"Yes. Do you have anything by Devyn Perkins?"
"You mean Devyn Perspective?"
"Um...no..."
"Devyn Perkins is his real name, Perspective is his pen name." I raised my eyebrows, "Oh. Well, yes, then Devyn Perspective, I guess." The woman smiled and nodded, "Upstairs. Let me bring you." She stepped out from behind the desk and walked over to the escalator. I followed her and we rode up the escalator. Then, she lead me through the rows of book cases, and motioned t0 a small table labeled, "Best Sellers of 2009-2010." I looked down and the first thing I saw was a thick hardcover book with a red cover. There were words embossed that covered the entire cover. In large crimson letters over the words it said, "Ginger Kiss". At the bottom of the cover, in all caps, was the name "Devyn Perspective," written in black instead of crimson. There was a stack of this book and next to it was a stack of a slightly thinner book with a picture of a one-way street in nighttime, a single traffic light shedding brightness onto the words, "Penny Lane Knees". At the bottom of the cover, once again in all caps, "Devyn Perspective" was embossed in a dark blue print.
A whole side of the table was covered in piles of all the books Bubba had mentioned, and a few more. I noticed a small sign that said Devyn's pen name, and underneath it was a pile of the book Bubba had told me was dedicated to me. It was thick, but not nearly as thick as Ginger Kiss, Penny Lane Knees, How to Make a Victim, or Cranberry Juice. It had a picture of an "old fashion" TV, with antennae sticking out of the top. On the the top of the screen it showed static, and underneath that were the words, "Friday Nights." This one, along with Ginger Kiss and High School had the words "New York Times bestseller" written underneath "Devyn Perspective" at the bottom of the cover. The rest of the cover was cream-colored. I picked up this book and opened to the first page after the publishers and title. It said in italics, "For Justin: If you'll ever see." I swallowed. I wanted to think that he meant the book, though that made me feel guilty for never reading his work. But I could face that guilt if it meant avoiding what he truly meant by the dedication. I took a breath and turned to the first page. Underneath the chapter number and name were the first words of the book, and I read them quickly, "She called me. She had just been crying. Maybe before I met her, if someone had called me after they had just been crying, I wouldn't have known. But now, after all this time, I could hear the strain in her voice and I recognized the not-yet-even breaths. I could see her face in my mind: her eyes red and swollen, her lips parted, taking in shaky breaths, her cheeks tear-stained and red, and her hair sticking to her forehead from sweat. Even in this vision of her in her darkest time, when she was at her weakest, most vulnerable state, she was beautiful." I blinked. Devyn wasn't talking about his character. I looked down at the book and closed it. I picked up Ginger Kiss and High School, figuring I might at well read the most popular ones first, and headed down the escalator to the cash register, already unzipping my black hole of a purse to find my wallet.
© 2010
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