Excerpt of A Love for the Pages by Joy Penny

I just stepped off the train this morning, and already by
the afternoon I’m a soccer mom. Well, the ‘game’ is track
and field, not soccer, and Mom sold the Caravan while I
was gone and replaced it with this compact sedan, but
it’s basically the same thing. I’m sitting here in the
car parked with four vans one way and three vans the
other, just another woman here to pick up her kid. Okay,
my brother isn’t ‘my kid,’ either. I’m a track and field
sister, not a soccer mom. The point is, I’m already
counting the days until summer is over. Huh. Never
thought I’d say that. At least I didn’t before college,
anyway.

I get a glance every few seconds through the space
between two bleachers of one scrawny high schooler after
the other stumbling across the track, his arms scrunched
against his chest, his mouth open in probably stilted
breaths. If pressed to admit it, such a sight used to
excite me. Now they all seem like little boys. I unscrew
the bottle cap on my lemon tea and take a swig with one
hand, rifling through my purse with the other. I find
what I’m looking for and slip the well-worn copy of Pride
and Prejudice onto my lap. I open it one-handed to the
page with the most recently bent corner, the book
flopping open easily thanks to the wrinkles of the
multiple creases peppering the spine. I take another
drink, my gaze hitting the corner of my Kindle case
sticking out of my purse on the passenger seat. A hundred
e-books and counting, and one of my three beat-to-a-pulp
favorites are almost always in my hand in those moments
between doing something and doing something else. “Now
maybe you can get rid of the books taking up all that
space in your room.” Mom beamed as she handed me the
graduation gift—it was definitely thoughtful of her.
Surprisingly thoughtful. Until Mr. Wonderful opened his
mouth and revealed it was less about celebrating my
interests and more about being practical, as usual. “You
can’t bring a bookshelf to a dorm. You’re going to share
the space with someone new, and it’s rude to bring a
bunch of junk that’ll just take up space.” Cooper always
seemed to forget I was rooming with Deana. Still, he had
a point. The books stayed behind mostly. Except for the
three books practically starting to disintegrate.

There’s a pounding at my window. I jump, sloshing the
open tea bottle all over my lap—all over my book. I
scream and am rewarded with muffled laughter. I slam the
bottle into the cup holder and am ready to shoot Owen my
most ‘you’re moronic’ look and immediately feel my face
flush as I come face-to-face with Sinjin through the
driver’s side window. I look away quickly, like staring
at the steering wheel and ignoring the drops of tea on my
lap will make the whole situation disappear. There’s more
laughter from the other side of the car and more
pounding, too. I just keep staring ahead.

“Open up!”

I snap out of it, flicking the unlock button on my side
and crossing my arms as Owen opens the back passenger
door and tosses his filthy gym bag onto the back seat. I
can’t bring myself to look to see if Sinjin is still
standing there, but even so, I feel this presence, like
the shivers running down my spine are my own Spidey sense
warning me, “He’s here. He’s here. Don’t make a fool of
yourself.”

Too late for that.

“Yo, earth to Spoon! Guess you killed her, SJ.” I hate
when Owen calls him that. I hate when Owen calls me
Spoon. No one else needs to turn every name on the planet
into something new.

My own personal your-ex-boyfriend-okay-you-just-went-to-
three-dances-together-and-never-officially-became-an-
item-so-is-that-really-an-ex-boyfriend-is-nearby Spidey
sense relaxes—and where exactly was that superpower
before he pounded on the car window?—and I breathe a sigh
of relief. I suddenly remember my wounded (paperback)
warrior on my lap and scramble for the Kleenex box on the
floor behind the seat, grabbing one tissue after another
in painstaking single serve doses, and I look up just in
time to see Sinjin bumping his fist against Owen’s
shoulder, laughing, smiling that chiseled Greek-god smile
that lights up his gorgeous dark skin, and I freeze
again.

“Hey, how’s it going, June?” Sinjin runs a hand through
his short black hair and speaks to me casually, as if we
see each other regularly, even though we haven’t seen
each other for months—that little blip over Spring Break
while hanging with Margot and Deana hardly counts. His
tone gives no indication I’m a laughing stock for falling
head over heels at first sight with my best friends’
brother. My best friends’ younger brother. My best
friends’ he-was-a-freshman-and-I-was-a-junior-the-first-
time-I-saw-him-but-how-was-I-to-know-since-he-just-
transferred-in younger brother.

I will my hand to finish pulling the fifth tissue out of
the box and add it to the crumpled wad forming in my
fist. “Great,” I lie, mumbling.

Owen finds this hilarious. But Owen finds most things to
do with me hilarious. I’m so glad to see the last few
weeks haven’t changed him. As if somehow when I felt like
I’d aged a decade as I was cramming like mad for finals
and writing half a dozen papers, the world would have
also progressed a dozen years and I could look forward to
finding a far more mature brother when I got home for
more than the occasional weekend visit. No such luck.

Sinjin walks away, and I twist myself back into my seat
and dab my book and lap with the tissues. Okay, good.
Bye. Take your Greek-god smile and your smooth, silky,
gorgeous jet black hair to some other hapless victim.