bell jingling above my head. Maureen was standing in front of the desk, her hands knotted together, tugging on the sleeve of her bright yellow cardigan. As the bell rang, she glanced up in surprise, a vacant smile already on her face. Then she realised who I was and her expression transformed swiftly into one of relief.
“Hi,” I said weakly. Her face folded into a real smile.
“Thank god,” she said, and gave me a hug, smelling of a comforting mixture of white musk perfume and books. I felt fear crawl up my spine as I took in her relieved expression. It scared me that she thought I could fix everything.
I shook my head slowly. “Maureen, I think I'm just going to make everything worse.”
She stepped back and looked at me sternly. “And what on earth makes you think that?”
“I made him unhappy,” I said reluctantly. “I hurt him.”
“You made him happier than I'd ever seen him,” she said implacably, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “He needs to start living like a proper teenager, Lula. If he gets hurt like any other boy his age,” she paused, “I'm fine with it.” I frowned and opened my mouth, but she continued; “Go upstairs.”
She gave me a push and I found myself propelled by her hand, walking wordlessly up the steps.
The room upstairs was silent, marred only by soft bumps that came periodically from inside the book maze. I stood in the doorway for a few seconds, feeling my heartbeat accelerate. Then there was a particularly loud thump, and I walked quickly and quietly through path of bookshelves until I saw him holding a pile of books, slotting them into the shelf in front of him with jagged movements. His blonde hair was sticking up endearingly, as if he'd been running his hands through it and he was facing away from me so that I could see the word Angles on the back of his shirt.
As I stood watching, unsure of how to proceed, a book slipped off the top of the pile and fell to the floor with a thunk. He let it fall, and almost as if the first had been the spark setting off a book rebellion, two more books slid out of his arms, hitting the edge of the first one as it landed on the floor.
“Fuck,” he said loudly, and slammed his hand furiously into the bookshelf in front of him. “Fuck,” he said again, quieter this time, before leaning his forehead against the wood.
I walked forward impulsively until I was right next to him, bending down and picking up the books without looking up. The only thing that told me he saw me was an barely audible intake of breath.
I straightened up and looked steadily at the ground, trying to to stop my breath from hitching in my throat. The room was so quiet that there could have been a microphone amplifying every breath I took.
I stared at the front covers of the books in my arms. Two of them were by authors whose surnames began with a V, which was the shelf right next to me. I slotted them into their places silently, and was left with So B. It by Sarah Weeks, which meant that it belonged in the W shelf behind Charlie. I looked up and saw him looking at the cover as well.
“Good book.” The words fell out of my mouth almost accidentally, and I could have kicked myself at how stupid I sounded.
“Yes,” he said quietly, gazing at it in my hand. Then he looked up suddenly, raking a hand angrily through his hair, and we stared at each other. “What are you doing here?”
I took a deep breath. “I really like you.”
His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Don't give me that bullshit. You're being very optimistic if you think that's going to work a second time.”
“And you're being idiotic,” I said furiously. “You know how much I like you, Charlie.”
“I don't, actually,” he said. “Look, this is a waste of time. You don't have to come back and check that I'm not slitting my wrists; just go off and have fun with whatever-his-name-is.”
“Stop it!”I yelled raggedly, feeling myself teetering dangerously on the edge of tears. “He's gay! He told me on Monday.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then, “why did he kiss you?”
“He was confused.” I took a halting breath, trying to steady my breathing and push the tears away. “And he needed to know, I guess.”
“Why did you wait so long to come here and tell me that?” he asked.
“I-” I stopped suddenly, and this time I knew if I said anything else I would start to cry, and that was something that could never happen.
Suddenly I felt myself being pushed against the hard wood of the bookshelf, and then Charlie's face was inches away, his eyes intent on my face, his hands warm on my shoulders, his thumbs pressing into my collarbones. I inhaled the familiar smell of oranges and tried to make myself breathe normally.
“Sorry,” he said briefly, and then his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me with more force than he ever had before, his body pressed up against mine, the stiff edge of a book poking into my back. I stood and wondered dazedly how on earth I had gone so long without kissing him when it was quite obviously an absolute necessity. His lips dropped to my neck, kissing the sensitive joining between my neck and shoulder before they claimed my lips again with more fervour than before.
His arms tightened around my waist, pulling me nearer until I was close to not being able to breathe, and one of his hands closed over my arm, pinning it against the shelf behind me. His tongue explored my mouth as his thumb traced circles on my wrist, pushing back the sleeve to get to my skin as I forgot everything and just felt.
Then he pulled away suddenly, still clutching onto my arm, and he was wearing an expression I'd never seen before.
“Lula,” he said very quietly.
My mind jumped with lightning speed out of its hazy state of swollen lips and not thinking and I pulled my arm away so violently that my elbow slammed into the bookshelf behind me. I didn't even feel it as I pulled my sleeve back over my hand frantically. I got as far as one step away before I felt unrelenting arms around my waist, pulling me back. I shook my head wordlessly as he held me tightly, almost as if there were pieces that would fall apart if he didn't hold them together.
Author's note:
Oh goodness, I am so sorry I've taken so long to update!! I can't believe how fast time goes, and this chapter was very hard to write- I'm so sorry it's so short! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments on the last chapter, they make me so happy :) You are all so wonderful, and thank you so much for sticking with Lula and Charlie :) Hopefully things will work out sooon! Love you all! xxx
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A Likely Story
أدب المراهقينLula Bradbury is a little lost. She has not set foot in a book shop since she was ten years old, and when her mother traps her into getting a job at A Likely Story, she knows that she is going to have the worst summer of her life. But what we believ...
