AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I always avoid eye contact with people. Whether it’s from fear that someone from the church will recognize me and tell my parents where I’ve been, or shame over how I don’t look like other girls my age. With my too childish clothing, lack of hair styling and makeup; I look more like a twelve-year-old than a nearly twenty-year-old.
This girl, the one working here in the library, is probably close to my age. Yet she looks profoundly more mature. Where she’s wearing her hair in big bouncy curls and her features are accentuated with makeup–I’m wearing my long hair in a braid and have never worn makeup in my life. Mom says only whores wear makeup. The blonde's top is sleeveless and dips low in the front, showing off her chest. I’m wearing a cream colored T-shirt that covers my arms past my elbows and is at least a size too big. Our appearances couldn’t be more contrasting.
She checks in my returns, then moves on to the new stack.
“Oh, I loved this one,” she says when she gets to the racy cover romance novel.
My cheeks burn and I briefly consider lying and telling her I didn’t mean to grab it. She has it checked out and continues talking before I can speak. A sense of relief washes over me. What I have trouble admitting to myself though is that my relief may be because the book is coming home with me after all.
“Chapter seven is where things really get spicy,” she whispers to me, leaning over the counter and giggling.
I’m pretty sure my cheeks are the shade of a tomato. I thank her and shove the books into my bag when she’s done. I need to get out of here.
I’ve got an hour before I need to be home. I walk casually down the main road through town. This route adds half a mile to my trip home, but I can always run if I’m worried I’m short on time. The shops are all open and people are bustling around running errands and shopping. It’s almost Halloween, and most of the storefronts are decorated with pumpkins and fake cobwebs. I’ve never been allowed to celebrate Halloween. No costumes, no trick-or-treating, and definitely no movies featuring witches or magic. Dad says that magic and everything related to it makes a mockery of true connections to God, like the one he has. The onlyrealmagic is the divine connection he has to God and the power He grants Pastor Johnson.
I’m almost to my turn off for home when I see a sign in one of the shop windows that sparks an idea.
Help Wanted - Food Delivery, Transportation Provided
I pop into the small bakery to find a woman behind the counter who’s likely only a few years older than I am. Her hair is dark and cut short, about an inch above her shoulders. Her top is cut across the waist, showing several inches of her stomach. She’s wearing yellow framed glasses that match the yellow in the logo on her shirt–Bea’s Bakery. A gold hoop hugs her nostril. I envy her looks and I wonder briefly if a nose ring would suit me.
She greets me with a big smile and the tension I had in my shoulders a moment ago eases.
“How can I help you?” she asks, a notepad in her hand.
I make sure I’m looking at her, and not at my own shoes like I normally would.
“I was wondering about the sign outside?” I say, gesturing toward it.
“Oh. Well, I’m looking for someone who can deliver sandwich orders. It would only be on weekdays during lunch time for about two hours. It’s not a full-time job. Most of the deliveries are right here on Main Street or up at the campus. For those orders, we have a moped. Were you interested in applying?”
“Yes,” I tell her, not really thinking it through all the way.
“Well, you need to be over eighteen for insurance,” she tells me, looking me over.
My childish appearance once again makes me self conscious.
“I’m Nineteen,” I tell her, trying to sound confident, mature.
“Great. Here’s an application. Bring it back whenever you can and we can chat more. I’m Beatrice, but everyone calls me Bea. I own the place.”
She owns this place? Perhaps she’s older than I assumed.
“I’m Aubrey. I’ll get this back to you right away. Thank you,” I tell her and take the paper she hands me.
I put it gently in my bag and give her a small wave as I make my way back outside.
It’s a long shot, convincing my parents to let me have a job. If I can word a few things the right way, I might be able to make this happen. I run the rest of the way home, excited to make a plan.
By the time I get back home, it’s after 4 o’clock. Mom should be home from her Friday afternoon bible study group soon. Dad’s study door is still closed. I hurry into my room to hide my new books while I have the time.
My bedroom is as childish and embarrassing as my wardrobe. I never get to watch television or read magazines and my phone has no internet access. It only sends and receives calls and texts. That doesn’t stop me from realizing that most girls my age probably don’t still have the painted butterflies on their walls from when they were seven. Other nineteen-year-olds surely have pictures of friends and movie stars where I have crosses on the wall.
I lift the mattress on my bed and tuck the books between the box spring and the mattress, gazing at the cover of the romance book again for a few seconds. I hear the front door open. Mom’s home. I hurry to place the mattress back down quietly and go out to greet her before she can make her way to me.
“How was bible study?” I ask her as I make my way out of my room into the hallway and catch sight of her.
She dumps her purse on the entry table and kicks off her shoes, trading them for her house slippers. Her Bible still in the crook of her arm, she moves toward the kitchen and I follow her.
