Page 43 of People Like Us

I let out a quiet breath. “I could write a book,” I said to the empty room.

I closed the journal halfway, keeping my index finger tucked between the pages, and turned back toward the hallway. When I got back to my desk, I set the journal down beside my laptop, pages open, and stared at both for a moment that stretched too long to time.

I opened the computer again, the screen blinked awake, too bright for the dim room. I squinted at it, my reflection faint in the glass for half a second before August’s face reappeared.

I clicked into a new tab, and the cursor pulsed expectantly on an empty document.

Then I started writing.

Chapter Seventeen

My hatchback looked out of place beneath the gnarled trees dripping Spanish moss and wedged between glossy BMWs and Mercedes in the nail salon’s parking lot. Through the warped window glass, I studied its faded paint as the nail tech swept on a top coat before putting my hand under a buzzing purple lamp that cast flickering shadows over the white-washed walls.

“That’s new,” Lindsey murmured from the seat beside me, craning her neck to study my freshly lacquered nails. Her curls brushed my armrest as I felt the weight of her gaze land on my fingers.

“Are you and Andy fighting?” Emily asked from her other side.

I forced a slow smile. “No, I just felt like doing something different.” My throat tickled with the smell of methacrylate. “What do you want to do after this?” I asked the two of them.

A wince of delight rippled over Emily’s pale cheeks. “There’s a new thrift store in town I want to check out.”

Lindsey’s lips curved into something conspiratorial. “Sure, Em.”

I drew my hands back beneath the lamp’s violet glow, inspecting them. Emily had been off ever since she started her job at the record shop downtown. Or maybe even since she returned from camp that summer. But at least she had cash now. Lindsey’s father had finally gifted her a credit card to curb her habit of filching his. I, meanwhile, had been nicking handfuls of coins from my father’s collection of change jars—less theft, I reckoned, than the therapy he’d owe me for all he’d caused.

“Are you coming to Paul’s tonight?” Lindsey asked, flexing her fingers.

“Andy mentioned something about a party,” I said. Sweat cooled on the back of my neck. I wasn’t aware the party was planned at August’s neighbors house, but then again, Paul’s was typically the place where we wasted our weekends.

When the polish had cured and the buzzy lamp clicked off, we huddled together to brave the frigid air of downtown Salisbury. We left my car behind and trekked down the unkempt sidewalk toward the row of shuttered storefronts.

“I want to see your shop,” I told Emily as we turned a corner, where the smell of a well seasoned grill wafted out of Hap’s—a hole in the wall that sold the world’s best hot dogs and hamburgers. My stomach growled, but I knew better than to ask Emily or Lindsey if they wanted to stop at a place like that. Nor could I spring for lunch at a place they would approve of, and didn’t want to risk Emily not being able to do so either. I would eat later, at the party.

“It’s boring.” She sped up, shoulders hunched warding off the chill.

“How boring can it be? It’s a store that sells music.” Lindsey snorted, flicking a wisp of hair from her forehead.

The orange door of The Record Exchange came into view then. The blonde hesitated but Lindsey reached over, plucked her by the collar of her jacket, and shepherded her inside. I followed, laughing until Emily’s mortified glare made me bite the sound off.

Lindsey took a deep inhale of the vinyl-sour air the way I had of Hap’s. “I love the smell of LPs. Maybe I’ll work here too. Y’all hiring?” she asked.

“No.” Emily snapped, adjusting her pink coat back into its proper place.

We walked through the aisles a bit, flipping through the stacks of used records. Lindsey found a handful, while Emily followed behind her, pretending to look through the bins, but her eyes kept flickering around the store like she was waiting on something to jump out and scare her.

I found a vintage copy of Rumors on vinyl, and debated on buying it. I didn’t own a record player, but I had seen one at August’s house when I had dinner with his family, and the seven dollar price tag seemed too good to pass up.

Lindsey called from the aisle’s end. “You ready?” She heaved her finds to her chest. I nodded, and joined her at the ancient oak counter, Emily next to me. Lindsey rapped the tarnished bell a few times in quick succession.

“Do you really need all those?” Emily muttered, voice low.

“Why’re you acting strange? Have you shacked up with your manager or something?” Lindsey shot back.

“No.” Emily adjusted her top. She pulled the door to the beverage cooler open, and retrieved a bottle of water, holding it up in question to Lindsey.

She shook her head. “Get the grape soda.” Emily swapped out the drinks and placed the purple bottle on the counter next to Lindsey’s stack of records.

A beaded curtain at the counter’s back rustled, and Angelica, her hair like sun-faded copper, stepped out. “Sorry, I didn’t hear anyone come in,” she said, sliding behind the register. My throat went dry instantly, I had not been prepared to run into any of August’s friends while out with my own.