“I made some hard-boiled eggs this morning,” Gemma said through a mouthful of food. Based on the yellow crumbles coming out of her mouth, it looked like Gemma had just finished off an egg. “I cooked up the whole dozen, so you can have some.”
“Thanks.” Harper yawned as she sat down at the kitchen table.
Gemma stood next to the open dishwasher, quickly downing a glass of orange juice. When she finished, she threw the glass in the dishwasher, next to her dirty plate. She was already dressed in worn jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair had been pulled up into a ponytail.
“I gotta get to swim practice,” Gemma said as she hurried by.
“Why so early?” Harper leaned back in her chair so she could watch through the doorway as Gemma slipped on her shoes. “I thought practice didn’t start until eight.”
“It doesn’t. But my car won’t start, so I’m biking it there.”
“I can give you a ride,” Harper offered.
“Nah, I’m fine.” Gemma grabbed her gym bag and sifted through it, making sure she had everything she needed. She pulled out her iPod and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans.
“You’re not supposed to listen to that when you ride your bike,” Harper reminded her. “You can’t hear oncoming traffic.”
“I’ll be fine.” Gemma ignored her and tossed the earbuds around her neck.
“It’s supposed to rain today,” Harper said.
Gemma grabbed a gray sweatshirt from where it hung on the coatrack, and then she held it up for Harper to see. “Got my hoodie.” Without waiting for Harper to say any more, Gemma turned around and opened the front door. “See you later!”
“Have a good day!” Harper called after her, but the door had already slammed shut behind Gemma.
Harper sat in the kitchen for a few minutes, allowing herself to wake up before the silence annoyed her into action. She put on the stereo so the house felt less empty. Her father always kept the radio set on the classic rock station, and she spent a lot of mornings with Bruce Springsteen.
When she opened the fridge to get some breakfast, she saw the crumpled brown paper bag that contained her father’s lunch. He’d forgotten it. Again. On her own lunch break, she’d have to leave early to take it down to the docks for him.
After she finished eating breakfast, Harper hurried about her morning routine. She cleaned out the fridge, throwing away old leftovers, before starting the dishwasher and taking out the garbage. It was Thursday, and on the brightly colored chore calendar she’d made it said LAUNDRY and BATHROOM in big block letters.
Since laundry took longer, Harper started that first. In the process, she discovered that Gemma must’ve borrowed one of her tops and spilled a chili dog on it. She’d have to remember to have a talk with her about that later.
The bathroom was always a pain to clean. The shower drain was always filled with a disproportionate amount of Gemma’s golden brown hair. Since Harper’s hair was darker, coarser, and longer, she’d expect to see more of it, but it was always Gemma’s clogging up the pipes.
Harper finished her chores, then got herself cleaned up and ready for work. The rain she’d predicted earlier that morning was coming down, a heavy garden shower, and she had to run out to her car to keep from getting drenched.
Since it was raining, the library where Harper worked was a little busier than normal. Her coworker Marcy called dibs on putting away books and rearranging shelves, leaving Harper to help the library patrons to check out.
They had an automated system, so people could check out books without involving the clerks or the librarian, but some people never got the hang of it. Several other people had questions about late fees or reserving books, and a nice old lady needed help finding “that one book with the fish, or maybe a whale, and the girl who falls in love.”
Near lunchtime the rain had let up, and so had what little rush the library had seen. Marcy had deliberately been in the back aisles rearranging books, but she came out of hiding and sat in the chair next to Harper at the front desk.
Even though Marcy was seven years older than Harper and technically her boss, Harper was the more responsible of the two. Marcy loved books. That was why she’d gotten into the field. But she would have been happy to spend the rest of her life without talking to another person. Her jeans had a hole in the knee, and her T-shirt read I LISTEN TO BANDS THAT DON’T EVEN EXIST YET.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Marcy said, snapping at the bands on a rubber-band ball.
“If people didn’t come here, you would be out of a job,” Harper pointed out.
“I know.” She shrugged and brushed her straight bangs out of her eyes. “Sometimes I think I’m like that guy on The Twilight Zone.”
“What guy?” Harper asked.
“That guy. Burgess Meredith, I think.” Marcy leaned back in her chair, bouncing the rubber-band ball between her hands. “All he wanted to do was read books, and then he finally gets what he wants, and all the people die in this nuclear holocaust.”
“He wanted everyone to be blown up?” Harper asked, looking at her friend seriously. “You want everyone to be blown up?”
“No, he didn’t, and neither do I.” Marcy shook her head. “He just wanted to be left alone to read, and then he is. That’s where the irony comes in. He breaks his glasses, and he can’t read, and he’s all upset. So that’s why I eat carrots so much.”