I'll Make a Writer Out of You {Bookshop Episode IV}

 {previous episode}

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  Dinner with Merida that evening was quite a relief. They sat on either side of Corey’s kitchen table, eating green beans and carrots and radishes that Merida had brought. The food was only decent, but it was less expensive than going out, and neither of them minded.
  “How’d the interview go?” Merida asked, setting a paper napkin in her lap and putting one elbow on the table.
  “It wasn’t much of an interview, to be honest,” Corey replied with a shrug. “All they did was explain the business and give me a schedule.”
  Merida nodded slowly and took a bite of radish. She chewed slowly, thinking, and then said, “They must really like you.”
  “Yeah. Can we talk about something else?” Corey asked. She didn't want to mention the time travel portion of the interview because of how crazy it seemed.
  The other girl shrugged. “Sure. Is it that traumatic?”
  Corey poked a single green bean with her fork. “No, just weird. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
  “Okay then, what else interesting has happened lately?” Merida paused for a minute, then exclaimed, “Oh! That cute guy you met the other day.”
  Corey smiled. Boys were a better topic of conversation. “Right, the McDonald’s guy!”
  “Describe him.” The other girl set her fork down and propped her chin on her hand.
  “Well, he had long black hair, not that long, but about shoulder length.” Corey set her hand just above her shoulder to show how long. “He was really pale, so I bet he dyed it, unless he’s a vampire, then I guess not.” She stopped. Vampires would be just her luck these days.
  “I wouldn’t date a vampire, personally, but it’s all up to you,” Merida said, stifling a giggle.
  Corey scrunched her forehead into an exaggerated scowl. “You don’t have to rub it in that I’m single and you’re not.”
  Merida scoffed. “You’ll find someone. Maybe McDonald’s Boy is the one.”
  Corey giggled. “Well, he does have these gorgeous eyes,” she continued thoughtfully. “This is so cheesy, but they were like emeralds, or the sun on seawater.”
  Merida sat quietly for a minute while her best friend gushed about how much she loved green eyes. Then she interrupted and asked, “Do you think Rose is cute?”
  Corey shook her head. “I guess he’s kinda cute, but his personality cancels it out. He’s obnoxious! You don’t just go around telling strangers their lives are worthless and expecting them to like you!”
  “Dang,” Merida said. “Why’d you go get a job with him then?” She pushed her bleached blonde curls behind her shoulder.
  “Don’t even get me started,” Corey replied. “His parents are nice, but I really wish he’d just leave me alone. I’m not interested, seriously!”
  Merida nodded. “Make sure you tell him that tomorrow.”

  Corey didn’t actually see Rose the next day. Katelyn was the only one in the bookshop when she arrived, which was relieving. The older woman greeted her with a smile. Corey had dressed more professionally than usual, but Kaitlyn was wearing skinny jeans and a purple v-neck shirt. Corey studied it and mentally picked out her clothes for tomorrow.
  “I’ll give you a tour, first,” Katelyn said. She set down the book she had been holding, a blue one with a slip of notebook paper sticking out from between the pages.
  “We sort the books by genre first, and then by the author’s last name,” she explained, leading Corey to the window. Light from the sunny sky outside illuminated the three round shelves in the window, making the rest of the bookshop look dark in comparison. Corey tried to read the signs atop the shelves backwards, and discerned that they said, “New Arrivals.” She picked up a book from the one nearest her; it had a vivid picture of a ballgown on the front, but she realized that Katelyn had already moved on.
  Against the wall by the window were two armchairs and a worn red couch. A quote from C.S. Lewis was painted on the wall above the couch: “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”
  Corey took it in, then turned back to look at the window, and then at the shelves further into the shop. The bookshop was odd and mismatched, but it was charming. Three rows of black metal shelves with wooden letters atop them, reading out “Historical,” “Contemporary,” and “Nonfiction,” divided the front area from the back, style wise as well as physically.
  “This is our reading nook,” Katelyn said. Corey nodded and turned her attention back to the couches. “Patrons are welcome to browse, but my rule is that if they’ve been here longer than half an hour, you should ask them if they need any help.”
  “Of course,” Corey replied.
  “It’s in your best interests to memorize where the different titles are,” Katelyn continued, taking long strides towards the first bookcase. These were the shelves of Kaitlyn’s books that Corey had seen when she first met Rose. The letters on the top shelf read, “Written In House.” The top three shelves were filled with books, and the bottom shelf had a potted cactus on it.
  The back side of the case was historical fiction, and so was the next shelf. The next after that held contemporary fiction and romance. The sci-fi and dystopian sections shared a single bookcase by the back wall. Corey recognized a few books that she had read in high school. Across the aisle were the nonfiction and children’s sections. The front bookcase on the other side was labeled, “Writer’s Favorites.” There was a single copy of An Orphan Boy, along with several contemporary novels.
  “Rose picked these out,” Katelyn commented, picking up An Orphan Boy and returning it to its proper shelf. “See anything you like?”
  Corey looked at the selection, but shook her head. “I don’t really read,” she explained. She’d been saying that a lot recently.
  “Then you haven’t found the right book yet,” Katelyn said wisely. “If someone had asked me at your age if I wrote, I would have said the same thing, but look at me now!” She waved her hand toward the “Written In-House” shelf. “What if someone asks you for recommendations? Got to be prepared!” She smiled.
  “Oh, and can you take these tea bags to the back room?” she asked as she walked back to the counter. Corey nodded and followed her, taking the grocery bag that Katelyn offered.
  “We keep them for our book club meetings on Thursdays,” she explained. “You can put them on the table.”
  Corey walked back through the shelves to the back room, but the table -or time machine, she wasn’t sure what to call it anymore- was missing. She stared at the spot where it had been for a minute, then set the bag on the coffeemaker instead. Neither Michael nor Rose was anywhere to be seen. Corey stepped into the space where it used to be, just to make sure it hadn’t turned invisible or something. Then she turned around and inspected the door. It was average sized and made of a sturdy wood frame. There was no way the giant plywood box could have fit through the door, even if it was turned on its side. She frowned and examined all four walls. There was a thin, cobweb-covered window at the top of the back wall, but it was even smaller than the door, and didn’t appear to be openable.
  “Katelyn?” Corey called as she walked out of the room. “What happened to the table?”
Katelyn looked confused for a moment, but then an amused smile spread across her face.
  “I forgot Rose took it earlier,” she said. “He likes to skip time whenever he goes back for research.”
  Corey frowned at “skip time.” “You must do a lot of that,” Corey commented. “Research.” Katelyn nodded in reply.
  “Research, but also inspiration. That feeling of seeing a paper boy, or a homeless woman on the side of the road, and wondering how they got there. The 'how' is what we write.”
  Corey thought for a minute. Her favorite kind of pictures weren't the ones that caught the sun perfectly through the autumn leaves or portrayed a stunning sunset over the beach, but other things. A cracked slide. The crowd that rushes out of a place after a concert. A parade float. Something with a little more story, but that left the who, how, and why to the imagination. Those were the holes that Katelyn wanted to fill with her writing. That was something to ponder later.
  Just then, a scraping sound came from the back room. Corey spun around, startled, but Katelyn was unfazed. A moment later Rose emerged with a notebook and pencil clutched to his chest.
  “Hey Corey!” he called, waving. “Want to see what I've been doing?” Without waiting for Corey's response, he beckoned her over to the reading nook. Corey glanced at Katelyn, silently asking permission, and Katelyn nodded. She sank down next to Rose on the sofa. He slid next to her and unfolded the notebook over both of their laps.
  At the top of one page was a rough sketch of a building, with the words “tall,” “towering,” “rustic brick,” and “weathered,” scribbled in a column next to it. Underneath was a written paragraph.
  Corey read silently, “Though the sun shone and the clouds were few, the man's hair and beard dripped with water. He looked as though someone had dunked his head into a basin of water, which was exactly what had happened to him. (speculation...) Of course, the man did not mind. He wiped the wet hair off of his forehead, but smiled. His children were running around further down the street.”
  Corey stopped reading and looked up at Rose. “That's pretty good,” she said, impressed.
  “Where do you think it's going next?”
  She considered it for a moment. Men playing with kids like that was an uncommon sight, but what would that mean in a story?
  Finally, she said, “I think his wife left him, or died. He has these four kids, but they're following him around in public like a mother. That's not normal. Or he adopted them and he never had a wife to begin with.”
  Rose nodded approvingly. “I like that. Want to help me write it?”
  He wasn't asking for a prediction of the plot, he was asking for advice? Corey was shocked, and tried to decline as politely as possible, but Rose wasn't having it.
  “We're going people watching sometime,” he said firmly. “You will write a chapter, if nothing else.” Corey thought he sounded like an English teacher.
  “Alright,” she replied, although really she was uncertain, and Rose closed his notebook.
  “Someday you'll learn to love books,” he said wistfully.

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 It's been a long time and I'm sorry. Making no promises for next time because school. Can I get an "I survived three weeks of sophomore year" certificate because it's been a long three weeks.
The title is a Mulan reference. If you didn't get it, "Dishonor on your whole family. Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow." - Mushu.

How do you feel about this part? Any predictions for next time? Opinion on the roman numerals, because they're going to get big before long?
(also please go give my last short story some love; it could really use it.)