This Book Will Change Your Life

by Amanda Weaver

  Now I’m laughing. Actually laughing, even though I just said something that kind of throws my whole life into chaos. But Ben said the exact right thing, and for a moment, I can breathe.

  “So what are you going to do now? Change majors?”

  Moment over. My heart races, and my throat goes tight. Change majors? No—I couldn’t—could I? I shake my head. “No way. I worked too hard to get here. And the whole thing with my mom… My dad would be devastated.”

  Ben sighs. “I know something about disappointed fathers.”

  He sounds so sad and tired. I frown. “That sounds serious.”

  “Nah.” He huffs dismissively. “I’ve just never really been the son he wanted me to be.”

  And yet, in the bookstore last weekend, when Ben talked about not having enough time to read everything he wanted to, he was so passionate. He loves being there, working there, talking about books. How could a parent be disappointed in someone who’s found their calling?

  “What makes you think that?” I ask.

  “Pretty sure he’s asked me if I’m gay half a dozen times.”

  My chest seizes up. That never even crossed my mind. If Ben is gay… I clear my throat and try to sound casual. “Are you?”

  “Not at all. I’m just so different from my dad that the only explanation he can come up with is that I’m gay.”

  Oh, thank God. I exhale slowly. “What makes you guys so different?”

  “It would be faster to list what doesn’t. He’s a wealth manager. Do you know what that is?”

  “Not really.”

  Ben chuckles. “Neither do I. But he’s really good at it. He tells me all about it, but it’s like he’s speaking another language. Which is fine— I don’t need to understand his job. But it’s everything else, too. He’s into high-end electronics and sports cars; I’m into old books. He likes football; I like baseball. The list goes on. My parents probably wonder if they brought the wrong kid home from the hospital.”

  “Just because you’re different people, that doesn’t mean he’s not proud of you.”

  “Can you really be proud of someone when you think what they’re doing with their life is pointless?”

  I wince. “Your dad said that?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no big deal. At least he’s got my brother, who’s like his clone, so he got one perfect son.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Gavin. He’s two years older than me. Just started a training program with some investment firm in Chicago that Dad set up for him.”

  He sounds so isolated, his father and brother so similar and Ben on the outside. “I’m sorry. That sounds really lonely.”

  Ben laughs. “I didn’t mean to sound melodramatic. I’m fine, really. How did we get here anyway? Weren’t we talking about A Prayer for Owen Meany?”

  “Yeah. This was fun, though.” I press my palm against my heated cheek and smile. Thank God he can’t see me right now.

  “Yeah, it was. So are you coming in this weekend for a new book?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I guess I better start thinking about it then. ’Night, Hannah.”

  “Good night, Ben.”

  Chapter Six

  Hannah

  “So was The Cemetery of Forgotten Books really a magical place or was that just how Daniel perceived it? Or I guess how the reader perceived it?”

  I’m sitting on the stool that Ben hauled out from some dusty backroom and set next to the counter. He’s working his way through a huge stack of used books, looking them up online, determining their value, and pricing them. The blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses, obscuring his eyes. Just like the first time I saw him.

  We’ve been talking about the book I read last week, The Shadow of the Wind, while he works. Except all this talk about books he loves was too much temptation for Ben, so this week, he reread The Shadow of the Wind with me, which has been fun in a whole new way. The book is magical and romantic, and of the books he’s chosen for me, this is the first love story. Does that mean something? I want it to.

  And yet, watching Ben as he painstakingly prices books, it wouldn’t seem so. He’s had ample opportunity to take this beyond friendship, and I’ve made myself available. We text all through the day and talk on the phone almost every night, but it hasn’t gone any further. Jasmine says give it time, but I’m impatient.

  “That’s the great thing about books,” Ben says. “As opposed to movies or, God forbid, real life— The only thing that matters is how the reader perceives it.”

  Prometheus Books is chilly most of the time, but today the ancient radiators have kicked on with a vengeance, and it’s really warm inside. Ben has shed his usual hoodie, and he’s in just a gray T-shirt. He’s as lean as I suspected, and all spare, smooth muscles and elegantly angled bones. Nothing about Ben is wasted space, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

  I admire his forearms as he types. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the writer writes it, and while that’s happening, the writer is the god of that universe. But then the book goes out into the world, and it belongs to the readers. Whatever the writer intended, there’s only what the reader perceives.” Ben swivels on his stool to face me, and the shock of his fiery, dark eyes makes my heart skip a beat. “Every reader perceives it differently because we all bring our own experiences and our own realities to the table. Doesn’t that blow your mind?”

  Whoa. I’d never really thought of reading that way.

  Ben pushes his glasses up his nose and pivots back to the computer. “Maybe that’s just me.”

  “No, I get it. I do.” I touch his arm. His skin is warm and smooth, and you’d think he’d be pale from being inside all the time, but he’s not. His arms have just a hint of gold. I could stare at them for the rest of my life. Focus, Hannah. “And that’s really cool,” I finally force out. “My experience reading this book is different from yours.”

  Ben smiles at me over his shoulder, and my knees go weak. “Exactly.”

  God, he’s gorgeous.

  “So you didn’t answer my question: the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. Real or imagined? He wrote about it like it was real, but how could a place like that really exist?”

  “I totally answered your question.”

  “You did not.”

  He sighs dramatically. “For me, the Cemetery of Forgotten Books is painfully, excruciatingly real, because I so desperately want it to be a real place. A repository filled with used books so that they’re never forgotten— Can you imagine? But maybe for you it’s a metaphor. Maybe the narrator was young and impressionable, and it was just a room with a lot of old books in it. In the world of the novel, both can be true.”

  “Ohhhh. Okay.”

  “So… What do you think? Real or not real?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “I want to know if you believe in magic, Hannah. Or is science the master of us all?”

  I’m staring at him, his wide, lopsided smile, smooth skin, and hair in revolt, and yes, I so believe in magic, because only magic can explain the way he makes me feel.

  I smile and shake my head, which isn’t much of an answer. He chuckles and turns back to his computer screen. I run my fingertip along the edge of my book. The dust jacket is torn along the spine and taped back together. Inside the front cover, someone has written an inscription.

  To Margaret, In fond remembrance of Stuttgart. Love, Michael.

  What happened in Stuttgart? Why was this book for sale in a used bookstore? Why did Margaret, whoever she is, give it away? One of the great things about used books is they carry their own stories beyond the ones told in the pages.

  “Ben, do you want to take a break?” Adele says. She materializes at odd times and with no warning.

  Ben looks amused and puzzled, too. “Um, sure. I suppose I could use a break. Hannah, want to get a drink with me?”

&nbs
p; Like I’m going to say no to that. Or anything else he suggests. “Sure.”

  I follow him out of the store to a coffee place across the street from Prometheus. He perks up as soon as we get inside. Maybe Adele was right about him needing a break.

  “It was more than just the Cemetery of Lost Books that seemed magical,” I say, continuing our conversation from the store. He looks at me and blinks in confusion.

  “The Shadow of the Wind. The whole thing felt a little magical, don’t you think? Spain, the town they lived in, the way he wrote it, it all felt a bit like a dark fairy tale.”

  “Oh, right.” He nods and looks toward the front of the line again. “His writing is very lyrical. Evocative.”

  “It makes me want to go there. Have you ever been?”

  “Where?”

  “Spain.”

  He shakes his head. “France on a school trip in high school, but that’s all. You?”

  “I haven’t been anywhere.”

  We’re up next, and the counter girl smiles broadly at Ben. “Hey, Ben! Taking a break?”

  He shrugs and smiles back. “I need a pick-me-up.”

  I bet he knows everybody in these shops along Clark Street. It’s nice, like a little neighborhood.

  The barista smiles at me, too. She’s pretty, tall, with long, dark hair, high cheekbones, and blue eyes so pale they look like ice. There’s something smart and sophisticated about her. She looks out of place behind the register in a coffee shop, like she should be in a boardroom instead.

  Ben motions to me. “This is Hannah.”

  “Hey, I’m Alex. What can I get for you guys today?”

  Her smile is infectious. I like her, even though her beauty is a little intimidating. “Hot chocolate,” I say. “My favorite.”

  “That sounds good. Me, too.” He looks at Alex. “You know, for a change.”

  Alex smiles at us. “Okay, two hot chocolates. Gimme a sec.”

  When she turns away to make our order, Ben and I shift down the counter and out of the way.

  “You must come here all the time, huh?”

  He glances across the counter. “Yeah, it’s close and I’m friends with most of the people that work here. Alex comes into the store a lot.”

  She does? Everything suddenly feels awkward— Is he friends with everyone or mostly Alex? “She seems nice.”

  “She is.”

  Alex comes back a minute later with our drinks and rings us up. “Careful,” she cautions. “They’re really hot.”

  “You working all day today?” he asks her.

  “Closing tonight.” She rolls her eyes. “On a Saturday. No worse fate.”

  “Do you have plans after?”

  I frown. It almost sounds like they’re more than see-each-other-at-work friends. Is there something going on between them?

  “Dinner with friends. I’ll get there late, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Ben nods. “Sounds fun. Well, I’d better get back. See you around.”

  “See you. Nice to meet you, Hannah. See you around, too, I guess?”

  She’s smiling like my hanging around with Ben is the best thing ever, so maybe I’m off base. Maybe they really are just friends. “Sure.”

  Back at Prometheus, we talk a little more about The Shadow of the Wind while Ben takes forever picking out another book for me. He convinces himself three times and changes his mind three times. Finally, he settles on one and passes it to me. I reach for my wallet, but he stops me.

  “Forget it. It’s a loan. I know you’ll be back with it.”

  “I will. For sure. Are there any big moments when I should text you in this one?”

  “Nah, we’ll just talk about it as you go.”

  I love his casual mention of our frequent phone calls, his assumption that they’ll continue. A few customers have come in while we were talking. Adele is handling one, but another lady is wandering around, and even I can tell she can’t find what she’s looking for.

  I should clear out and let Ben do his job. But we’ve had such a great afternoon, and this feels like it’s growing into something more. He hasn’t made a move, but maybe I need to drop a hint? God, I wish Jasmine was here. She’s so much better at this.

  “What are you up to tonight?”

  Ben shrugs. “Hanging out with John at home, I guess.”

  I pause— I left the opportunity open for him, is he going to take it?

  Ask me what I’m up to. Ask me to hang out with you.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles a stack of books out of the way of the register and adjusts his glasses, smiling at me awkwardly. I fight the swell of disappointment prickling my eyes and making my stomach feel heavy as I slip my new book into my bag.

  “Maybe I’ll call you if I start this tonight,” I say.

  “Yeah, you should. That’d be great.”

  I hesitate for another second, just in case, but no. He’s not going to ask. “Okay, talk to you soon.”

  “Yep. See you, Hannah.” He waves, then turns away. “Ma’am? If you’re looking for something specific, I might be able to help you find it.”

  That’s my cue, and I ignore my sinking stomach as I head home. I should probably study for chem. I have another test coming up soon, a chance to redeem myself a little bit. But I probably won’t. I think I’m starting a new book instead.

  Chapter Seven

  Ben

  “Ben, can I talk to you for a minute?” Professor Donnelly asks as I pack up my stuff after Thursday’s class.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Donnelly nods good-bye to a student, then turns back to me. “That was good work you did on the Osborne this week. Very reasoned arguments and well supported by the text.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Have you given any more thought to your plans for next year?”

  My stomach twists, and I rub the back of my neck. “A bit.”

  Professor Donnelly smiles. “Is grad school a possibility for you?”

  “Um… I have a lot to consider.” Like law school.

  “I’d like you to consider pursuing your MA. You’re the best student I’ve had in many years, and I think our graduate program would be a great fit for you.”

  Holy shit. I told Hannah about this weeks ago, but in that things-you-want-that-never-happen-in-real-life kind of way. But here’s Donnelly, the head of the department and the professor I admire the most, telling me he wants me to stay on. I can’t believe it. “Thank you, sir.”

  “The deadline for the application is coming up soon, so don’t wait too long.”

  “I won’t.” I hadn’t even seriously considered applying, but now? The idea is unfurling in my brain, so alluring and perfect. Could I really do this? Could I get into the grad program, get my master’s, and keep studying what I want to study?

  “See you next week, Ben.” He slips the rest of his papers into his battered leather bag and leaves.

  Fuck.

  Working on my master’s under Donnelly would be a dream come true. But the reality is there’s no way my parents will go along with grad school when they’re so against my major. It’s law school or nothing.

  I haven’t crunched the numbers on what a master’s program at Arlington State runs, never mind a PhD, but I’m guessing it far exceeds my shitty bank account. I spend all my waking hours at Prometheus because I love it there, not because Ralph is lining my pockets with a fat salary.

  Of course, there’s my trust fund, which isn’t a ton of money, but it’d be enough. But I don’t get access to that until I’m twenty-five, which does me no good right now.

  A couple hours later, I’m squinting at the computer screen and working my way through pricing a stack of books at Prometheus, and I’m still no closer to any kind of insight.

  Last time I saw my dad, he gave me some crap about how living out your dreams is kid stuff. Adults choose a sensible path and stick to it. He’s probably right, but hell, that dream is so damn appealing. I ca
n’t shut it down, no matter how much I try.

  The bell rings as the door opens, and Hannah sweeps in, bringing a gust of cool, crisp fall air in her wake. Something thrums inside me as she meets my eyes. The breeze has turned her cheeks and lips pink. Her eyes sparkle like she’s about to burst with her latest literary revelation. I can almost hear every dusty, aged page in the store ruffle slightly with her arrival. It feels like I do, too.

  I smile. “Hey.”

  She plants her palms onto the counter and leans toward me. “You have to tell me Joe comes back.”

  “What?”

  “Joe. He just found out his brother died and he left. He comes back, right? He’s not gone gone.”

  I’m still so distracted by her wind-bitten lips that it takes me a second to remember what she’s reading right now, but it comes back to me: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.

  “Ben!” Her eyes widen.

  She’s so cute when she gets caught up in the story. “Guess you’ll have to keep reading and see,” I tease.

  “But what about Rosa?”

  I shrug. “What about her?”

  “He just left her.”

  “His brother died.”

  “But he loves her. Tell me he’s coming right back.”

  “Keep reading, Hannah.”

  “Ughhh. You’re no help.” She circles around the counter and flops down onto the stool that I leave for her visits. Her backpack slides down her arm and hits the ground with a thud. Her despair is almost comical.

  I chuckle. “Where’s the fun if I just tell you what’s going to happen?”

  “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. Now I’m going to be up all night reading.”

  “Call me and I’ll keep you company, even if you’re tucked up in bed.” Whoa, hold up. Where did that come from? But Hannah just smiles— Maybe it didn’t throw her?

  “You know I will. If I’m awake, so are you.” Then her gaze drops to my chest and she laughs. “What the hell happened to your shirt?”

  “What?” I glance down—oh, right. I ran out of decent clothes this week. This is my pink splotchy shirt. “Ah… I had an incident in the laundry room. Some of my white clothes look like this now.”