Imogen had resisted the poetry for a while. But her mother was infectious with the stuff. And the internet was now littered with poets—some good, some not so good. But all worth reading and trying, in Imogen’s opinion. And while Imogen had no talent for the stuff on her own, she devoured so much of it.

“Are you listening to me, Imogen?”

Imogen’s vision cleared, the scene in front of her came back into focus. She could see the taut concern all over Jo’s face. “Sure.”

“Then what did I just ask?” It was the kind of phrase adults used all the time. But Jo didn’t have any of the censure of Imogen’s teachers. Jo’s entire face was slanted with concern.

Imogen wondered about that. About how adults’ faces looked so tightly held on, but also, nearly falling apart, falling down. As though the facade they put on to seem normal could break at any time.

Imogen was tired of the facade. She answered honestly this time. Because she couldn’t—or maybe she just wouldn’t—make up a response to what Jo had been asking of her. “I don’t know.”

Jo wiped her hand across her mouth, rubbing for a moment before deciding to speak again. “Look. I don’t know how you found out. But you can’t tell anyone. I’m trying to figure out how to fix this mess.”

“Jo, everybody knows.”

Jo held her hand across her mouth. “Of course they do. Of course they all know that the bookstore is closing.”

And right as Jo was saying that was when Lena decided to walk out the back door of the store and into the alleyway. If she’d been a scooter, or a motor vehicle of any kind, she’d have come to a screeching halt. As it was, she froze, through the door but still holding it open, like she couldn’t decide whether she would be more disgusted with herself for staying or for going.

She looked at Imogen—taking in her fresh haircut in all its glory—and then rearranged her face into a placid, controlled expression.

“Hey, Lena,” Imogen tried. Maybe if she acted like nothing had happened, then Lena would act like she hadn’t heard anything and everything would be totally fine.

Lena was still holding the door open. “Did you at least save a lock of your hair for me, or did you throw it all away in the garbage like you always do when you’re done with something?”

So much for that theory. But Imogen wasn’t going to hesitate. “The garbage.”

Lena barked a laugh. “How could I have doubted you?”

Imogen had nothing to say to that.

Lena stubbed her toe against the ground, then looked over at Jo. “Wild Nights is closing, huh?”

Jo put her head in her hands. She looked up at Imogen. “Oh God, I did not mean—”