Paper Walker

Chapter 1

Outside it's raining. That is the only reason I'm not moving heaven and earth to keep myself from being dragged through the automatic sliding doors.

"Come on, you really don't have to read yourself, but I really have to look for that book. You know, the one I mentioned yesterday. I forgot the title, really so not smart."

My best friend, Isla, has a thing for the word really.

I mutter: "Three tears, that's the one", and patiently undergo the grateful hug. Even though the whole world thinks I don't like books, it's actually quite the opposite. I might not come near a paper book, my list of titles I've read is not much shorter than hers. Since a year I have an e-reader and nothing happens with that.

It's paper that gives me the creeps.

While Isla skips off, looking for a computer to help her find the author of her book, I look around. An entire anthill crawls over my arms and I feel like closing my eyes just in case I walk past an open book.

---

When I was thirteen I made the mistake to think I'd dreamed the whole thing when I was six. Just in case I'd locked myself up in my room before commencing with my experiment and opened a rather safe book. Cheerful, happy, not too long, nobody died. I knew the story, cause a friend had told me about it, so I wasn't afraid of a tragedy.

As soon as I read the first words and the flash blinded me, I had my answer. This time I'd begun standing up, therefore, all of a sudden, I found myself standing next to a house, on the curb, opposite a flower stall. Subsequently I wasted a complete hour trying everything I could think of to get out of the book. Ultimately handing in the towel and playing along with the gooey story till the end. I was the proverbial third wheel that somehow bothered no one.

Just like with Lynn's book, I got out when the story ended. Which could be a potential problem. Apparently no more time passed in the real world than what was needed to read the book. Whether the story took place in a single day or ten years. However, what if I ever got tired of the story line and got stuck in – I doubted it, but you never knew – an incredibly big volume, how could I ever get out?

There was no one I could ask. Trust me, I googled till I dropped. Reading yourself into a story lay somewhere between the realms of that Percy-dude and his myths and the land of the pink unicorn, that in my mind would forever reside on Lynn's ranch.

Reading people and stuff out of books, that seemed to be a thing, but reading yourself into it, no. No internet user could provide me with a useful insight.

So I gave up, and accepted my unusual burden – no, it's not a gift - like the millions of freckles that attack me every summer.

---

A couple of boys, nine, maybe ten years old, run passed me screaming on their way to the computers in the corner. Mothers with overflowing bags, help daughters collect piles of books and two handsome guys are browsing the DVD rack. I quickly avert my glance, where is Isla?

She's over by the 15+ section and when I reach her, she all but shoves the open book through my nose.

Terrified I jump back, right against the the case behind me, which hurts my shoulder. The bookcase is fine, he doesn't even wobble.

"Zara, don't be such a wimp. Really. You are really bad."

I'm probably the most astonished myself that nothing happened. Of course I hadn't actually read anything. The blurry letters were too close to my face, but still. Evidently I got myself convinced that I only needed to be in the vicinity of an open book to vanish.