I pick out four books. I don't need four books this week, but I feel bad and want to bring her some business. I can’t shake the feeling that I could do so much more.

Logan

Hale is banging on the back door. It's past three, which means he’s here to pick up his money from what I sold last night. I groan thinking about that little punk sitting outside. I didn’t sell anything last night, and I really don't want to deal with his shit about it.

I’m going to just give him the package back and tell him to fuck off. I’ve been wanting to tell him that anyway. Of course, I don’t feel the same resounding clarity that I felt last night.

I slept like shit last night. No matter how hard I tried not to think about Sierra after getting high, the guilt kept me up until almost dawn. When I finally drifted off, I dreamt of her pink toes in the sand and her legs wrapped around my waist.

When I woke up this morning, I decided I was done with getting high. But mostly done with selling. I won’t belong to Hale anymore. I only owe him a few hundred, and I have that on me so I would pay him and be done with it.

Even as I run out to the bike to get the package out of the side pouch, I start to feel less sure. Somehow to my warped mind, staying high is the easier option. I’m an addict, and my brother was an addict, and if he couldn’t keep his shit together, what’s the point of me even trying? I pull out a cigarette to steady my nerves.

Then something black and white catches my eye in the shop two doors down. It’s the old bookstore that never gets any business. Maybe they’re finally cleaning it out. But then I spot something familiar. It’s my jacket. Then her long blonde hair. She’s rearranging the window display. A bright smile on her face as she places a stack of books on the platform by the door, I smile seeing her helping the old woman working there.

She catches sight of me. I’m standing outside by my bike, ready to grab the package, when she sends me a warm smile and a small wave. The brief memory of her lips on mine suddenly comes back, and I nearly forget why I feel so irritated and anxious today. The only thing I want to get high on now is those lips.

I wave back and hear Murph yell from inside the shop. “Hey, Logan, come take care of this punk before I kill him!”

“I’m coming!” I holler back. I lift the flap on my bike’s pouch and reach in for the package. But it’s too flat. There’s nothing in there. My heart stops beating as I root through the side pouch like it’s suddenly going to appear in the shallow pocket.