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.

They’ve already been up there for a decade gathering

new appreciation. My own library? The thought had never occurred to me. In the Blackwood Pack, books were a luxury. Books were unnecessary, and Mom and

by the musty scent of old

idea doesn’t seem so

my hand, and I realize I’ve stopped petting her. “What do you think, Selene? Should

silly question. As if it was ever an option to get rid of them. Who

sigh, which I choose to interpret as a

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<

Ava Settling

books, their textures as varied as their titles. Some are smooth, others ridged, a few even cracked with age.

to read, mine to cherish, mine to display.

But where?

Selene’s huff 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 with the apartment. They’ll have to go, replaced by

will hold my new library.

a tall bookcase, perfect for the hardcovers. The smaller paperbacks could go on a lower shelf, maybe under the window. And the romance novels? They deserve

could work.

living room in not the

inat

14

had a

Settling

just maybe, I could squeeze a

limited only by the 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,

me from her spot on the couch, her blue eyes curious. “What do you think, girl? Should we go shopping for bookshelves

her head, considering, then

bark.

my mind races down the rabbithole of shopping, of crisp white bookshelves and the colorful book spines that would enliven them up. Maybe I would even

color. It would be

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Settling

they stop with a jerk and a dip in my belly as reality sets in. Bookshelves cost money. Money that I don’t have in abundance, not with my

couch, my enthusiasm gone. Happy Ava is gone, and regular Ava is back. Selene senses my mood shift and nuzzles my

comfort.

Eating and saving for school is

have a car, once

precious stories, languishing in piles on the floor is

building a better life. People turning old crates into rustic

to access chapters of novels early

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Ava: Settling in (1)

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

perk up at the excitement in my voice.