Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“My teacher is making me do an assignment with Asher.”
“Asher… popular guy who once made fun of you for your book, Asher?” I clarified. There were three guys in her grade with different versions of Ash/Ashton/Asher. All of them sounded like little assholes. Or maybe that was just the age.
“Yeah.” Charlotte slammed her bag down on the counter with an exaggerated sigh.
“What’s the assignment for?”
“We have to read and do a report together. On a book.”
“How’d that go?” A guilty look crossed her face. One that she usually reserved for when her temper got the better of her and she said something she maybe did mean but also regretted. “Charlotte…”
“I maybe asked him if he even knew how to read.”
A snort escaped me at that.
“Good one.”
And that right there was why it was probably a good thing no one let me raise any small children. I was a terrible influence.
“What’d he say?”
“That if I liked books so much, I could just do all the work.”
“Group assignments suck because it’s always one or two people doing all the work while everyone else goofs off. But that is an option. Just do the work, get the good grade, and avoid the fights.”
“Oh, no,” she said, a fierce look in her eyes as she crossed her arms. “I’m going to make him work too.”
“There are those Costa genes,” I said with a little laugh. “So, how do you plan to make that happen?”
“He’s meeting me here,” she said, chin lifting. “And we’re going to the bookstore to work. Whether he likes it or not.”
Not ten minutes later, the bell chimed.
And there was Asher.
He was kind of in that stage all boys go through where he was all arms and legs and couldn’t seem to keep any weight on. But he was golden-haired, blue-eyed, and had the bone structure that suggested he was going to have no problem becoming the prom king in a few years.
“I’m here,” he announced, holding out his arms in an ‘are you happy?’ way.
“Do you want an award?” Charlotte asked, making me cover a snorting laugh with a fake cough. Judging by the way Asher’s lips twitched ever so slightly, he was amused by it as well.
“So, what book are you guys working on?” I asked.
“I gave him a list of three,” Charlotte said, and I was having a hard time reconciling this take-charge, bossy teenager with the sweet, shy little girl that had come to New York just six or seven months ago. “Scythe, The Hate U Give, or The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”
“Perks sounds good,” Asher said, shrugging.
“That’s a good choice,” I said.
“He picked it because it’s the shortest,” Charlotte said, being uncharacteristically ungracious.
“Charlotte,” I said, a soft warning in my voice.
“She’s not wrong,” Asher said with a smirk.
It was right then that Liam came into the shop, taking in the tension inside with a quirk of his brow.
If possible, I’d swear that kid put on twenty pounds of muscle in just a few months. Once his ribs had healed up, he’d started hitting the gym with his uncle and became obsessed with things like macros, micros, and protein. Meanwhile, Char and I stared blankly at him with our bowls full of boxed mac & cheese on the couch we hadn’t moved from in hours.
He was another one who was growing up too fast for me. He’d shown another small sign of rebellion by piercing his lip.
Christopher hated it.
I thought it looked pretty good.
Liam didn’t care what either of us thought.
“Can I have some money for a drink?” Charlotte asked me.
“Sure,” I agreed, handing her more than she’d need, in case Asher didn’t have his own money. “Don’t leave the bookstore, okay?”
“I won’t. He won’t either,” she said, giving Asher a hard look as she grabbed her bag and went to the door.
“What was that?” Liam asked as Asher bit back a smile while following Charlotte out.
“If I had to place a bet, young love.”
“What?” Liam asked, his face falling.
“Oh, stop with the ’no one is good enough for a Costa woman’ thing.”
“She’s not a woman.”
“And he’s just a thirteen-year-old boy too.”
“There’s no such thing as just a thirteen-year-old boy,” Liam said, going to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To buy a book.”
I was still smiling when an exhausted-looking Christopher came through the door a few minutes later.
The pawnshop was a bit of a hub for our little family now that we’d moved out of the shoebox apartment we’d been in for a while and into a bigger one closer to my work. Everyone was in and out all day.
“Well, your day looks more amusing than mine. What’s going on?”
“Your niece was just in here bossing around what looked like one of the popular boys in her class. And he seemed to be enjoying it. Oh, tell your eye to stop twitching. It’s innocent.”