All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter (Book 1)|| COMPLETE

Carry On My Wayward Son

I push through the swinging double doors to the library. It's the homecoming pep rally.

If I had any balls at all, I'd be sitting in the bleachers, cheering on my friends and teammates. But I can't bring myself to. It's a kick to the stomach every time.

I slip between the shelves, getting lost among the stacks. I know my way around a library. I know where to find some comfort.

My eyes dart from spine to spine, along rows and down columns, searching for Maya Angelou. The shelf ends, and I turn the corner to pick up where it left off. I spot Ms. Barnes standing in the aisle, clutching two books to her chest. Her blond hair is pulled back into a severe bun. She's scanning the shelves when she notices me.

"Hello, Stephanie," she murmurs. You'd think an English teacher would know better than to talk in a library. The nerve.

I nod in greeting, continue eyeing the shelves.

"What are you looking for?" she asks.

I glance at her from the corner of my eye.

"Oh, you know...just..." I pull out a book at random. It's an R.L. Stine novel. "'Who Killed The Homecoming Queen'. Nothing like a...good teen slasher to get you into Spirit Week." I sigh. It's not convincing. Silences falls. I pretend to study the cover, my eyes glazing over with sadness and thoughts. Sometimes my thoughts are so loud, I can't hear what's going on around me.

"May I...May I make a suggestion?" Ms. Barnes asks, breaking through my molasses-like thoughts.

I shrug.

"Try this." She hands me one of the books she's been holding. "I think you might like it."

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

"It was one of my favorites when I was in high school," she says, smiling a little. "I think you might relate to it."

"Thanks," I say. "I'll go...read this now." I scuttle off to the hidden corner, where a stuffed armchair rests in a crevice between two perpendicular shelves. This is all I can do now...read, and homework. Eat and sleep. Attend school and go home. If it weren't for books, I'd probably be dead.

That's not an exaggeration.

I take the bus home. It's buzzing with gossip about tonight's homecoming game and dance right after. Girls are describing their dresses to one another. Guys are talking about our shot at winning the game against the Allentown Cougars. They say we won't, especially since I'm not playing anymore. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

I slump in my seat, put my headphones on, pull my sweatshirt hood over my head, and watch the world blur past my window. The tunes of Weezer, Green Day, and Third Eye Blind soothe my weary soul.

When I get off the bus at my stop, a light drizzle falls from the gray sky. Cold wetness pitter-patters on my hood, sleeves, jeans. I duck my head and jog for home. When I get up the stairs and inside, I throw my backpack on the floor and dive into bed.

I no longer have a bedroom door. I lost that, too, in The Great Grounding. I have no right to privacy anymore; I proved that I couldn't be trusted.

I stare at the ceiling, yawn, read, check the clock, and repeat. The game starts at five. I'll be the only one not going, and it's my senior year. Let that sink in for a minute.

I try to distract myself by going to sleep, but I just end up laying in bed, staring at the wall until I hear my Mom singing to herself up the steps. She's home early.

The door creaks open, slams shut, and she stops in front of my room. She's wearing a long, thin, canvas-looking coat and a scarf.

"Hey, kiddo," she murmurs. "How was your day?"