The Poison Eaters and Other Stories

” And by this, you mean that instead of locking herself in the bathroom or throwing a vase at you, she put herself in a book and didn't come out."



"Yeah,” Justin said, looking at the desk.



"You might seriously consider that that translates to breaking up with you."



He scrubbed his hand over his face. His skin felt rougher than his stubble. “I don't think she knew how to get out.” But, as he thought back on it, he couldn't recall reading that she wanted to; characters in Russian novels are big on bemoaning their personal tragedy. It seemed that wouldn't have been left out.



Sarah shrugged. “You said that she wanted to meet Sandlin. You brought her to him. You're done."



"I never got to say I was sorry."



"Are you?” Sarah took a sip from her cup and made a face.



Justin scowled. “What kind of question is that?"



"Well, you don't even seem to know what you did, or if you did anything."



He looked down at the laces of his sneakers, the dirty knots that he hated untangling so much that he'd just pulled the things off and on. Now they were hopeless. The knots would never come out. He sighed.



"Do you even like books?” Sarah asked. She waved her hand around. “Was all of this for her?"



” Of course I like books!” Justin said, looking up. He didn't know how to explain. He'd started library school to get Linda to Sandlin, but he actually liked it. It felt good to carefully organize the books so that other people would know what they were getting themselves into. “I've always liked books. I just don't trust them."



"What about people?” Sarah asked.



He looked at her blankly.



"Do you trust people?"



"I guess. I mean, sure. Within reason. I don't think people usually have terrible secrets the way characters do, but people often aren't as amazing, either. We're watered down."



"I have a secret,” Sarah said. “I compete in rock, paper, scissors tournaments."



He laughed.



"I'm serious,” Sarah said.



"Wait a minute. You mean you cheated me out of all that coffee?” For a moment, Justin just looked at her. She seemed different now that he knew she had secrets, even if they were kind of lame ones.



"Hey,” she said. “I won fairly!"



"But you're like a pool shark or something. You have strategies."



Sarah shook her head. “Okay, you want my RPS secret? It's about understanding people. Rock's basically a weapon. Like something an ogre might hurl. It's an angry throw. Some people shy away from it because it seems crude, but they'll use it if they're desperate."



"Okay,” Justin said.



"Now, scissors. Scissors are shiny and sharp. Still dangerous, but more elegant, like a rapier. Lots of people make their first throw scissors because it seems like the clever throw. The rakish throw. The hipster throw."



"Really?” Justin frowned.



"You threw it the first time. And the second."



He thought back, but he couldn't recall. He wondered which play Sarah usually opened up with. Was it always rock?



"Now, paper. Paper's interesting. Some people consider it a wimpy throw and they use it very infrequently. Others consider it the most subtle throw. Words can, they say, be more dangerous than rocks or scissors.



"Of course, scissors still cut paper,” Sarah said.



"Oh,” said Justin suddenly, getting up. “They do. You're right.” He could cut Linda out like a paper doll.



700—The Arts



Justin pulled book after book from the shelves, not caring about their spines, not caring about the mess he made, scanning each one for a mention of Linda. They piled up around him and the dust coated his hands, ink smearing his fingers as he ran them down countless pages.



Heavy metal scissors weighed down the pocket of his coat and sometimes his hand would drop inside to touch their cool surface before emptying another shelf.



"What are you doing?” Sandlin asked.



Justin jumped up, hand still in his pocket.



Sandlin was dressed in another waistcoat. A single silver pin held a cravat in place at his neck. He sneezed.



"I'm looking for my girlfriend. She got out of her book, but I don't know which book she got into."



"The girl with all the piercings I saw you hiding with last night?"



” No,” said Justin, trying not seem as rattled as he felt. If Sandlin knew . . . No, he couldn't dwell on that. “That's Sarah. Linda's my girlfriend, or she was, and she knew how to put things into books. She put herself in a Russian novel, but last night you took her out and I don't know what book she's in now."



Sandlin ran his hand over his short beard.



"You see,” Justin said, his voice rising. “She could be anywhere, in danger. Novels are always putting characters in peril because it's exciting. Characters die."



"Your problem isn't with books, it's with girls,” Sandlin said.



"What?” Justin demanded.



"Girls,” said Sandlin. “You don't know why they do the things they do. Who does? I'm sure they feel the same about us. Hell, I'm sure they feel the same way about each other."



"But the books,” said Justin.



"Fiction. I used to own a bookstore before I inherited a lot of money from my great aunt. The money went to a cat first, but when the cat died, I was loaded. Decided I'd shut my store down, sleep all day and do whatever I wanted. This is it."



"But . . . but what about what you said about books being alive? Needing our protection?"



Sandlin waved his hand vaguely. “Look, I love spending time with characters from books. I love the strange friendships that spring up, the romances. I don't want to lose any of them. Did you know that Naruto has become close to Edmond Dantes and a floating skull with glowing red eyes? I couldn't make that up if I tried! But it's still fiction. Even if it's happening in my basement. It's not real."



Justin looked at him in disbelief. “But books feel real. Surely they must seem more real to you than anyone. They can hurt you. They can break your heart."



"It wasn't a book,” said Sandlin, “that broke your heart."



800—Literature & Rhetoric



Justin went home and slept for the rest of the day and night. When he woke up too early to do much else, he opened a familiar paperback and re-read it. Then he went to a cafe and bought two cups of coffee to bring to class.



"Oh wow,” said Sarah. “Double latte with a sprinkle of cinammon. I think I just drooled on myself."



"You still have to win it,” he said. “You made up the rules. Now be made miserable by them."



She made a fist. “You sure you don't want to pick some game you're good at?"



Her earrings swung and glittered. Justin wondered if she wore them to tournaments to distract her opponents. He wondered if it worked.



He wished he could raise an eyebrow, but he tried to give her the look that might accompany one.



"Your funeral,” said Sarah.



Rock. Paper. Scissors. Scissors cut paper. Justin won. He gave her the coffee anyway.



"I didn't think you'd throw scissors again,” she said. “Since I pointed out that you threw it the first two times."



” Exactly.” See, he thought, I don't have a problem figuring out girls.



Just one girl.



And possibly himself.



900—Geography & History



Later that week, Justin attended the midnight party at Sandlin's house. He walked through the front door, disturbing as much dust as he could, before heading down the stairs. He arrived fashionably late. Characters were making toasts.



"Salut!” a group shouted together.



"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the—” started another before Justin walked out of earshot.



He touched the heavy scissors in his pocket. His plan had changed.



Linda sat on a stool in black robes embroidered with the Hogwarts emblem and talked earnestly to a frog in a crown. Imps, nearby, appeared to be sticking a lit match between the stitches on the sole of a boot belonging to a chain-smoking blond man with a thick British accent.



"Linda,” said Justin, “I have to talk to you."



Linda turned and something like panic crossed her face. She stood. “Justin?"



"Don't bother thanking me for bringing you to Sandlin,” he said. “I won't bother saying I'm sorry. You were right. I'm glad I moved, glad I started library school. But what you did—"



"I'd always wanted to,” she said. “Put myself in a book. It wasn't you. It would have happened eventually."



"Look, what I came to say was that you have responsibilities in the real world. Your parents haven't heard from you in forever. What you're doing isn't safe. You have to come back."



"No,” she said firmly. “I'm not ready yet. Not now, when I can visit any book I want. I'll come out when I'm ready."



"You should have stayed and fought with me,” said Justin. “It wasn't fair."



” I could have put you in a book.” She tilted her head. “I still could."



He took an involuntary step back and she laughed.



"You don't deserve it, though,” she said. “You don't love books the way that I do."



He opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. It was true. He didn't know how she loved books, only that he loved them differently.



She turned away from him and he let her go. He stayed for the rest of the party and after all the characters were back in their books, he took Harry Potter off the shelf.



"Found the girl?” Sandlin asked.



Justin nodded and took the scissors out of his pocket.



"What are you going to do?” Sandlin sounded nervous.



Justin turned on the old computer. “I'm going to change the story. Just a little. No one will notice.” He flipped to a page where Linda's name appeared and carefully cut her out. Sandlin winced.