Chloe leans in to help unpack the box.
“Where’ve you been all week?” Georgia asks. “We were supposed to work on the French paper on Thursday.”
Chloe winces. “Crap. Were we?”
“We were,” Georgia says. “I went ahead and wrote the first three pages.”
“I got the last three, then,” Chloe says. “I promise.”
Georgia nods. “Okay.”
“And I promise I’ll make it up to you one day when I’m a hotshot editor and you’re my most prized author and we’re taking the literary world by storm.”
“All right, all right.”
“And I promise to give you more than your share of space in our fridge next year,” Chloe says. “You can store foraged mushrooms to your heart’s content.”
Georgia fusses with the barrette holding back her hair.
“Yeah. Um, there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Georgia says.
“Hm?”
She glances over Georgia’s shoulder, at the shelves behind her. The Austen section, specifically, where Shara must have stopped a few weeks ago when she came in to buy Emma.
Wait. Why would Shara come here, of all places, to buy a book?
“I’ve been—um, what are you doing?” Georgia calls after her, but Chloe’s already across the room and at the shelf, opening an illustrated edition of Pride & Prejudice. She should have ransacked the whole Austen selection as soon as Georgia told her the story.
“I just realized I—” Shara must have seen Georgia reading Austen at school and figured that if she bought a book by the same author, Georgia would mention it to Chloe. She pulls Persuasion next, but there’s nothing inside either cover except book smell. “I think I left something in one of these books.”
“What?” Georgia says, putting down the hardback she’s holding. “Why?”
“I, um, was gonna buy it but I changed my mind,” Chloe lies, shaking out Northanger Abbey to no avail.
“You don’t remember which one?” Georgia asks, audibly perplexed.
The last one Chloe tries is a hardcover of Mansfield Park, and there, tucked into the front flap, is a pink card. And inside the card is a piece of loose-leaf, folded three times.
“Found it!” she says, tucking both into her pocket before Georgia can see. “But, oh, crap, I just remembered I’m—I’m supposed to be doing puzzle night with my moms, so sorry, gotta go!”
She’s out the door and in her car before the entry bell finishes jingling behind her.
* * *
Parked in the driveway at home, she reads the letter for the third time. It’s by far the longest one Shara’s left behind, and it’s addressed only to Chloe. She can’t stop touching the pen strokes on the paper.
Hi, Chloe,
Nice one. I was a little worried the book would get sold before you found this, but I figured Mansfield Park was a safe bet. And let’s be honest … the books aren’t exactly flying off the shelves here.
Anyway . Would you be surprised if I told you I asked Mr. Davis to make us lab partners in chem?
What if I told you that I pretended my shoe was untied so I could wait outside Mrs. Farley’s room until I saw you walk in on the first day of school this year? What if I told you the truth, which is that I made sure to brush three fingers across the top right corner of your desk before I took the seat in front of you, and I sat there for an hour trying to picture the look on your face when I did it?
What if I told you that, in the three years of English classes we had together before that one, I would sit across the room from you and think about all the ways I could ruin your perfect record? I tried reporting you for uniform violations, but that never seemed to stick. Sometimes I’d picture breaking into my dad’s office and figuring out a way to change all your 99s to 89s. Sometimes I’d dream up a whole conspiracy to frame you for plagiarism. I even thought about slashing your tires the night before the AP exam （not my most Christlike moment, I’ ll admit）。
Sometimes, when I was feeling especially creative, I would imagine how I could make you fall in love with me. As soon as I knew you liked girls, I saw my way in. I could drag my fingertip along the curve of your jaw, I could almost kiss you in the library. I could break your heart so exquisitely, you’d forget you ever cared about winning. It’s always been so easy, making people love me. I was sure I could do it to you.
I tried, sophomore year. You remember precalc? I pretended not to understand something because I knew you didn’ t either. It was supposed to get me close enough to you to bring out every trick I know. But you figured me out. You’re not like anyone else. The same tricks don’ t work on you .