Recommended Reading

13. Nobody Puts Bobby in a Corner

13

Nobody Puts Bobby in a Corner

Cindy returns as she promised. The yoga teacher is indeed hot (also as she promised), and her friends are excited to discover a “cool little book spot with a whole lot of charm” as one of Cindy’s fellow yoginis puts it. They even seem to get a kick out of Gladys and her “no BS, boss babe attitude.” By the time they leave, I’ve made about a dozen suggestions, sold twice as many books, and Uncle Andy is bragging about how good our daily sales figures are.

Over the next few days, Uncle Andy and I order cans of paint to be picked up on the weekend and scope out used furniture stores in the area. All the while, I group text Jerome and Luke. Plans for Corner Books’ first book club and Jerome’s grand gesture are whipping through my mind and being discarded or adapted just as quickly, partly because Luke is a wet blanket.

It might be that we went with chartreuse as the accent color, but I’ve noticed a difference in Gladys too. It’s not like there’s a one-eighty. She isn’t pleasant. She still shoots zingers my way, and being the bigger person, something I have (with resentment) decided to be, I ignore them. But she is less barbed. Her insults seem to lack their usual edge.

I know I’m not imagining Gladys softening when she tells me on Saturday morning, “I see your sense of appropriate work attire has marginally improved, Robert. Your outfit doesn’t completely offend me today.” That’s almost a compliment coming from her.

I know what she’s referring to. “My T-shirt last week didn’t deserve a dress code violation.” I remove Gladys’s handwritten chastisement from between the pages of the book I’m in the middle of reading and wave it at her. The tee in question had a drawing of Jane Austen lifting the hem of her skirt and showing some ankle.

“She was working a stripper pole, and a crowd of men were leering and offering her cash. One was in the midst of making it rain.”

I’m slow to think of a comeback because I’m surprised she knows that term.

“Your fashion need not be crass and humorless, not to mention potentially blasphemous,” she says.

I roll my eyes. Today’s shirt, I Like Big Books and I Cannot Lie with a copy of Moby-Dick under it, must have flown over her head. She pushes the returns cart of books for reshelving down one of the aisles.

“What’s up with Gladys?” Uncle Andy says quietly. “You haven’t been slipping antidepressants into her tea like your mom suggested, have you?”

“If I had them and she didn’t watch her mug like a hawk, I would have.”

“Have you noticed she’s reading when she’s in the stacks? It must be something she doesn’t want us to know about because whenever she catches me coming, she finds a way to hide the book.”

“You don’t think she’s some sort of secret agent, do you?” I ask. “No one would suspect her.”

“No. This has got to be personal. I’ve worked with her for years and know nothing about her outside of this store.”

“I bet I can figure it out,” I whisper back.

“How much?”

I consider for a second. “If you find out what she’s up to before I do, I’ll agree you can purchase those hideous beanbag chairs you saw at the thrift store with the condition you spring for them to be professionally cleaned. If I win, I want full control of the music in-store for one week.” Nothing that plays over the store’s speakers has been current for decades and while I respect the classics, I also really want to see Gladys’s face when Megan Thee Stallion plays.

“Deal.” Uncle Andy holds out his hand.

I shake knowing I must be victorious because the beanbag chairs are heinous, and one had a stain of unknown origins. Besides, they throw off the aesthetic we’re going for. Uncle Andy doesn’t stand a chance against my resolve.

Gladys wheels her cart out from between the shelves and eyes us suspiciously. “You two look guilty. Save yourself some time and tell me what you did now.”

I toss my head a little as I laugh and say as coolly as I can, “I was suggesting a new initiative where we all personally recommend three books every month.”

“Great idea. Love it,” Uncle Andy quickly agrees.

Gladys bumps her cart into Uncle Andy as she passes. She begins loading more books onto the cart. “Hate it. I don’t intend on taking on any more work. Especially not in my private time.”

Uncle Andy places a hand on Gladys’s shoulder. “What goes on in that private life of yours anyway, Gladys?” He winks at me. He must think he’s so smooth.

Gladys smacks Uncle Andy’s hand away. “Mind your manners, Andrew. And your beeswax. What I do outside this store is none of your business. I trust you to remember that in the future.”

Uncle Andy rubs the back of his hand as he returns to his office.

As soon as Gladys pushes her cart to the far end of the store, I hurry into the aisle she was in moments before and begin searching for clues. Not only will winning this bet give me bragging rights and musical control for a week, but I would also finally have something on Gladys.

I start at the bottom shelves and start examining. I run my fingers over the spines, but nothing is standing out or setting my instincts off. I rise out of my crouching position and keep investigating but there’s nothing unusual. Not a single thing is out of place. Gladys’s organization is so good it would be easy to pick out anything that doesn’t belong. While I admire her attention to minute detail, it also means she knows how to cover her tracks.

I slip into the next aisle. Gladys is one more over. I peer through the gaps between the books and shelves. She’s reading bent over the cart. I can’t get a clear view of the book in her hands. But she hasn’t noticed me yet so I’m good. If I had a higher vantage point, I might be able to see what the book is.

I put a foot onto the bottom shelf. It seems stable enough when I put a little pressure on it. No sagging, no creaks. No bend in the middle. I use it to step up, clinging to a higher shelf. The vantage point is no better. I shift some books to the side and push my head through the gap.

Gladys is no longer bent over. She’s nowhere in sight. I crane my neck and can almost make out the back cover of the book she was reading sitting on top of the others, but no luck.

I pull my head out. I wonder if I stepped up one more shelf if I could discover the secret and win the bet with Uncle Andy. I grip higher up and lift my foot again, putting some weight on the second shelf. It bows under the pressure.

“What in blazes are you doing?” Gladys barks from behind me.

I give a small shriek and stumble back onto the floor, hands jerking up to clutch at my chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I don’t need to. You’re going to kill yourself. I really shouldn’t have to tell you this, Robert, but you never, ever climb the shelves. If that comes crashing down on you, it’s going to send every other shelf over like a set of dominos and you’ll get pinned underneath. Considering your reputation for accidents, you can thank me for saving your life and never do anything like that again.”

My heart is still beating hard as I lower my hands. “I’m not about to thank you for sneaking up behind me and scaring me.”

“That’s rich coming from you. You were spying on me.”

“I was not,” I lie.

Gladys taps her foot. “Then what were you up to?”

“Practicing for shoplifters?” Even as I say it, I find it hard to believe.

“Baloney. Don’t you have enough to worry about in your own life without needing to stick your nose into some old lady’s business?”

I decide to try a different tactic, the direct approach. “Uncle Andy and I know you’re up to something.”

“What if I am? That’s my concern. Not yours. This may be hard for you but butt out.”

The bell attached to the front door rings.

Thinking fast, I say, “You help that customer and I’ll finish shelving.”

“Nice try,” Gladys says. “I’m not falling for it.”

Knowing I’m beat, I round the corner to see none other than my mortal nemesis, Evie Bosendorfer, the off-brand Bobby two-point-no as Wanda and I call her. She looks around the store, nose up in the air as she silently judges.

“So, this where the great Bobby Ashton ended up. Slumming it down in this precious little shop.”

“What is it you want, Evie?” I ask. I know I’m being rude, but I can tell Evie rehearsed her opening and I’m not interested in playing at her games.

Gladys’s cart whines from down one of the aisles. Gladys calls, “We ask how we can help, not ‘What is it you want.’ I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

“Actually, I came to thank you. I have some good news to share,” Evie says. “After all, without you, I wouldn’t be where you want to be.”

I try impersonating Gladys as I glare at Evie. “Speak clearly.”

Evie goes over to the counter and leans against it with one elbow, raising her hand to rest her chin on it. “After all these years, looks like I’ve finally one-upped you.”

“That’s still a cliché.”

Evie is another example of me reading people wrong. Another blind spot in my prescience. We became friends when we started high school. Wanda was always polite but distant with Evie, something I attributed to Wanda being most comfortable with people online and not IRL. I, however, was flattered by Evie wanting to hang around me, wanting to like the things I did, and to try out for every club and volunteer for the same committees. Only when Evie was trying to edge me out of a spot in Little Elm’s book club did I realize I was dealing with a Fatal Attraction bunny boiler.

It killed her when she was waitlisted for book club. Then I got my admission to Little Elm College, my scholarship, the job at Campus Books, and the honor of being Little Elm’s Big Summer Reading Festival’s freshman liaison. Evie thought she was my competition, but I knew I was above her and one step ahead of her the entire time.

Until I wasn’t.

Evie places her Chanel pocketbook on the counter. There’s no way she could afford so much as a Chanel button. I’m certain even from this distance it’s a knockoff by the way the gold is flaking off the hardware. “You probably thought cozying up to Truman would get you whatever you wanted. But we all saw how that worked out for you.” Evie exaggerates a pout.

I cross my arms. “What is it you want, Evie?” I ask again.

“I told you. To thank you. Without your clumsy proposal, I wouldn’t have been asked to be the festival’s freshman liaison. I know how much you wanted that position.”

Evie knows how to make her words sting. I can feel them prickling along my arms and making the hair stand. Why did it have to be Evie they asked to replace me? Why couldn’t anyone else have muscled her out?

“Do your fact-checking and don’t be so smug.” Gladys stands at my elbow, her glower focused full force on Evie.

“Pardon me?” Evie asks.

“What’s the saying? Oh yeah. Check your receipts. He had the job. They wanted him first. You’re second fiddle. The standby. Plan B. They settled for you when things didn’t work out with him. Don’t try to rewrite history. You’ll always be the second choice.”

Gladys is right. I will always be who they asked first. I didn’t expect that reminder would come from Gladbag.

Evie picks up her purse and stops leaning on the counter. “Well,” she says. “I don’t know if I see it that way.”

Gladys shrugs. “Then see it the wrong way. That’s your problem.”

Evie wrinkles her nose.

“Are you going to buy something, or did you come in for the abundance of free air?” Gladys asks.

Evie replies with a rather loud sniff and gathers her pocketbook. I’ll give this to Evie; she always knows when she’s beaten and when to take off.

When I lost the festival position, I tried to convince myself it wasn’t a huge deal and it didn’t matter as much as I thought. It was free work I didn’t need to do anymore. But around Little Elm, the festival is big. If it had gone off perfectly, all the praise and accolades would have been mine. At the same time, if it wasn’t as good as previous years, no one would ever forget. I’d been planning this summer’s festival since before I got into book club—the same way some people plan their dream wedding. I even had a dedicated online drive for all my documents. After my mortification at the fountain, I haven’t been able to look at any of it. Not even to delete it. It was another thing I decided to put behind me.

I pull out my Summer of Bobby list and add a new item under the Big Summer Reading Festival.

I take a few deep breaths before I walk over to the aisle where Gladys has resumed stocking shelves. A diagram of a motorcycle’s engine reflects in the thick lenses of her glasses as I approach. Gladys slams the book in front of her shut and shoves it under some other books. I don’t have time to make sense of Gladys and a motorcycle. They don’t go together whatsoever. This new intel only makes whatever’s going on with her more mysterious because I now truly have no clue what she’s up to.

“I owe you a thank-you,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve.

“You were floundering.” Gladys turns back to the trolley. “It was pathetic. I felt bad for you.”

First the compliment on my shirt, and now her pity. All of Gladys’s attention is going to go to my head. “Well, thanks. You were sort of amazing.”

She shoves the cart in front of her as she walks away. “No. I was amazing. I’m not unaware of that fact.”

THE SUMMER OF BOBBY

(AKA Bobby Ashton’s Plan for the Perfect Summer Before College)

? Summer job: Corner Books

???? Play nice with Gladys

???? Become a star employee

???? Overhaul Spruce up Corner Books’ image

???? Land the freshman liaison gig for Big Summer Reading Festival

? Hope Evie tanks Big Summer Reading Festival

???? Make festival SICKENING (see: Bobby Ashton’s Plans for Little Elm’s Big Summer Reading Festival)

???? Land the Perfect Boyfriend: TRUMAN

? No boys like Dean Perez warned

???? Matchmake Jerome and Mya; and

??? Restore my matchmaking mojo

???? Rule Over Campus Books’ CORNER BOOKS’ book club

? Look fabulous every step of the way!