Chapter Text
LISTER
I'm met with instant regret the moment I walk into the bookshop.
The reason I chose this place rather than the big Waterstone's in town is that I was sure there was no risk of bumping into anybody from school. I mean, what self-respecting teenager would be caught dead in a little independent bookshop owned by old people on a Saturday afternoon? Please note: that statement does not, under any circumstances, apply to me - partly because I am the main character of my own life story and refuse to be tied down by unwritten social rules, but mostly because "self-respecting" is far from how any rational human being would describe me.
I try mostly to avoid people my age, both in school and out, because 1. it makes me seem cool and aloof, which lends itself nicely to the bad boy loner image I'm attempting to cultivate before I start year ten in a few months, and 2. letting anybody see what my life is really like outside of rumour will ruin any remaining hope of ever being respected.
I know what my classmates think of me - that I'm angry. impulsive, disengaged, prone to fights and averse to homework. They think I hate school and everyone in it, and that I'm an unhinged freak that would punch a teacher if given half a chance. Some of this is true, most of it isn't. I don't mind letting the rumours fester, though, because it's way cooler than the truth.
The classmate in question, the reason I'm debating bolting from the store completely, is a boy from my year whose name I've never quite caught. He's known for being one of year nine's resident music prodigies, him and some other guy, whose name I also forget. I mean, it's not as if they're worth remembering - I try not to engage with teachers' pets, which these boys indisputably are. They're a little bit hard to miss, constantly walking around with instrument cases bigger than they are. The one in the store is the shorter one, with the guitar case covered in stickers of bands I really like. I've noticed his guitar case more than I have his face - he likes music I didn't realise other kids my age had even heard of.
If he was a customer, I'd just slip out and hide at the bus stop down the road until I saw him leave. Unfortunately for me, he has an apron and name badge that announce to the world that he is an employee (which seems weird when he's no older than fourteen, but whatever), making him unavoidable.
I pretend not to notice him as I make my way over to the shelf I'm looking for, but I can feel his eyes on my back. I've been spotted.
The book I'm looking for is over in the back of the store. I noticed it a few months ago, on an afternoon when I came in to escape the rain. Ever since, I've been saving up. I don't get a lot of money - all I have is the 50p change from my weekly bus pass, or whatever is left over from my lunch money at the end of each school week. I pick up loose change from the floor of the bus, as well as stuff people lose in the changing rooms after P.E., or leave behind in the self serve machines at Tesco. All in all, my £9.99 is weighing down the pockets of my jeans in silvers and coppers. This would get embarrassing enough by itself, but it's a million times worse if I'm going to be served by someone I have to face next week.
Part of me wants to leave. I may not have self-respect, but I do have shame, and the last thing I want is pity from some fucking nerd that will go around telling stories about me being embarrassingly poor come Monday morning. (He wouldn't be wrong to think I'm poor, but I don't want the whole school finding out.)
Annoyingly, though, this is my only chance to come into the shop. My grandparents are visiting tomorrow, which confines me to the house, and next weekend is lost to a school trip. The week after is half term, which means I won't have a bus pass. If I don't buy this now, I won't get the chance for another three weeks at least. Plus, chances are that if Guitar Boy is working today, he'll be working every weekend for the foreseeable future.
I'm just going to have to swallow what's left of my pride.
He's standing behind the counter when I go up to pay. His name tag reads Jimmy, which rings a bell. His eyes go wide as he sees me, and I do my best to seem unfazed. As I put the book down, I have to fight a blush.
Cooking on a Bootstrap: Over 100 Simple, Budget Recipes.
It's not shameful on its own, wanting to cook. It's more the inescapable stigma of the word 'budget', the fact it's clearly a recipe book for someone without much money. I need the book - Mum's just got a second job, which isn't a bad thing, but it means most days she's out of the house from 7 am til 11 pm, and any meal I don't get from school has to be prepared by me. I've been basically living off tinned foods and toast for the last few weeks, and the novelty of freedom wears off pretty quickly.
"Would you like to buy any stationery with that?"
"Nope."
"How about a reusable Rossi's Books canvas tote for £5?"
"Nope."
"Would you like to make a charitable donation to—"
"Can I just buy my fucking book, please?"
I didn't plan to snap at him, and I do feel guilty when I realise how fucking terrified he looks, but I just want to pay and leave (and possibly evaporate into nothingness so I never have to face this boy again).
"£9.99, please." He says with a weak smile.
I can no longer stop my face flushing dark red with shame. Usually, when I have to pay vast sums using pocket change, it's to a self-service checkout, or at the very least some middle-aged stranger I'll never have to see again. It's embarrassing, hauntingly so.
Some people will never know the ritual humiliation of having to stand awkwardly, just watching and waiting, as someone has to painstakingly count through a pocketful of silvers one by one. It's a hundred times worse when, at the last minute, they tell you that you're short by something like 7p. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
After an agonising few minutes, he shuts the till and hands me a receipt which I snatch almost violently.
"Thank you for shopping at Rossi's Books." He says in a voice mixing typical customer service sweetness with confusion and a bit of fear. I barely hear him, though, because I'm near-on running out of the store.