“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” I said.
“All right.” She patted my shoulder, heading out of the kitchen.
“Seeing how we don’t have much time left, I’ll wake up the rest of the crew.”
• • •
Two hours later my housemates and I were fully caffeinated and wrestling my stuff into boxes.
“I’ll give you my first child,” Mike said, hefting my stack of Walking Dead.
“No deal.” I roll another sweater into a ball and sank it into a suitcase. “Put them in the trunk and back away slowly.”
“Pimplepus!” Ally jumped out of the way before a stack of books crashed to the floor where she’d been standing.
Sam, my other housemate, who’d been not so much packing as offering instructions to everyone else while he sat on the bed picking out tunes on his acoustic, glanced in her direction.
“Top heavy,” Sam said.
“Excuse me?” Ally glared at him.
Sam grinned at her. “The bookshelves, babe.”
Mike wrapped his arms around Ally. “Hey, don’t insult my lady friend. I might be forced to defend her honor.”
Sam pretended to cower.
“I think I’m better off without that brand of defense.” Ally shoved him off.
Mike laughed and began gathering up books. “Dude, these are seriously warped. Why don’t you get some nice books?”
for a moment I wished I could stop time and stay in this place with these people. I’d spent a week arguing with Bosque over my moving into this house for the summer. He’d been unconvinced that living with real people as opposed to a mostly empty school dorm would be in my best interest. I couldn’t help feeling like I was being yanked away from my friends as payback for winning that last battle.
Mike had made a tower of yellowing paperbacks. “If I put all these outside our house on the curb, I don’t think I could get five bucks for them.”
“Leave him alone,” Ally said, offering me an apologetic smile.
“Look at this one.” Mike held up a tattered copy of Arthur C.
Clarke’s Imperial Earth.
“face it, Mike,” I said. “You have no taste. I’m ready to defend the value of flea market books and the utter genius that is cover art from the seventies.”
“Yeah?” Mike said, handing the book to Ally and picking up another one. The cover had fallen off, leaving the title page naked, so I could see it was Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions. “Nice cover art here.”
I shrugged. “Read it too many times. And dropped it in a lake once.”
“Maybe if you read books too many times, I wouldn’t have to help you cheat your way through all your lit classes,” Ally said, sticking her tongue out at Mike.
“Don’t I remember you being my girlfriend?” Mike pulled her in for a kiss. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?”
“Not in my contract,” Ally said, but she kissed him back, smiling.
Still wearing the half-dazed grin he couldn’t fight off whenever Ally kissed him, Mike tried to frown at the shelves of Penguin Classics still waiting to be put in boxes.
“Seriously, man. Augustine, Aquinas, Hobbes, Seneca. You haven’t read all this philosophy. You aren’t that boring.”
“Yes, I have,” I said. “And philosophy isn’t boring. If you ever cracked one of those books open, you’d know that.”