I surveyed the rest of the list. Aside from the tryouts in a couple of days, I wasn’t sure what I’d do for the rest.
There was one, however, that was simple. One I could start now that would take me at least a couple of days to complete—read a classic.
“Mom,” I announced when I arrived in the kitchen. “I’m going to the library.”
She looked up from a book she was reading titled True Crime. Not good reading material for my already overly worried mom.
“Any input on which classic I should pick?” I asked.
Grandpa called from the other room “I’ve read a lot of classics. Do you want my input?”
“Nobody is talking to you, old man. Keep watching your Matlock.”
I heard an exasperated grunt. “I don’t watch Matlock.”
My mom gave me her disappointed look, the one that said I had taken my joking with her dad one step too far.
“I’m sorry for calling you old man,” I yelled.
“And what about the Matlock thing?”
“There’s no shame in watching a show about an old-man lawyer who always manages to save the day. There’s something to be said about characters you can relate to.” My grandpa had been a lawyer before he retired, and he hated being compared to TV lawyers.
He said something I couldn’t understand, probably mumbling some silent curse.
“There are too many classics for me to limit your choice.” She pointed to the living room. “And you burned any bridge you had there. Looks like you’re on your own.”
“Do we have a library card? We need a library card. Do you need to fill out a form for me since I’m a minor and all? They probably don’t trust me with their books.” My attempt to get her away from that book and out of the house was beyond transparent, but I didn’t care.
Mom’s brow immediately went down, and I could tell she was trying to reason through that, hope for some other solution than her needing to go to the library with me. “I don’t think they need me there. Kids have library cards, right? I don’t need to go.”
“There’s not very many people in the library, Mom.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Plus, it’s only five minutes away,” I said.
“By car.”
“Yes, by car.”
“I’d rather walk.”
“I know. But that’s a long walk.” One I knew she couldn’t make. “It’s fine, Mom. It’s just been a while since you pushed yourself a little.” I usually didn’t say things like this to my mom. I usually let her off the hook easier. I didn’t want to upset her or make her more anxious about life. But maybe clinging to Cooper on the back of that quad the day before made me realize that pushing yourself to do hard things was actually pretty liberating. There was a sense of accomplishment about it, after the fact.
She sighed. “I’ll call the library and see if they need me there for you to get a card.”
Blasted phones, I thought, always ruining my best-laid plans with their usefulness.
I pulled out my useful phone and sent Cooper a text: I’m going to the library to pick out a classic. You want to come?
Can’t. Family BBQ at my dad’s work. Call me with an emergency in about an hour.
What kind of emergency?
The best friend kind. I don’t know. You’ll think of something.
I’m sure your parents will love me even more for that. I’m not faking an emergency. I’ll be reading Crime and Punishment. I had looked up a list of classics, and that one sounded the most interesting to me.
What crime are you planning to commit?
That’s the title of a book.
Cool. Get me that one too. It sounds awesome.
We can’t read the same classic. We need to read different ones and then tell each other about them. It will be double the depth.
Okay. I call dibs on Crime and Punishment.
You are a brat.
This is true. I have to go now.
Okay. Have fun.
He added: Call me in one hour.
No.
I put my phone in my pocket and looked up just in time to see my mom come back into the kitchen.
“Good news,” she said. “You can sign for your own library card.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Don’t look so disappointed, hon. I’ll walk to the park with you after dinner tomorrow. How about that?”
“Promise?”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded resolutely. “Yes.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I heard it too,” Grandpa said from the other room.
“I’m being ganged up on now?” she asked.
“Not ganged up on, Mom. Supported. You have lots of support.”
She smiled and hugged me, then handed me a bottle of antibacterial hand gel.
“What is this?”
“Do you know how many people touch those books?”
I handed her back the gel. “You should read some stories on this stuff. It’s creating superbugs.”
“Really?”
I shouldn’t have said that. Now she’d spend the next two days on the computer reading about superbugs. I snatched the bottle back. “You’re right. I’ll bring this.” I lifted the car keys from a hook by the door and left before she decided I couldn’t leave the house after all.
NINE
There were lots of books considered classics. A whole section of them. Some I’d never even heard of before, like Ulysses or Middlemarch. Some I had, like The Scarlet Letter and The Sun Also Rises. A lot of them were on the list I had looked up, but a lot of them weren’t.
I’d already found Crime and Punishment and was reaching for Frankenstein, thinking it reminded me of the mash-up of qualities that had inspired my list, when someone else reached for it at the same time. “Sorry,” we both said, then laughed.
The girl smiled and gestured for me to take it.
I recognized her immediately. She had curly red hair and bright-green eyes. “Oh, you’re the . . .”
“Zit commercial girl?” she finished for me when I stopped myself in time.
“Yes.”
She gestured to her beautifully clear skin. “Keeps them gone for weeks.”
“Do you really use that zit cream?”
“No.”
I smiled. “You go to my school too, right?”
“Pacific High? Yes.”
“I’m Abby, by the way.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Lacey.” She nodded toward the book I’d reached for. “Are you getting a jump start on the honors English summer reading list? Do you have Engle?”
“No, I’m not taking honors English. I’m just looking for an interesting classic to read.”
“Why?”
“For fun, I guess.” I didn’t want to explain the heart list to her. “You can take that one. I’ll find a different one.”
“What kind of stories do you like to read? Maybe I can help you pick one.”
“Have you read a lot of classics?” I asked.
“I’ve done a lot of theater, so I’ve read almost all of Shakespeare. Other than that, not really. I’m not sure why I offered like I was some expert.”