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.”
“If you say anything with enough confidence, it’s true, right?”
“I can get behind that.” She pulled a book down. “There’s always the summaries on the backs. Those are sort of helpful.” She began reading the back of the book she held in an English accent.
“Is the writer of that one British?” I asked.
“I just assume all the writers of classic literature are British.” She shrugged. “But more importantly, I do a killer British accent.”
“You really do.”
“Wow, that sounded vain. I promise I’m not vain.” She bit her lip. “Is that the kind of promise vain people make?”
I let out a single laugh and held out my hand for the book. “I have to get that book now.”
She handed it to me.
“A Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens,” I read off the cover.
“Aha!” She patted the book. “See. It was a safe bet.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Saaaavvvveeee me! It was a text from Cooper.
I tucked the two books I now had (one for me, one for Cooper) under my arm and typed back. Just tell your parents you want to leave their party.
Can’t. They’ll be disappointed. You’ve seen their disappointed faces.
You need to go into the army. I hear it makes you a man.
Lacey slid Frankenstein off the shelf and waved at me with it. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy A Tale of Two Cities.”
“Thanks.” I pointed to her book. “You too.”
She walked away, and I dialed Cooper’s number. He answered. “Hello.”
“I ran out of gas.”
“Abby, why would you do a thing like that? Don’t you pay attention to your gas gauge? It’s that little one right above the steering wheel.”
“Watch it or I’ll hang up right now.”
He laughed. “Of course I’ll come save you, even though I’m right in the middle of my dad’s really cool work party. You should see it, they have live singers and everything.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“What’s this group called again, Dad?”
A deep voice said something I couldn’t understand.
“The Patriotic Quartet. There’s four of them and they walk around the party only singing patriotic songs.”
“I would’ve never guessed that by their name,” I said, heading for the checkout. A few people shot me looks on my way, and I guessed I was being too loud for the library.
“I know.”
“And it’s not even the Fourth of July,” I said, quieter this time.
“Barely two weeks. Imagine how booked they are for that day.”
“Would you rather have to listen to only quartets for the rest of your life or screeching cats?”
“That’s a hard one. But quartets, I think. Unless they can only sing patriotic songs. Then the cats.”
“I’m getting our books now. Are you going to come rescue me and my empty gas tank or not?”
“Abby ran out of gas,” Cooper’s muffled voice said. He was obviously relaying the message to his dad. “I have her on the phone and can ask her exactly where she is. Otherwise we have the Find Your Friend app on each other’s phones.”
His dad must’ve asked what that was, because he said, “It’s like a GPS thing that lets me track her phone. What? Yes, it’s safe. You don’t let strangers track you, just your friends.” Back to me he said, “My dad doesn’t know what Find Your Friend is.”
“I figured.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“My hero,” I said dryly.
“See you in a bit.”
“I’ll be back at my house. No need to use the app.”
“Copy.”
I hung up and handed my books to the librarian.
“These are due in two weeks,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks.”
She used a wand to scan the barcode on the covers. “These are character-building books. They’ll make you think.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
I hoped they built character fast, because it felt like the clock was ticking.