Jeraline's Alley

by Becca C. Smith

  A long line of customers stood against the wall waiting to get in, and as if I needed another reminder, a banner hung above the double glass doors that read: “Author Z.T. Morgan Book Signing.”

  My stomach turned into bubble guts, and I instantly wanted to run, puke, or go to the bathroom. (My brain never could give me that pertinent information until it was usually too late.)

  One more deep breath and I calmed myself down enough to reach the front door, pulling out my keys.

  The woman who was first in line asked politely, “Is Z.T. already in there? I can’t see him through the doors.”

  She was right. The glass doors had a tint to them that kept anyone from looking in.

  I smiled politely as I placed the key into the lock. “Should be. We open in five minutes. I’ll let you guys in soon.”

  Nodding, she turned to her friend with a squeal of excitement.

  I was more nervous than excited, but that was because I had the tendency to make an idiot of myself in front of people I admired. Vomiting on my favorite designer came to mind, but I really didn’t want to remember that right now.

  Turning the key, I let myself inside the store.

  Pure magic.

  Everywhere there were books of every shape and size. Row upon row of eleven-foot shelves like guardians of literature. The odd shaping of the store’s space created nooks and crannies where leather, plushy chairs or bean bags were placed for reading. Random stacks of books lay scattered throughout, giving the space a sense of organized chaos. It was the closest place I’d ever found to utopia, and just like in The Gateway to Winterbrook, I hoped I’d find the answers I was looking for in here someday. To be able to live even part of my life inside this magical world was worth every second of Rachel’s berating.

  “You’re late.”

  Speaking of which.

  After locking the door, I turned to my right to see Rachel standing by Z.T. Morgan, who sat behind an antique wooden table with intricate carvings along its thick edging. A few stacks of Z.T.’s books were piled next to him, ready to sell and sign.

  “I’m five minutes early,” I defended myself lamely.

  Rachel turned to Z.T. with a shrug. “See what I have to deal with?” Then she focused back on me. Yay. “I needed you here to set up and make sure Z.T. was taken care of.”

  “But you never told me to come early,” I said quietly, but saying it out loud, I realized I should have thought of that. Why didn’t I come early? This was a huge day, and of course things needed to be set up. Z.T. obviously came early, as he should have. The fans came early, as they should have. But me? I came five minutes before opening.

  Rachel appeared “over it” as we were about to open. She turned to Z.T. with a smile she’d never given to me. “You have everything you need?”

  “Yes. Thank you so much, Rachel,” he answered politely. His eyes met mine, and I was relieved that there was genuine kindness there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name?”

  I walked over and shook his hand, hoping he didn’t detect the slight shake and the wetness from the uncontrollable sweat that seemed to have a life of its own. “Jeraline.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jeraline.” Z.T.’s face was friendly and round, with not much hair on top, though it made him handsome in an old-guy kind of way. He was in decent shape, though some of that roundness stretched around his belly as well.

  “You, too,” I replied shyly. Meeting successful people always brought out my shy card.

  I turned to Rachel. “I’m just going to drop my backpack off in the back room real quick.”

  Rachel stared at me with so much disappointment I thought I would sink into the floor with shame. Why did I annoy her so much? Being twice my age (though she didn’t look it; I’d guess she was in her thirties if I didn’t know she was forty-eight), I’d think Rachel would have some kind of motherly affection for someone who’d been working at her store for the last three years. But no. She genuinely disliked me no matter how hard I tried to get on her good side.

  “Well, go on. We only have two minutes until opening.” Rachel shooed me away.

  I hurried away and headed to the back room where the employees hung out and stored their personal items. Making my way through the labyrinth of books gave me the confidence and calmness I needed. I was ready for this. I could do this.

  Entering the small space, I tossed my backpack in one of five lockers that lined the wall immediately to the left. A small round table with two fold-out chairs was in the back corner next to an old beat-up refrigerator. Before closing the locker, I took out two brown paper bags from my backpack. One had my lunch, and the other had a meal for Hank, the homeless guy I’d become friends with back by the dumpster outside. I placed them both in the fridge, then shut my locker as I left the room.

  Arriving at the front of the store again, I stood behind the register, ready to help customers.

  Snapping at me to leave, Rachel ordered, “I want Josh at the register. Customers like him better.”

  Why did I still work here again? Oh right, books. “Okay,” I said and stepped away from the register, reaching for the cart on wheels full of books that needed to be returned to the shelves.

  “Put those away later. I need you to help keep the Z.T. fans organized so people can shop as well as get their books signed,” Rachel barked, looking at me as if I should be psychic and know all of this already.

  I walked over to Rachel, my stomach churning yet again.

  “You’re not going to vomit, are you? Because if you are, please try to make it to the toilet this time. I know you just think of this as the place you work, but I live upstairs. It’s my home, and the last time you puked, it smelled for a week.”

  Now I really needed to throw up.

  “I won’t puke. I promise.” Probably one I couldn’t keep if I was being honest.

  “Uh-huh. Try to stay out of the way. I don’t want you blowing this. This is our first booking of an author that has a real following. If this goes well, maybe we can attract more writers to come here.” Rachel seemed nervous herself.

  I tried to reassure her. “I won’t. I mean, I will stay out of the way, and I won’t blow this.”

  Rachel placed her hands on her hips, obviously exasperated. “You’ve been working here three years, and you still act like a new employee. No one is going to attack you. Relax, you make everyone nervous.”

  I wanted to say No one is going to attack me except you, but I kept my mouth shut.

  Saved by the love of my life, Josh unlocked the front door and let himself in the store.

  He smiled at me, and I nearly choked on my own spit.

  I’m a winner.

  Rachel’s eyes glanced at the empty spot where Josh’s Employee of the Month picture used to hang. “I’m so sorry someone stole your picture, Josh. You worked so hard.”

  She knew.

  But I’d never admit it.

  “We’ll get another one of you up there, I promise. I’m really proud of you.” Rachel smiled gently.

  One thing I’d noticed in the few months that Josh worked here: Rachel treated him as if he were family. It made me wonder if she had kids. In her late-forties, they’d most likely be grown by now, but maybe she was so mean they hated her, so she had to pretend Josh was her boy because her own kids never wanted to see her again.

  Okay. I should stop.

  But I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Josh answered, embarrassed at the attention. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve the title. I’ve only been here three months, but I appreciate it.”

  That was easy: not throw up. Or more accurately, not be me. There were only two of us anyway. It wasn’t difficult to guess who’d be Employee of the Month. Besides, I didn’t want to bring down Rachel’s wrath if I told Josh I was pretty sure she made the whole title up for him. I’d been working here three years and saw countless employees come and go, and we’d never, ever had an Employee of the Month award. It started a month aft
er Josh began working here. I couldn’t complain though, it was how I got my hands on that beautiful photo.

  Because yeah.

  Big old loser.

  Rachel looked up at the clock. “We ready for this?”

  Josh and Z.T. smiled at her, both excited, while I shrugged in terror.

  Turning to me, Rachel said, “Open the doors.”

  Walking to the front entrance, I unlocked the glass doors and pulled them wide open. “Could you guys line up against the wall? It’s so people can still get inside the shop.”

  Thank goodness they all listened to me and very politely backed up against the wall as they entered the store one at a time, approaching Z.T.

  I noticed a young girl, who couldn’t be more than ten years old, holding a pile of Z.T.’s paperback books. She stood fifth in line and looked about as scared as I would have been at her age (let’s be honest, at my age too). Before my brain fully comprehended her obvious fear, she broke for the door in a panic run.

  I rushed to her side and stopped her, gently touching her arm, making sure she didn’t drop her books. “Hey, don’t leave. I can see by your books that you’re a big fan of Z.T.’s.”

  “I’m such an idiot. Everyone here has hardcover books, and all I have are paperbacks. He’s going to think I’m stupid. My parents are waiting in the car outside. I’m just going to go.” Her head hung low in defeat.

  “What’s your name?” I asked. It was like staring at a past version of myself. I knew that fear of embarrassment well.

  “Sarah,” she replied meekly.

  “Sarah, he’s not going to think you’re stupid. He’s going to appreciate how amazing you are for coming here and bringing every book he’s ever written. Especially . . .” I pointed to the well-used spines of all her books, much like my copy of The Gateway to Winterbrook. “. . . When it’s obvious you’ve read them quite a bit.”

  “Fifteen times each,” Sarah confessed.

  “See? That’s incredible. You’re what? Ten? Eleven?”

  “Ten,” she answered.

  “Ten freaking years old and you’ve read all of Z.T. Morgan’s books fifteen times? He’ll be so impressed. He’ll be the one who’s nervous.”

  Sarah’s bunched shoulders un-bunched slightly as she began to relax, and it made me relax in turn.

  “You think?” Sarah gently bit her lip.

  I nodded. “I know. I just met him a few minutes ago, and he’s super easygoing and friendly, like Rosar in his books.”

  Sarah beamed at my mentioning Rosar. “Will you go with me to meet him?”

  “Of course I will.” I glanced at the line. “Let’s get you back in your old spot. Looks like you’re up next.”

  The man that had stood behind Sarah let her back in with a friendly wave. Sarah immediately froze when she came face-to-face with Z.T. Morgan.

  Z.T. eyed her paperback books and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. These are all yours?”

  Sarah nodded, unable to speak.

  I mouthed to Z.T., “Super nervous.”

  He got it. Z.T. examined each book and saw the cracks in the spines. “I’m honored that you’ve loved these books so well.”

  Sarah stared at Z.T., still rooted in place.

  Z.T. tried a different tactic. “Who’s your favorite character?”

  Sarah took a moment, looking up at me for help. I nodded encouragingly and hoped she’d find her voice.

  Finally, Sarah turned to Z.T., hands shaking. “Chantrel.”

  Z.T. clapped his hands together with joy. “I knew it! You remind me of her. I bet you wish you could fly too.”

  Sarah’s shoulders relaxed even more, and she nodded. “I really like that she’s smarter than all the boys the most though.”

  “Just wait until the next book. You’re never going to believe what she does to Thrent.”

  Sarah had completely forgotten about me and was having the time of her life. It filled me with a surging happiness to see Sarah talking to her hero without doing something I would do, like puke or knock over all his books. Small favors.

  I moved back to the register, giving them space.

  Josh’s voice surprised me from behind when he said, “That was sweet of you.”

  I was way worse than Sarah. I’d been working with Josh for three months, and I still had barely spoken to him. I desperately wanted to say thank you, but my mouth stopped working.

  So I did something even better. I laughed in a short, strange huff.

  Because that wasn’t weird at all.

  Thankfully, a customer handed me a book to be purchased right after that beauty of a laugh. My hands shook, but I took the book and rang it up on the register. Apparently, my vocal cords were still on the fritz, so I pointed to the total. When they gave me the proper amount of money, I tossed the book in a bag and handed it back to the customer, wishing they’d stay because now I had to face Josh again.

  “What was that all about?” Josh asked innocently.

  “What was what? What was what all about?” Words! I spoke words! It’s a miracle.

  “That customer. You looked as though you saw a ghost.”

  “Oh that . . . that was nothing . . . period I guess.”

  Okay.

  Can I die now?

  Yup.

  Still here.

  Still told the guy I liked that I was having my period.

  Okay, time to retreat.

  “Excuse me,” I said and practically ran into the stacks of the bookstore, not wanting to contemplate the confused expression on Josh’s face when I left him.

  Why would those words come out of my mouth? Why?

  I stopped somewhere in the Classics section, and I verbally grumbled to myself. What now? Should I stand here until . . . what?

  Trying to make myself useful (since I was technically at work), I noticed a few books out of place and slid them back into their proper spots.

  As I put The Count of Monte Cristo back in its rightful home, Edmond Dantès himself popped into existence next to me. He looked as if he had stepped out of the Château d’If prison, with worn and tattered clothes that matched his worn and tattered skin.

  Edmond leaned up against the shelf, shaking his head. “The first time you talk to Josh, and you tell him you’re having your period?”

  “I got nervous. I don’t know. He complimented me. You know I can’t handle those. Like at all.”

  “Clearly. Your imagining me here is proof.” Edmond shrugged.

  I sighed. “What am I going to do?”

  Edmond peeled away from the shelf and stroked his scraggly beard in thought. “A compliment, huh? What did he say? That you’re beautiful?” Then he rolled his eyes and said in the most sarcastic tone possible, “What a beast.”

  I groaned. “No, of course not. He said he thought I was sweet for taking care of that little girl over there.”

  Edmond peered around the stacks, and his expression softened. “If only you could talk to adults the way you talk to kids and fictional book characters.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Eyeing Rachel near the counter, Edmond’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What about that Rachel woman? I have a knack for vengeance. I could help you out?”

  “No. I’ve had enough violence in my life to last a lifetime. I don’t want any of that.” And if I was being honest, Rachel was the closest thing I had to a mom since my parents were killed. A horribly grumpy, annoying mom, but I’d somehow grown used to her. She was mostly bark anyway, no real bite, so far at least.

  “Who said anything about violence? A really good vengeance plan requires taking down a person’s internal and external existence. No violence needed.” He seemed very pleased by his explanation.

  “Rachel is harmless. Honestly, I just think she’s miserable and takes it out on me. I don’t think she gets out much.” As in, not at all. I was pretty sure she never left this building.

  “There’s no excuse for cruelty. Mean is mean. I don’t care what your story is.�
�

  “Maybe. But I need this job, so I can handle it.” And I loved this job, and I loved this place. I didn’t think I could survive mentally without them.

  Edmond sighed. “Well, if you need—”

  Rachel grabbed my arm and yanked me out of my daydream. “What are you doing back here? I told you to organize the fans!”

  “Oh, uh, sorry.” I fumbled over my words. Glancing at the doorway, it was crowded with fans, blocking other customers from entering the store.

  Before Rachel yelled at me again, I hurried over and said in a loud voice, “Everybody back in single file. We need to clear the door.”

  I could feel Rachel staring at my back (not really, but the chances were high from the level of anger she exhibited). And since facing Josh was out of the question, I stayed where I was, directing people to Z.T.’s table as they entered the store.

  I wished this day would be over already.

  ***

  Surprisingly, I got my wish. The day went fast, probably because of the never-ending line of fans waiting to see Z.T., but even after Z.T. had left, the place stayed busier than normal. That was great for me because I didn’t have to talk to Josh or Rachel. I stayed glued to the second cash register or helped customers find the books they were looking for.

  And before I knew it, it was closing time. I stood behind the second cash register as Josh and Rachel moved the antique table Z.T. had sat behind, placing it at one of the crannies in the corner where it normally resided for readers.

  “That’s the last of it,” Rachel said as she walked over to the front door and flipped the open sign to closed, then peered over at me. “That went surprisingly well.”

  I tried to join in on the positive vibe and almost said something back, but I couldn’t think of anything, so I stood there, probably giving Rachel a really awkward smile.

  She pressed her lips into a line, then added, “No thanks to you.”

  Josh made one last adjustment to the table, then headed in my direction, ignoring Rachel’s comment toward me. “That was fun. Z.T. was super nice.”