Tangled

16 Ava: Settling In (II)

Thunk.

That’s it. That’s the last book, tossed onto a pile of mystery novels. Fifteen boxes are now empty, and while it might appear that my apartment is little more than a haphazard pile of empty boxes and organized book piles, my heart breathes with the room I’ve created by tackling the monster that is everything Mrs. Elkins stored in this apartment for the last who knows how long.

The couch is soft and springy as I flop onto it, taking a well–deserved break. Selene’s ears perk up at my sudden display of enthusiasm, but she doesn’t move, content to rest by the front door, which happens to be one of the few places in the living room not covered in something.

“We did it, Selene! We’ve tackled the monster and unpacked it all!”

Well, everything that was in the living room. The kitchen still has a few boxes, and let’s not even talk about the bedroom. But the living room? The living

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16 Ava: Settling in (11)

room is done, and that’s what matters.

I survey the piles of books scattered around the room, separated by genre. There’s a stack of classics, a pile of contemporary fiction, a few biographies, and even a small collection of poetry. The biggest pile by far, though, is near and dear to my heart. Romance. Tantalizing little bodice–rippers with bare male chests whispering to me, enticing me to flip them open and be drawn into a world of magical, mystical, perfect

men.

I used to read them whenever I had a chance. The

White Peak library was full of them, and I was desperate for any happy ever after I could get my hands on.

They’re a lot less appealing these days.

I rub my chest, frustrated by the ache that likes to poke its head out in my weak moments, and snap a quick photo of the piles to send to Mrs. Elkins.

[AVA: What should I do with all these books?]

Selene seems to realize that I’m done moving for a while and slinks over on her silent paws, jumping beside me. She circles once, twice, then settles down,

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16 Ava: Sottling In (1)

her head resting on my thigh. I scratch behind her soft ears as I wait for Mrs. Elkins‘ response.

My phone buzzes.

own library. They’ve already been up there

books were a luxury. Books were unnecessary, and Mom and Dad weren’t interested in feeding my addiction to fantasy worlds and

the musty scent of old pages,

idea doesn’t seem

I’ve stopped petting her. “What

question. As if it was ever an option to get rid of them. Who throws away books?

I choose to

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<

Settling in

their titles. Some are smooth, others ridged, a few even cracked with age. Each

read, mine to cherish, mine to

But where?

of displeasure at being disturbed, and survey the living room with a critical eye. The walls are bare, save for a few generic paintings that came

hold

go on a lower shelf, maybe under the

that could

the living room in not the

inat

14

hodroom had

Settling In (II)

maybe, I could squeeze a small shelf into the bathroom. For

space I have and the strength of the shelves. But I’m determined. These books have waited long enough to be read, to be loved. They deserve a home, and I’m going to give

blue eyes curious. “What do you think, girl? Should we go shopping for bookshelves

head, considering, then lets

bark.

the rabbithole of shopping, of crisp white bookshelves and the colorful book spines that would enliven them up. Maybe I would even do something

by color. It would be impractical, yes,

5/9

Settling

sets in. Bookshelves cost money. Money that I don’t have in abundance, not with my barista wages. Not with

Ava is gone, and regular Ava is back.

comfort.

fine. Eating and saving for school is more

Once I have a car, once I’m settled in classes, things

thought of these books, these precious stories, languishing in piles on the floor is almost painful. They deserve

about all those popular DIY videos I’ve watched while dreaming of building a better life. People turning old crates into rustic shelves, repurposing ladders into quirky bookcases, even building shelves, from scratch with nothing but a

Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to

679

Settling in

up again, staring at my walls. It can’t be that hard, can

at the excitement in