He glances up at me, startling when we make eye contact, and then goes back to looking at the rack. I feel a pang of pity; obviously, I’m freaking him out. Comics are getting pretty mainstream, but we still get a lot of quiet, quirky folks in here too. Like James, one of our regulars, who’s fine with Vera but can’t talk to me with his eyes open. As in, he literally keeps them shut the entire time. It’s totally fine, and we actually have a lot of great conversations . . . but it does make cashing him out a bit of an adventure.

And Macy, who’s so shy she just hands us pieces of paper with the titles she wants added and practically runs from the shop when we give them to her. It’s just part of working here. Besides, I’m not exactly the poster child for being a well-adjusted social butterfly either. If I were, then maybe I wouldn’t have essentially been assigned “live a little” as a homework assignment.

I lean over the counter so I’m closer to Mr. Glaring-at-DuckTales—but not too close—and clear my throat. “Hey, if you’re looking for Vera, she’ll be back in a few. She just had to do a delivery.”

He finally looks up at me and then nearly knocks over a stack of comics sitting on top of the dollar bin. I had been meaning to bag and board them—no point now. He scrambles to catch them, crinkling some covers in the process. Better than the new releases, but still.

“Help,” he says, and I tilt my head as the blush creeps up his neck. “I mean, can I help you?”

“Uh, I think that’s supposed to be my line, right? Since I’m the one who works here?”

“Right.” He smooths the cover of one of the comics. “I can pay for these.”

“It’s fine.” I wave him off. “We end up donating half of them to the children’s hospital anyway. It’s not a big deal if they’re a little bit wrinkled on the corners.”

“Oh.”

“I’m Jubilee,” I say, trying to look friendly because this guy looks like he’s about to lose it. “You’re the new str—Ridley, right?”

His eyes widen in response, and for half a second, I swear I know him. He must have one of those faces.

“How . . . ?”

“Vera said you’d be in to pick up your books. I’ve got a few holds over here whenever you’re ready, but if you need anything else, let me know.”

He scratches the back of his neck and does this half-cough thing, like he’s got something stuck in his throat. “Thanks.” I catch him grimace as he turns to the rack in front of him.