Brief Summary: In which Fiyero is a bookstore clerk, Elphaba and Glinda are not exactly the same as they used to be, and reincarnation is a bitch.
Full Summary: Lucas Acker's job at the Seventh Heaven Used Books shop is more like seven kinds of hell, at least at first. Plus, his roommate and best friend Greg's got a girlfriend, which is one more than Luke has. All in all, it's a boring existence, and he's resigned himself to having to live it.
And then renowned social butterfly Emily Connell sweeps into the bookstore, with her less popular best friend Amanda Bunker following just behind a day later. And, looking back, that is probably where Luke's life decides to take a turn for the worse.
A/N: I have no one to blame but my love for reincarnation, bookstore AUs and threesomes. Besides, I've always liked the idea of Elphaba, Fiyero and Glinda in a threesome. Fandom needs more threesomes in general, really.
Also, this draws some inspiration from a Les Mis fic on AO3 called "The Life You Live (Will Be Your Own)" by katbelle, in that Luke and his friends aren't exactly the same as the Wicked cast, and from "Dreamers in the Shadows" by EstelRaca as well. The title is from Kelsey Danielle's poem, "First Draft".
Read on.
Chapter 1: in which Luke hates his job a little less
(or, nothing matters but knowing nothing matters)
The thing was this: Luke was prepared to absolutely hate his job. That was usually what happened, when he took a job—if he liked it even the tiniest bit at first, something would pop up that would sour the whole thing for him. Take the grocery store five jobs just before this bookstore gig, for one—it wasn't really his fault the guy was allergic to bananas, and anyway no one died. And then there was his laughably brief stint as a stagehand for Les Miserables, and before that his job manning the popcorn counter at the movie theatre that had ended with popcorn all over the floor and an irate manager, and before that one his year-long career as the lead singer of the New York Royals that ended in disaster. And, really, he had a very long list of short-lived jobs behind him, and it was a miracle people even hired him anymore.
Anyway.
Luke had figured out, after the band disaster, that, honestly, it would be easier on him if he didn't like his jobs. He'd be fired anyway, after all, hating them would lessen the inevitable pain of the blow.
He'd been sticking steadfastly to that resolution for a year, and he wasn't interested in changing it for a good long while.
And then Emily Connell walked in.
It was a rainy Monday morning, and on top of that, a slow day as well. Luke didn't mind slow days—it meant that he could kick up his feet on the counter and flip through a secondhand copy of Superman, and no one would yell at him for not coming to help them out or ask him for a book recommendation or something bookstore clerks were supposed to do.
The rain seemed pretty bad. Maybe it'd go on till his shift was over, then he could feel free to grab a raincoat and stroll out of there, let Cory take care of the afternoon rush of hipsters and book nerds. Luke was certain his cousin and coworker actually liked them, though it was difficult to tell, as the guy was always going on about voting rights and whatnot.
He flipped the page. Superman was in a tight spot, as he always was. Lex Luthor had chained him down with kryptonite, and he was steadily weakening as Luthor went out for...well, something in a previous issue that Luke had skipped. He read on, as Superman had some long internal monologue about Lois Lane and how he loved her so, so much, oh, it terrified him to think of how she would take news of his dying (again)—
He heard the bell ring, and looked up, ready to don his best impression of "bored clerk counting the days till he's laid off" when his gaze landed on the woman who had just entered, and was now drying off and hanging up her raincoat and umbrella.
She was...wow.
What was that thing that lovesick guy in Les Miserables said, about the cute blonde girl? Ah, yes: "she has burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun." Well, the woman that had just walked into the bookstore could beat even that. She had long blonde hair, tied back in a messy bun, coupled with her sharp features and green eyes. She had a black leather jacket, blue skinny jeans, and a grey, low-cut blouse, and sleek heels that clicked on the floor and oh god Luke was suddenly very glad that his shift wasn't over yet, because he was pretty sure Emily Connell had just walked into the very bookstore he worked at.
He swallowed. Okay, Luke, calm down, he told himself. I mean, she's probably just here to pick something up for Dr. Hufford.
"God," Emily was muttering, "who even thought Mondays were a great idea?"
"Someone with a sadistic streak, I bet," Luke's mouth said, before his brain had managed to catch up. "Hi, Miss Connell."
Emily turned to look at him, green eyes meeting blue, and he saw a flash of recognition before she smoothed her face over and said, quite disinterestedly, "Oh, you're from Dr. Hufford's class."
"Yeah," he said. "Luke Acker. So, what brings the illustrious Emily Connell to Seventh Heaven?" He leaned forward. "I can't imagine it's the books."
"You're wrong," Emily flatly said. "Mostly, anyway. You saw the rain, after all, I figured I'd find some shelter and wait it out there." She tucked a few stray blonde strands behind her ear, then glanced around, smiling softly. "Besides, it's far enough away that it isn't like anyone else will see."
"I'm right here," he reminded her. "I work here."
"And I expect you'll keep it a secret, then," Emily sweetly said, but there was something in her voice that belied the direst of warnings. A saner, more sensible man would've taken heed of it, and retreated to the back room to forget he'd ever seen her.
Luke, however, had a reputation for not being completely sensible. Oh, he'd heard the warning, but his question had escaped his lips way before it truly registered with his brain: "Why would you want to keep being a bookworm a secret?"
She sighed. "Because the circles I run in are amazingly shallow, and as much as I hate it," and here she shrugged, "I like being popular. Or at least, I like not being picked on." She smiled, bitterly. "More the latter than the former, unfortunately."
Luke paused, recalling the many, many times he'd been picked on, back when he was still a gangly, pimpled teenager trying to relearn how to use his limbs, and how to go through doorways without hitting his head on the frame. Scarecrow, they'd called him, which was the worst thing to call someone who couldn't look at a scarecrow without screaming, after that one horror movie in a cornfield. "Don't worry, Miss Connell," he found himself saying. "Your secret's safe with me."
Me and Greg, probably, he thought. He knew himself too well, after all, and he knew Greg would keep his mouth shut about it, not if he wanted to wash his hair without it falling out onto his hands tomorrow.
Emily smiled, a relieved one this time. "Thank you," she said. "Now, have you got any recommendations?"
Oh, shit, was the first thing that popped into Luke's head.
Quick, Acker—fake it, was the second.
"Twilight?" he suggested.
The smile vanished, and her lips thinned into a line as she lifted her chin up, looking at him like he'd just asked her if this mustard went well with his shoe. "How long have you been working here?" she asked.
"Three days," he admitted, as his ego crawled into a corner and cried. "I honestly don't think I'll last long, either."
"Ah," she said. "One of those desperate jobless students?"
He snorted. "Replace jobless with chronically-fired and you've pretty much described my life," he said. "I stopped caring a long time ago. I mean, it's not like I'll keep them for long, I might as well take it easy." He shrugged. "So, uh, no, I didn't really memorize the inventory."
Emily held the haughty expression for a few seconds before she smiled, just a little. "I've been there," she remarked. "There are some things they never tell you about working at the make-up department at Macy's."
Luke huffed out a bitter laugh. "I can imagine," he muttered. "Did you run into the manager there?"
She made a face. "Unfortunately, yes," she answered. "In retrospect, I probably should've listened when they called her Dreadful Mildred."
"In her defense, her rep's only slightly exaggerated," Luke replied, as he leaned forward. A small part of him was still panicking because he was talking to Emily Connell, but the rest was starting to relax, little by little. Emily's reputation was larger than life, bigger than big—everyone knew her last name, if not her first, and the Connells were richer than Luke could even begin to imagine. Emily herself was well-known for being the social butterfly on campus, and now here she was, in the same room as Luke.
A small part of him thrilled, when it realized that he was one of the few people, if not the only one, who was seeing this side of her, the side that so many people were so blind to. It was drowned out by the part of him that knew she was only letting him see this side of her because of a series of coincidences—the rain, the location, the fact that she came into the store on his shift—and that if it wasn't for that, they wouldn't even be talking right now.
"Only slightly?"
"As far as I know she doesn't really take baths every night in the blood of some poor trainees who didn't live up to her strict standards." He paused and pulled a face, the image of Mildred Ellsworth luxuriating in a bathtub filled to the brim with blood appearing ever so briefly before he quickly banished it to the deepest pits in his mind. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she does," he added, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
Emily laughed. "I am so glad I got out of there before she got her hands on me, then," she said. "I rather like being alive, after all." She glanced around, then said, "So, do you have any recommendations? That aren't about some vampire-obsessed girl and her quest to get as many people as possible to hate her?"
"I've read Good Omens," he ventured. "And my roommate leaves books around the house on a regular basis."
Now Emily grinned at him, showing rows of perfect white teeth. "Funny thing is, my copy of Good Omens fell apart for good a few days ago," she said. "Does this bookstore have one?"
He grinned back. "How about you move out of the way and I'll show you where it is? I'm sure it's around here." At least I'm pretty sure we've got one at all, he thought. I mean, no self-respecting bookstore would be caught without a copy of it, apparently.
She blinked at him, as he cleared away the counter, but stepped aside. "And what are you planning to do?" she asked. "Make like a gymnast and jump that counter? There's a perfectly serviceable gap."
"Psh," Luke snorted. "That's for people who aren't me." He took a few steps back, silently thanking whoever designed the bookstore that they'd left enough space for the rare clerk whose preferred method of getting over the counter consisted of, yes, vaulting over the counter like a gymnast to build up some momentum.
He broke into a brief run, then slapped his hand down on the counter and leaped over.
"And he sticks the landing!" Luke announced. "Ladies and gentlemen, Luke Acker is officially the best gymnast-slash-clerk ever!"
Emily clapped, smiling at him. "Eight over ten," she remarked. "Work on your form, Acker."
He crossed his arms, and resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. He wasn't eight, after all. He did, however, pout. "I'll have you know, my form is just great," he said. "My PE teacher said so."
"And how long ago was that?"
Luke paused. "High school, junior year," he finally said. "Yeah, okay, I'm a little rusty, but still."
"So," she said, "where is this copy of Good Omens that you're sure is around here somewhere?"
He took her by the hand, bowed down, and said, "If you'll let me lead you, my lady, I'll show you."
Emily huffed, and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Flatterer," she said. "Ditch the compliments and just lead me to it."
He led her along, to what he was pretty sure was the sci-fi section—or at least he hoped so. He'd only half-listened to the orientation Julia Baudelaire, the manager, gave him and Cory, and he couldn't really whip out his phone and call the guy right now. Cory would probably give him hell for it.
He scanned the shelves. Right, there was the ASOIAF saga, something about zombies, a book about a paranormal investigator, another book about wizards, Discworld, and—aha. He pulled the book out, flipped through the pages to make sure it had all of them, then held it up for Emily. "Behold," he said, "the nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter, the only totally and completely accurate witch in the history of ever, as told to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett."
Emily smiled, then took the book from his hands. "Thanks," she said, flipping through the pages. "Hey, it's even got all the pages. That's certainly more than I was expecting."
"And the best part," he said, "is that it's only a dollar. Granted, there are dog-eared pages and highlighter marks, but it's a used book. Means it's been loved before."
She huffed out a laugh. "Where did you get that?"
"My roommate," he admitted. "He's a huge fan of used books, for some reason. He was the guy who suggested I get a job here, in fact."
"Your roommate has very good taste, then," she said. "Mine's a tad more obsessed with romance novels. Speaking of which, I should probably get her one while I'm here—she's always looking to expand her collection."
"You know, I'm pretty sure we got some Lisa Kleypas books a while ago," Luke recalled, then pulled her along to the romance novels. "And Sophie Kinsella as well. They're the quintessential romance authors, right?"
Emily shrugged, as she scanned the shelves. "I'm honestly not sure," she admitted. "I've never really been one for romance—my tastes run more to fantasy and mysteries, mundane and supernatural."
"Does she care if it's any good or not?" he asked.
She shook her head. "She'll read any romance novel, I suppose," she said. If Luke had been watching closely, he would've noticed her smiling softly for the briefest of moments, the way people did when they loved someone but didn't quite know it.
"What's she like?"
"Blonde in all but hair color," she automatically answered. "At least, I thought so at first."
Luke smiled, thinking of the day he and Greg first met. Strange, really, that someone he thought he would hate forever became one of his best, closest friends. "I can totally sympathize," he said. "It's probably got something to do with how close you've got to be, I suppose. Once you're living with somebody, you can't really hide anything from them."
"Ain't that the truth," Emily chuckled. "It's been fun talking with you, but it looks like the rain's finally let up. Feel like getting back behind the counter, Acker?"
He looked at the window, and noted, with some dismay, that the rain had let up. Ah, well, all good things had to come to an end.
"Sure," he said, "but you'll come back at some point, right?"
She was silent for a moment, then said, "Well, my usual bookstore closed its doors for the last time a few days ago, and I have been looking for a new one for a while." She looked up at him, a corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile.
"Yes," she said, and in that moment, his heart soared higher than a kite. "Yes, I think I might just come back again."
They'd been together on the Yellow Brick Road for only a few days, and already Fiyero was starting to wonder just what was he thinking, deciding to go along with this crazy bunch. Oh, yeah—he'd wanted to see Elphaba again. Well, he had, and she'd almost set him on fire, something he still couldn't really believe.
Thinking back on it made him wonder—would she believe him, if he told her who he really was? Probably not. He couldn't blame her, really—she'd lost her sister and her lover and had her best friend turn against her in the span of a few days. Anyone would snap under those circumstances, even him.
The problem he was facing now was: how could he get her to listen to him? She seemed pretty set on getting Nessarose's slippers back from Dorothy at all costs, and "setting talking scarecrows on fire" was most definitely one of them.
"Scarecrow?" Dorothy worriedly asked, snapping Fiyero out of his reverie. "Are you okay? I mean, it must be tough, trying to think without brains."
Oh, right. He'd given her the brainlessness excuse. Way to go, Tiggular, he thought. Out loud, he said, "Yeah, it is."
Dorothy patted him on the back, then opened her bag. "Oh," she said.
"What's wrong?" the Tin Man asked. Fiyero was pretty sure he'd seen the guy somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it. Besides, he wasn't really all that inclined to talk to him, especially since he seemed convinced that Elphaba was at fault for something he refused to divulge.
"I'm out of food," Dorothy said. "There's only some beef jerky left now—not nearly enough to last me a few more days, with Toto and the Lion to think of." She slumped against the tree, and sighed.
Fiyero glanced at the Cowardly Lion. He'd fallen asleep, and was now snoring peacefully, curled up underneath an apple—oh. Oh.
"Speaking of the Lion," he began, "Dorothy, I think I've found the answer to your problems."
Dorothy brightened. "Really?" she asked.
The Tin Man glanced at the Lion, then up at the apple tree. Then he said, "I have a perfectly good axe."
Fiyero shook his head. "No, it won't work," he said. "Remember the last time you tried it out?"
The Tin Man made a face. "Did you have to bring it up?" he asked. "That damn tree wouldn't stop yelling at me to drop my axe and threatening to drop a really heavy branch on me if I didn't."
"It doesn't look like it talks," Dorothy pointed out.
"So did the one that the Tin Man tried to chop down," Fiyero said, "and look what happened. No, I'd rather err on the safe side and climb. And possibly ask it very nicely."
The Lion let out a loud snore, just then, drawing their attention for a moment as he curled in even tighter on himself. His tail swished for a moment, then settled down.
"You might wake him up," Dorothy worriedly said.
"A tree being chopped down would certainly wake him up," he said. "My way's quieter."
"If you say so," the Tin Man said, and boosted him up onto the branches.
Fiyero had once been a champion climber, back when he was human. He'd loved climbing things when he was a little boy, and it had carried over into his adult life. Now that he was a talking bag of straw, it was simultaneously much easier and much more difficult. He was lighter, certainly, but at the same time he ran the risk of tearing on a branch or something.
Right. Okay, it looked as if the tree didn't talk, which was good. He inched closer to an apple, and stretched his hand out till his straw fingers almost, almost brushed it, and then—
"Who dares pick an apple from my branches without my permission?!" the tree boomed, and the branch Fiyero was on started shaking wildly. Actually, all the branches were shaking wildly. Fiyero almost swore as he held valiantly onto the branch in an effort not to be shaken off, but remembered that Dorothy was within earshot and settled for a more sanitized version.
"Crap!"
Then the Lion roared.
Now, in most lions, a roar was a warning. It showed teeth, rows of sharp teeth, that could crunch a human skull without much effort. It said that whoever made it meant business. And it was loud.
The Cowardly Lion's roar was also loud, but unlike the roars of its brethren, it served the same purpose as the shrieks of teenagers confronting a serial killer in the house they had been dared to stay in: to show pure terror.
Fiyero shut his eyes and groaned.
Luke opened his eyes and groaned.
Right. What was that dream all about? It had been a while since he'd last watched Wizard of Oz, and most of his dreams featuring that movie were usually much scarier. Granted, the Cowardly Lion's roar was scary, but...still.
Plus, he was a scarecrow in the dream, and that was—yeah, that was highly disturbing.
Well, he couldn't think about it now. What he did need to think about was—oh shit. Oh, shit, the manager was going to kill him when he got to the bookstore, it was thirty minutes past six and he was supposed to have woken up an hour ago, goddammit—
He rolled off the bed, and let out an undignified yelp.
"Greg!" he yelled. "Greg, for Christ's sake, I thought I asked you to replace my alarm yesterday!"
He didn't get an answer, which meant that Greg, most likely, was off gallivanting somewhere with his mysterious girlfriend, unknowingly rubbing Luke's lack of a love life in his face. Good for Greg, really, that he had someone he loved, but Luke was a bit sick of hearing about how perfect and beautiful this Daisy was.
"Asshole," he muttered out loud, but he staggered to his feet and to the bathroom, hoping that Greg hadn't used up all the hot water.
Luke,
Sorry for not waking you up. Hope you like the cream and cheese—I had to use all my charm to get Mark and Sandy to open their doors for me.
Luke polished off the last of the cream and cheese, then pocketed Greg's note. He had to give his roommate some credit, even if it was just for knowing the owners of Chicken and the Egg—Mark and Sandy Goode made the best Sunday morning breakfasts anywhere.
Granted, their breakfasts were best eaten slowly, to savor the taste, but Luke was in a hurry, and anyway, he'd enjoy their breakfast again on Sunday. That was something and Greg had agreed on: every Sunday morning, without fail, Greg would drag Luke out of bed and down to the restaurant for their breakfast. And, damn, was Mark's cream and cheese good, and it deserved to be enjoyed the way he'd intended them to.
Unfortunately, had Luke done that, he would've been even later. He quietly hoped that Mark didn't somehow sense it, and that if he did, that he would understand.
He dumped the plate into the dishwasher, and stopped himself from reaching for the Dawn. He remembered the last time that had happened all too well—Greg had absolutely refused to talk to him for days.
He started the dishwasher, snatched up a Post-It and a pen, and scribbled out a reply note.
Greg, he scribbled, then paused and tapped the end of the pen against his lips. Thanks for the breakfast, he wrote. Give the Goodes my thanks and tell them I'll find a way to get Julia to give them a discount at Seventh Heaven. Also, BUY AN ALARM CLOCK.
There. For more emphasis, he encircled the last four words.
Then he rushed out of the kitchen, grabbed his jacket and MP3 player as well as Greg's used copy of The Big Over Easy along the way, and then stepped out of his apartment.
It's my happy ending, so I'll say, goodbye...
Luke hummed along, as he strode down the sidewalk. As much as he protested when he first heard songs from Broadway musicals mixed in among his usual Top 40, he couldn't deny that Greg had good taste, at least when it came to musicals.
He snapped his fingers, mouthing along to the song, and spun around when it hit the chorus.
I'll take my bow, and disappear...
He soft-shoed, shuffled and tap-danced down the sidewalk, earning more than one incredulous look. Whatever—he was in a pretty good mood today, there was a chance he'd meet up with Emily Connell again, and life was actually really good. Even if he was late, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it, if Julia let him live long enough. As nice as she was, she was pretty strict when it came to things concerning the bookstore she managed.
He resisted the urge to belt out the chorus. There were some things you just did not do in the middle of a crowded New York street, and belting out the chorus to a Broadway song was one of them. Anyway, he could save that for later, if Greg was still out with his girlfriend.
No violins or phony tears, Aaron Tveit sang, just as Seventh Heaven's doors came into view.
...or he could make a grand entrance with it right now.
The word that's music to my ears is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye...
"Good-bye!" Luke belted out, pushing through the doors.
Julia looked up from her clipboard. "Nice effort, but not even Broadway musicals can distract me from the fact that you're late, Luke," she said, sounding distinctly disappointed in him. "What kept you?"
"My alarm clock broke," he said, taking out one earbud. "Greg was supposed to buy one, but he's so in love that I'm pretty sure it's messing with his head. He's usually so organized, you know."
Julia tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. "It's good for him, though," she argued. "I mean, he's happy now. Love looks good on him, Luke."
"I wish it looked good on me, too," Luke grumbled.
Julia clapped him on the back. "You'll get your turn soon enough," she lightly said, then, her voice turning serious, added, "And you're lucky it's a Tuesday morning and we haven't had a customer yet. You're going to check our inventory tomorrow—Mr. Gilles sold us at least twenty textbooks, and while he means well he usually never checks if they're in good condition or up-to-date, so I'm putting you on that."
Luke scrunched up his nose at the thought of Mr. Gilles' books. He'd dealt with the man his first day, and while he was quite nice if a bit conservative, half the books he sold were falling apart and the other half had been written back when good old Dick Nixon was still president.
"Can't Cory do it?" he asked.
"Tomorrow's his day-off," Julia pointed out. "And he's planning to spend it with R."
Luke groaned. "Is everyone dating but me?" he asked.
Julia patted his shoulder. "Like I said, mon frère," she said, "you'll get your turn."
"When I'm eighty, I bet."
Julia stuck her tongue out at him. "Who's to say?" she said. "I'll see you here bright and early tomorrow. Now, get to work!"
He'd been sitting behind the counter for two hours, reading about Jack Spratt's efforts to find out just who had killed Humpty Dumpty, when someone finally walked in. The bell rang and he looked up, hoping to see Emily again.
The woman that walked through the doors had brown hair, tied into a braid. She had glasses on, and Luke mentally gave her a point for going for the frameless sort. She wore a pink jacket, a pink skirt, and pink flats—the only thing that wasn't completely pink about her outfit was the red Star Trek shirt and the striped, knee-high socks. She even had a pink handbag, for Christ's sake, and a little pink hair clip in her hair, and Luke had never seen anyone with such an obvious thing for pink, of all the colors to latch on to.
She turned to him, then said, "Yes, I like pink. You can stop staring, you know."
Luke coughed. "Yeah, uh, sorry about that," he said. "It's just—I've only ever seen so much pink in the movies."
The woman shrugged. "It's a really good color," she said. "It means compassion and love. Plus, it goes so well with red and black. And green and metallic colors, but I like red better." She let out a sigh. "It's just a shame people think it's the Mean Bitch color." She looked around. "So, any romance novels to recommend?" she asked excitedly.
"Lisa Kleypas?" Luke tried. "I'm not really an expert, and the last time I suggested something popular like Twilight it didn't end so well."
"The movies weren't so bad," the woman thoughtfully said. "But yeah, you're right, the books aren't exactly the best out there. Also, Lisa Kleypas is great and all, but I'm more in the mood for Debbie Macomber or Susan Elizabeth Phillips right now. I don't suppose you have them?"
He racked his brain, trying to remember. "I think so," he said. At least, I'm pretty sure I saw Susan Elizabeth Phillips's name yesterday, he thought. "Stand back."
The woman blinked. "Why?"
"Because you're in my way," he replied. She narrowed her eyes at him, but stepped aside anyway.
Like yesterday, he jumped the counter. Unlike yesterday, he didn't quite stick the landing, and he ended up flat on the floor on his back, groaning.
The woman giggled. She actually looked quite nice when she giggled—she had dimples and everything, and her face lit up when she smiled, the way Emily's did. Her blue eyes seemed to twinkle behind her glasses for just a moment when she giggled.
"I swear," Luke said, knowing that he had lost any chance of impressing her somehow but valiantly trying to salvage the remains of his dignity, "I'm usually a lot better at this. My PE teacher said I had great form."
"In what year?" she asked.
"Junior year."
She laughed, then, and said, "That explains it! Well, are you just going to lie there all day or are you going to get up?"
"I landed flat on my ass in front of a pretty girl," he said, and didn't miss the shock on her face when she heard the words. "I want the ground to swallow me whole."
"Don't be so overdramatic!" she huffed. "Here, let me help you up."
She held out a hand, pulled him up to his feet, and said, "I'm Amanda, and pretty isn't usually a word I'd use to describe me. Thanks."
"Nice to meet you, Amanda," he said. "I'm Luke, and I usually don't fall flat on my ass when I do that. You're welcome."
Amanda smiled. "Well," she said, "practice does make perfect." She patted him on the back, and added, "So, where's the romance section?"
"Take my hand and I'll show you, my lady," he replied, bowing exaggeratedly to her and reaching out his hand.
She giggled again, took his hand, and followed after him, as he led her to the romance section.
"Oh, and by the way," she said, as they walked past the sci-fi section, "what was that book you were reading earlier?"
"The Big Over Easy," Luke answered. "My roommate's a fan of mysteries, among other things. He also happens to leave books around the apartment a lot."
"Looks like we both have bookish roommates, then," Amanda remarked, scanning the shelves as they came to a stop in front of the romance section. "Mine's a fan of fantasy—she has the entire Discworld series." She smiled, softly, and this time Luke caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared.
Ah. He'd seen that look before, most especially on Cory's face while he and R were still pining after each other. It was the look of someone who was in love and knew it, and also was certain their love had no chance of being reciprocated at all. It was the look of someone who was in love, but was resigned, no, was content with just being friends, and was afraid that if they made a move, then things would change for the worse.
"What's she like?" he asked.
Amanda sighed. "She's...well, she's really frustrating at times," she said. "She always tries to hide herself, even from me, and while I can understand why, I just want her to open up to me sometimes."
"Don't I know it," Luke huffed. "I wish I'd brought some drinks along, then we'd toast to our roommates, infuriating as they are."
"I think whoever's managing this place would be very unhappy about that," Amanda said. "But, hey—did yours get mad at you when you put Dawn in the dishwasher by accident?"
Luke chuckled at the memory. "He didn't talk to me for days," he said. "I had to twist a few arms just to get him to acknowledge my presence. Did yours?"
"She banned me from using the dishwasher at all for the next two weeks," she said. "And made me wash the dishes. By hand. Like it wouldn't ruin my manicure!"
"Did it?"
"Did it what?"
"Ruin your manicure."
She huffed, and held up her nails. They were painted pink, but he could see that it was chipping. "Of course it did," she said. "I can't just nip back around to the salon and ask them to redo it, the manicures there are very expensive, but worth every penny." She sighed, then pulled Nobody's Baby but Mine off the shelf.
"Is that any good?" he asked.
"Phillips is always good," Amanda firmly said. "Why, are you planning to buy one of hers?"
He shook his head. "Just curious," he said. "You're pretty into romance novels."
"They're an escape," she said. "I mean, the real world isn't exactly conducive to great, epic romances that sweep you off your feet. It's full of people who just want a one-night stand or some fun for a week and don't think twice about—about using somebody who's really in it for love just to get their fun."
He glanced at her free hand. It had clenched into a tight fist, and her lips had pressed into a thin, angry line. "Rocky love life?" he asked her.
She sighed. "My first boyfriend cheated, but he was a shit who was just doing it for a bet and I figured out I liked mostly girls by the time we broke up," she said. "My first girlfriend left me after a week. It was just a phase for her." I was just a phase for her, went unspoken, but Luke heard it all the same. The woman standing in front of him had her heart broken too many times for her to even think about trying again, and had gotten into romance novels to escape from her reality. "And my second dated me for two months before dumping me for somebody else."
Luke felt a little guilty. Granted, he and most of the people he'd slept with in the past didn't have any illusions about what they had, but he wondered about the few real relationships he had, and if they could've lasted had he been more serious and mature at the time, and the one relationship where he was the one being cheated on.
"You'll get your turn soon enough," he said, echoing Julia's words.
She shook her head. "Maybe," she said, but her tone said she didn't really believe him. "I doubt it, but I'm honestly fine with it. I mean, I don't want to get my hopes up, you know. I've been burned too many times."
"What was that Pink song again?" he asked. "You gotta get up and try, and try, and try."
She smiled, a small, tired, hesitant half-smile. "I'm not sure if I should," she said. "And, by the way, you're a really good singer. You should be in a band, not in a bookstore."
He thought of the last time he'd been in a band, and huffed out a bitter laugh. "God, no," he said. "Last time I was in one, I got involved with the drummer and she ditched me for the bassist."
"What was the name?" she asked.
"New York Royals," he answered, and let out a sigh when he saw the flash of recognition. "Yes, I was the front man, yes, we were the ones who did Love Is Not A Crime, no, we fell out of touch and good riddance to them." He laughed, bitterly. "The only one I didn't hate by the end of it was the guitarist, and that was R."
"It must've been tough," she said. "I mean, you put your heart into that band, right?"
"I did," he said. "And look what happened." He took a book off the shelf at random—How to Kill a Rock Star.
There's more than one way, he thought to himself.
"And anyway," he continued, "it wasn't so bad. I met my roommate after the band fell apart—we hated each other at first, but he's one of my best friends now, infuriating as he is sometimes. How did you meet yours?"
"During freshman orientation," she said. "It was an accident, actually. Every room was already occupied, and she had a private suite all to herself. The teacher wanted to know who was willing to give me a place to stay, she raised her hand to ask a question, and the next thing I know I was bringing my things up to her room." She chuckled, the kind of chuckle given by someone looking back on their younger, more naive days in disbelief. "We used to hate each other as well."
"What changed?"
"It's a long story," Amanda answered, "but it does involve two movie tickets to The Avengers, a romance novel, and a basket of chocolates."
"Just a sneak peek?" he teased. "You're mean."
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Or maybe I just want to sit down for a good hour or so without worrying about any deadlines while telling it," she said. "What about yours? What changed?"
"Long story," he said. "It involves a DVD of Rent, popcorn, and a sci-fi-themed bookmark." He pushed How to Kill a Rock Star back onto its shelf. "And, like yours, it's too long to tell with deadlines and without a chair to sit down in."
"So," she said, "how about we talk about it tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "It's my coworker's day-off tomorrow, and I'm taking over for him," he explained. "How about the day after tomorrow?"
"I've got to meet with my mother then," she said. "What about Friday?"
"Well..." he trailed off. Right, Greg was going to be watching Matilda the Musical with his girlfriend, and Cory had explicitly told him to count him out for the usual Friday night meeting that week, as there was an essay he was going to finish. R was going to be attending a family reunion in Chicago and wouldn't get back till the early morning, and Luke didn't particularly enjoy drinking alone in a bar.
"How does Friday night sound?" he asked. "There's a friend of mine who owes me a few favors and works at Starbucks. I'll pull a few strings and get him to give us a discount or two."
She grinned. "I'll admit, I always liked their cappuccinos," she said. "What time should I be expecting you?"
"How does seven sound?"
"Good." She curtsied exaggeratedly to him. "I'll meet you there, Sir Luke."
"And I'll be expecting you as well, Lady Amanda," he replied, affecting a fake British accent as he bowed again.
She laughed. It sounded, strangely, musical.
Luke (12:01 PM): hey greg
Luke (12:02 PM): i think i'm starting to like this job
Greg (12:04 PM): What did I tell you?
Greg (12:06 PM): 7th Heaven is the best bookshop to work at around.
Luke (12:08 PM): yeah it's pretty good but it isn't just that
Luke (12:10 PM): btw i didn't tell you who came in yesterday
Greg (12:11 PM): I'll bite. Who came in?
Luke (12:12 PM): emily connell herself
Greg (12:15 PM): Sorry about that, I almost dropped the phone.
Greg (12:16 PM): You're serious? Emily Connell came in? I didn't think she read anything that wasn't Vogue.
Luke (12:18 PM): she's a huge fan of scifi you two would get along like a house on fire
Luke (12:19 PM): geek out about dr who and firefly and all that
Luke (12:20 PM): just don't tell anyone, she made me swear not to
Greg (12:21 PM): You're telling me right now.
Luke (12:22 PM): because you're special greggykins
Greg (12:25 PM): Never call me that ever again, Luke.
Greg (12:26 PM): And no, I won't tell anyone about your crush's thing for books.
Luke (12:27 PM): THANK YOU
Luke (12:29 PM): also did you buy the alarm clock this is v important, i can't risk coming into work late again or i'll get stuck dealing with mr. gilles again
Greg (12:30 PM): One: Mr. Gilles isn't that bad, he's just behind the times.
Greg (12:31 PM): Two: Yes, I do have the alarm clock. Come home, I bought you lunch and it's getting cold fast.
Luke (12:32 PM): THANK YOU
Luke (12:32 PM): and i'm on my way
And here we end the first chapter. Next chapter: we meet Greg, and Luke comes across someone who sends a chill down his spine.
R, Cory, and Julia are from a different musical entirely. Guess what musical that is and who they used to be, and if you get it right, you get to send in a prompt for either Wicked, RENT or Les Mis, and I will write it for you.