Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Anyway, she left town, renouncing any Revival profit share for good, and moved in with Collin and his gang over at the Edge compound. But she couldn’t just pick up McBooms and move it as well.
So. I am the manager. The problem is, I’m not in town every day. I only worked at McBooms part-time. I only work anywhere part-time. So she ended up hiring a gang of teenagers for the summer and I’m loosely in charge of them.
When I walk in the door the music is blaring, two teenage girls are dancing in the middle of the showroom, and two teenage boys are sitting in a nearby ‘living room’ watching them. When they see me, the music and dancing comes to a screeching halt and the boys all stand up, smoothing their hair and trying to look presentable.
They always treat me like I’m an adult and get all respectful and shit. It’s kinda cute.
I act accordingly as well, planting my hands on my hips and making my eyes wide. “What the hell is goin’ on in here!”
They get all scared and fidgety, apologizing profusely. I glare at them a little, then tell the boys to leave and prod the girls back to work.
The problem is, there’s really nothing to do here during the week. I mean, I have things to do—I’m in charge of cataloguing everything Lowyn brings home from her pickin’ trips and coordinating with the warehouse and shipping people—but the teenagers are only here to mind the place. And maybe, if a customer walks in, ring them up. But most of Lowyn’s foot traffic happens on the weekends after the Revival show, so it’s always dead.
Still, there’s not a wooden floor in existence that can’t use a good sweepin’. So that’s what I have the girls do. But I let them put the music back on. I always play music when I’m here too.
Then I gather up the pile of mail Lowyn never pays any attention to, take it over to my favorite Fifties dinette set in the middle of the showroom, and sit down to sort.
It’s a big pile, but junk is easy to filter out and since this is my regular spot, there’s a trash can at the ready near my feet.
Almost all of it is junk, so I’m toss-toss-tossin’ away when I just so happen to look down and spy an envelope sticking out of a catalogue.
“Oops!” Guess I got a little over-enthusiastic. I pick the envelope up out of the can and turn it over. “Well, that’s weird.” I say this right out loud because the envelope is addressed to me.
It’s handwritten too, my full name sittin’ right on top of the McBooms street address in a well-practiced all-caps style. No return address, not even on the back. But the weirdest thing is that the postmark says Disciple.
I release the seal on the envelope and pull out a piece of paper that turns out to be something of a worksheet. A dot-to-dot worksheet, actually. But not in the traditional 1-2-3 dot-to-dot pattern, but letters. And not just in the one alphabet I recognize, but something that looks like Greek and another that looks Chinese.
I flip it over and look at the back, but it’s blank. Weird. Why would someone be sending me this?
Maybe it’s some kind of promotional thing? I dunno. I’m just about to toss it in the trash when I pause.
Maybe Cross would like to solve it? He’s a smart kid. And he used to love puzzles when he was younger. Of course, he’s on the verge of being a teenager now so all the things he thought were cool two years ago are now for kids, because obviously, when a boy hits twelve, it’s time to grow up.
Those are his thoughts on the matter, at least. Still, this worksheet doesn’t look anything like the ones he used to do when he was smaller. It looks… complicated. In fact, it looks a little bit like code. And codes are something totally different than puzzles because codes are things grownups solve for serious reasons, of course.
So I shove the paper back into the envelope and stick it in my purse to take it home.
Even though I still feel a thrill when I park my car in the driveway and walk up to the gorgeous front porch of Lowyn McBride’s meticulously restored house, I hate getting home before Cross. During the school year it almost never happens. But summer is all about unexpected plans and spur-of-the-moment adventures, so it’s a nightly thing these days.
I do expect him for supper, but the average suppertime in the summer for the people of Disciple is seven-thirty. Parents coordinate this so we can be sure that our children will appear at the dinner table on a nightly basis.