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benwvatt · 7 years

Text

peraltiago bookstore AU

fandom: brooklyn nine-nine

word count: 9.3k

genre: fluff

warnings: none :))

here are the first 3 chapters of this au // found here on ao3

When Amy Santiago was in high school, in a contest to see who could make the best senior project, she ran a book drive for a year and a half. She remembers quietly marching into the public library, scouring through stacks of used books for the perfect ones to buy. The staff came to know her by name, and learned to always have spare change on hand when Santiago was in the building.

When people ask how she could afford to run the book drive, ultimately storing ten or fifteen boxes of books in her cramped bedroom, Amy looks at the ground. She doesn’t buy books from Barnes & Noble. She keeps her eyes open, visiting used bookstores and city libraries in search of good deals and willing people. Amy isn’t especially proud, but she carries a sack of quarters and dimes in her backpack to buy books.

Once she runs out of coins, once she’s reduced to paying with pennies, Amy ups the ante on donations. Kylie helps her organize posters, promising service hours in exchange for books. People flood — no, they trickle — into the school library, offering lightly used copies of books the English teachers mandated.

Amy should be disappointed students never bothered to flick The Scarlet Letter or Great Expectations open, but she grows numb to the phenomenon. After all, a book is a book. She can’t complain.

She’s always been frugal. Once, she wore the same glasses for three years because renewing her prescription was too expensive. Growing up in a tight-knit family of ten as the youngest and only daughter, there hasn’t always been room for extra expenses. Amy recalls wearing hand-me-down school uniforms and reusing her brothers’ binders from school, in a desperate attempt to make ends meet a little more. With her mother staying at home and her father earning a policeman’s salary, life isn’t easy.

After high school, when all the books are donated, adversity does ease its grip on Amy Santiago.

For one thing, she can finally afford a nice pair of glasses. She studies art history in college, filling her small-but-orderly dorm (later, apartment) with used textbooks. Amy works at Foster High School in Brooklyn, spending half her day teaching art history and the other half working in the library. Her salary isn’t bad, seeing as she technically has two jobs, and she finally has time to breathe.

Amy stumbles into her apartment one morning, after staying up talking with the home economics teacher, and realizes she needs something new to fall in love with.

Charles Boyle is a good person. He’s excitable and friendly, more positive than he really should be, and Amy wishes she could be that energetic. She’d probably need two or three shots of espresso, or maybe a drink of straight-up vodka, to get on his level. New to the district and full of ideas, Boyle is the kind of person Amy has never met before. He brings all the teachers snacks when it comes time for staff meetings, and his creations are of the arcane sort: sourdough bread with a touch of tradition, cupcakes covered in lacy frosting flowers.

One quiet Saturday, Amy confronts Charles about this emptiness, stopping by his apartment to confess. She tells him of the dreams she has to do more than work two jobs, and he recommends she visit someplace new.

Come to think of it, Charles says in that hopelessly ecstatic voice, his best friend just started working at a store across town.

“Want to come with?” Charles asks, already grabbing his coat from a chair. “I’ve been thinking of visiting.”

Amy’s unsure of what kind of place Charles’ friend works, but he promises she’ll like it, so she races to the car and feels seventeen again. Not in the angsty, stressed way, but because Amy has long since wanted to experience breathlessness and awe again.

They spend half an hour driving there, battling bad traffic and the rising need to honk at the cars ahead, but Charles finally pulls up.

“It’s better than I thought it’d be!” Amy lets out a deep breath of relief. She knows, before ever stepping in, that this place is home.

Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner have been married for ages, first in an emotional sense and legally a handful of years later. When Kevin earned a promotion and a bonus from the private college where he teaches, he and his husband made an investment for the long run.

A short commute away from their apartment, a small but beloved bookstore now stands where a video store once did. Raymond ‘Ray’ Holt is the proud owner of this establishment, looking out across the street as a Mustang pulls up.

McGintley, the most relaxed entrepreneur Holt’s ever met, recommended he hire the old workers for the bookstore. Kevin and Ray decided to do so, seeing as Jake and Gina weren’t making much more than minimum wage at the video store.

Raymond suggested they name the store ‘Shelf Life’, earning a laugh from his husband. McGintley feigned amusement before telling Siri to look up the meaning of the phrase.

Jake Peralta and Gina Linetti carpool to work, apparently a tradition they have from grade school. When they first began working at Shelf Life, they had trouble adjusting. In particular, Jake had some fixation on the Die Hard franchise. With time, though, both Linetti and Peralta adjusted to working at the bookstore.

The store isn’t especially large to begin with, but Holt instructs both Jake and Gina to memorize its layout. He and Kevin have saved for who-knows-how-long to afford this place, and they’re not giving it up anytime soon. Though Jake and Gina groan when asked to draw maps of the store as a test, they later thank Holt when a reporter gives Shelf Life a five-star review, with a special paragraph praising the workers.

Although Jake and Gina had general knowledge of films when they worked at the video store, they’re supposed to go the extra mile now that Holt’s their boss. For one thing, knowing about books helps sell and recommend them to customers. For another, Shelf Life has a used books section with lower prices. Jake and Gina often go to library sales, searching for deals, so the bookstore can resell books.

The excited look on a child’s face, as they hug faded books to their chests, makes everything worth it.

While Gina knows more about realistic and romance novels, Jake is an expert on adventure and fantasy books. They try to familiarize themselves with other genres, knowing how hard Holt and Kevin have worked to run the bookstore. Within a few weeks, Jake and Gina can’t hear ‘Dickens’ or ‘Steinbeck’ without thinking about Shelf Life.

Every effort adds up. Jake and Gina quiz each other about the New York Times Best Sellers and plan weekend trips to book sales. They walk into work with a box of books and a receipt. Holt reimburses them, sometimes making fun of their taste, but always looks out across the store with pride. His to-do list is always completed, no matter how minimal the improvement.

Someone needs to put up the string of pride flags above the LGBT aisle, or choose the music to play in the store. (Every day, Jake says John Philip Sousa was not the Skrillex of his day, but Holt never listens.)

Before long, Holt realizes he can’t do everything. The store is growing, with a reliable clientele, and it needs more workers. Jake and Gina get promotions after learning so much about literature. They put up a ‘we’re hiring’ sign in the front window, and people wanting to interview soon line up. Holt hires Terry Jeffords as manager, and Norm Scully and Michael Hitchcock as cashiers.

Orientation day is interesting, to say the least. Terry is the most enthusiastic manager Holt can imagine. He shows everyone pictures of his twin daughters, and Holt makes a mental note to start stocking more children’s books. It’s clear Terry Jeffords is a good leader, even if he won’t stop referring to himself in third person.

Hitchcock and Scully are nothing like Terry. They only agreed to take the jobs if they could sit all day, which Holt agreed to, because he finds it ridiculous cashiers are expected to stand for eight hours. Hitchcock and Scully easily learn the ropes, scanning without a second thought. Holt’s a little worried they’re not charismatic enough, though. He hopes they improve with time.

With three new employees and a bustling store, Holt makes plans to open a second bookstore with Kevin. Terry leaves about ten notes in the suggestion box, recommending books to order, and Holt knows he hired a good manager.

Now, his cashiers might need a bit of training. That’s another story for another day.

Amy excitedly walks up the steps to Shelf Life, with Charles behind her. He’s winded by the time he reaches the storefront. Upon opening the door and hearing the bell ring, Amy is greeted by Jake, Charles’ best friend. While Amy takes in the scent of books and furniture polish, Charles and Jake chatter away. Amy introduces herself as Charles’ work friend, then shakes Jake’s hand.

“Wow, firm handshake,” he remarks.

“I took a seminar,” Amy brags.

Jake seems to take Amy’s peculiarity in stride, joking she should give him pointers. She can see why Charles is such good friends with him.

“So, how’s life working at the high school?” Jake asks. “I do not envy you. Give me a bookstore any day over home ec class.”

“You work retail, Jake,” Charles retorts. “After the first couple of years of home ec, you learn what mistakes kids’ll make before they even make them. Anyway, I only teach four classes. I’m not like Amy.”

“What does that mean?” Amy demands, pretending to be insulted. “I like having two jobs!”

Amy explains, “See, I majored in art history, but there aren’t enough kids who sign up. So I teach in the mornings and I’m the librarian during the afternoon. The other librarian covers for me in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a librarian?” Jake asks, motioning toward the shelves. “Okay, I hear about your handshake lessons, but not this?”

“Jake, she’s just really proud of the handshake seminar,” Charles jokes. “She keeps a binder at home, full of notes from the lectures and practice sessions.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding about the binder,” Jake groans.

Amy shakes her head, and Jake asks to see pictures of the binder. “My handshake is pretty weak, if you haven’t noticed, and I could use the help.”

They switch phone numbers so Amy can show him the binder once she gets home.

“Hey, it’s been great talking with you, but I have to run,” Jake says. “The local library is having a book sale, and it’s about to start.”

“Oh, can I come?” Amy asks. “I’ve been thinking about doing a book drive at the library, and the opportunity just presented itself.”

“Yeah, feel free to come!” Jake answers, with a wide smile. “Charles, you want to join us?”

“Nah,” Charles replies. “I have to prep a lesson for Monday. We’re making meringues, and my class has the hardest time with them.”

“Alright, Charles,” Amy responds. “See you Monday morning! Good luck with the meringues.”

Jake stops by his manager’s office, checking out of Shelf Life, and calls his friend Gina to take over for him. “She goes on the shift after me,” he explains. “We used to do more book sales together, but Saturday is when her girlfriend’s free so I go alone now.”

“If you want, I could go with you,” Amy offers. “You know, more than just this once.”

Jake takes her up on the offer. “Thank you so much. Gina’s training to become a dance instructor, so she doesn’t work very many hours anymore. The training, along with her relationship with Rosa, really limits her working hours.”

Amy thanks the heavens Gina has a girlfriend. “Wait 一 Rosa Diaz?”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “How do you know her?”

As they walk to to the parking lot and reach Jake’s car, Amy notices Jake opens the passenger door for her. It’s only polite, she knows, but still very nice.

“We were college roommates.” After getting into Jake’s car, Amy conjures an image of Rosa in her mind, and wonders if Gina is anything like her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I knew her back then. I’ve seen photographs of her teen years and everything. Did you know she had pink hair for a while?”

Jake laughs, while Amy texts Charles a ‘thank you’ for introducing her to Shelf Life. It’s a short ten-minute drive, and Amy recognizes the library when she and Jake exit the car. “Oh, the sale is here?”

“Yes, that is why we drove here,” Jake remarks. He and Amy grab red plastic baskets once they enter. They ‘divide and conquer’, so to speak, to best serve their interests. There are rows and rows of books, spine side up, laid out on the tables.

“Jake! Get over here!” Amy hisses, after a good ten minutes of looking around. “Look! Someone donated all the Harry Potters.”

“Nice! I’ve never read Rowling, but I know a good deal when I see one.”

Amy takes the first four books from the series, while Jake puts the last three in his basket. She tries to ignore the fact that Jake hasn’t read Harry Potter. He works at a bookstore, for heaven’s sake.

They spend twenty-five minutes shopping at the book sale, before mutually deciding to go to the check-out. Jake looks over at Amy’s basket, impressed. Moby Dick and Heart of Darkness sit at the top. Meanwhile, he has The Raven Boys and Paper Towns above a bunch of other contemporary novels.

“Amy Santiago?” asks the woman counting the books.

“Mrs. Frederick! It’s so good to see you again!” Amy responds. “Um, this is Jake. He works at the bookstore on 8th Street, Shelf Life, so I came with him today. He's a friend of a friend.”

After an awkward pause, Amy explains she ran a book drive in senior year and now works at Foster High School. Jake nods appreciatively (he later explains he’s horrible at small talk, which Amy kind of already knew) and doesn't question Amy’s ‘friend of a friend’ explanation.

Mrs. Frederick, thankfully, doesn’t chat for long. She charges Amy and Jake for their baskets, gives them brown paper bags, and hugs Amy on her way out.

Once they find Jake’s car in the parking lot and put their bags in the trunk, Jake asks where she wants to go next.

“Not to be weird or anything, but do you want to come over? We could trade books. My brothers and I used to do it all the time as kids,” says Amy.

“That sounds … nice,” Jake replies. “I’ve never traded books before.”

“Oh, you’ll love this!” Amy answers, grinning unashamedly. “Plus, I can show you my handshake binder. I know you’re just dying to see it.”

“Yeah,” Jake rolls his eyes. “You know the book sale was all a ruse so I could go over to your place and read your hand-shaking binder.”

Amy tells him the directions as they make their way to her apartment. “Alright, when we get there, it might be a bit messy,” she apologizes.

They get out of the car and into the elevator, each carrying a bag of books. Jake feigns a horrified gasp when he enters. “Amy Santiago! You have a wilting houseplant on the windowsill and and a book open on the sofa! I cannot stay here. That’s final.”

“Shush, some of us have high standards when it comes to cleaning,” Amy says. “Now, let’s see what we each bought.”

They make their way to Amy’s carpeted living room and sit down. Amy spreads out all the books she got, and Jake does the same.

Amy wagers, “I’ll trade you The Outsiders for The Book Thief.”

“You have a deal.”

They spend half an hour making trades, while discussing their work-related book struggles. Amy’s sure, if she were talking with anyone but Jake, they would make fun of her.

“I know! Why doesn’t Goodreads have half-stars ratings? What if something’s not quite three stars but it definitely didn’t make four?”

“You know what I hate? Mike Lupica sports novels. Nobody reads them, but they’re everywhere.”

“Definitely. Books with those serrated deckle edges are the worst. They take so long to flip through!”

“What’s the deal with Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants? It’s unhygienic, if you ask me."

Before Amy knows it, her alarms goes off for her three-o’clock Skype call with Charles. Since she’s so terrible at cooking, he gives her lessons every Saturday. It’s a nice way to stay in contact and improve at the same time.

“Can I learn, too?” Jake asks. “I’m not so great at cooking, either.”

Amy scoffs, not out of pride, but because she doesn’t think anyone could be worse than she is. “Sounds good! I mean, I hijacked your book sale, so you might as well join in on my informal cooking class.”

“You didn’t hijack anything, Amy. Thanks to you, I got to trade books and rant about deckle edges!” Jake says. “That sounded sarcastic, didn’t it? I’m serious. I hate deckle edges.”

Amy walks Jake to her kitchen, her laptop set up on the counter. She calls Charles on Skype, who picks up after a minute. He’s wearing a flowery apron and a green oven mitt, holding a tray of meringues.

“I’m going to change for the cooking class,” she says, before disappearing to her room.

“Hey, Amy! Amy?” Charles calls. “What’s Jake doing in your kitchen? And where are you?”

“Amy went to change. We went to the book sale, and then came back to Amy’s apartment to trade,” Jake explains. “Finally, I found someone who agrees with me about deckle edges!”

“Please don’t ever stop talking to her,” Charles says, half-joking. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that rant?”

“Shut it,” Jake shoots back. “You know how terrible deckle edges are. They’re inefficient and expensive! The worst combination!”

“What’s this I hear about deckle edges?” Amy returns, wearing a grey sweatshirt and jean shorts. “Also known as Earth’s most unhelpful innovation?”

“See, someone agrees with me,” Jake taunts. He takes off his plaid button-up, walking around Amy’s kitchen in a white t-shirt and jeans.

Charles begs Jake and Amy to shut up about book edges before sending them a recipe for coconut macaroons. “I anticipated you’d be stressed lately, Amy, so I picked a really easy food.”

“What’s wrong?” Jake questions.

“National exams,” Charles and Amy respond, almost robotically. “Art history is an advanced placement class, and the test is in two weeks.”

“Yet another reason I don’t teach,” Jake smirks.

“It’s really fine,” Amy says, dismissively. “I’m not even allowed to be in the testing room. I think my students are fine.”

“I bet you’ll get good scores this year, Ames,” Charles encourages. “Come on, let’s bake! You know it calms you down.”

Amy reads the recipe, cheering when she sees there are three ingredients, and navigates around the kitchen to find them. Jake preheats the oven, bragging about how easy it is, until he finds he forgets a metal pan inside. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll get an oven mitt and take it out.”

Emptying coconut flakes, condensed milk, and vanilla extract into a bowl, Amy and Jake swirl the mixture around with spoons.

“Bless you, Charles, for picking an easy recipe this time,” Amy exhales. “Last time, you wanted me to bake an angel cake,”

“Amy, you just bought cake mix,” Charles retorts. “They gave you a sack of powder! All you did was add water and eggs, and put the mix in the oven.”

“Hey, don’t attack cake mix!” Jake interrupts. He’s been busy tasting the macaroon mixture, so there are coconut flakes stuck to his chin, but he does have a point. “It’s cheap, easy to use, and it tastes great.”

“Yeah, Charles,” Amy says. “Well, except for the taste. I’m afraid of getting salmonella, so I don’t taste the batter.”

Jake tells Amy she’s unbelievable, while Charles tries to prove the statistical chance of contracting salmonella is vanishingly small (Amy argues she would say infinitesimally, while Jake says the odds are teenily-weenily small.)

“Anyway, you can taste this batter,” Charles states, “because there aren’t any raw eggs in here.”

Amy takes some of the mix and makes a face when she first tastes it. “Wow, there’s a ton of sugar in here.”

“That’s the point!” Jake says, and Charles admits he’s correct. “Some people actually dip the macaroons in chocolate once they’re done.”

Though she looks about ready to faint, and promises to not eat these dreadful sweets, Amy gets out the cupcake wrappers and drops macaroon batter into them. She and Jake work alongside each other, trying and failing to critique the other’s performance.

“Only one of these has the perfect amount,” Charles murmurs, “and I won’t tell you which one.”

They all look pretty similar to Amy, but she desperately hopes the perfect macaroon is one she made. Jake probably has the same wish, Amy thinks, just by the look on his face. The oven beeps a few minutes after Jake and Amy finish putting batter into the cupcake tins, and Charles actually claps with giddiness.

Amy can’t imagine being as positive as Charles Boyle. She can try, though, so she puts on oven mitts and puts the tray in. “Ten to twelve minutes,” Charles recommends, so Amy chooses eleven.

While they wait for the macaroons to bake, Charles starts telling Jake and Amy about his afternoon. He made the meringues, just as planned, and videotaped himself for his ‘flipped classroom’ teaching idea. Even if few people care about home ec, Charles is deeply devoted to his foodie blog and its posts. (The high school staff get his weekly email blasts. Amy’s learned quite a few things about baking, suffice to say.)

The conversation turns around. “What’ve you two been up to?” Charles asks, a false air of innocence hidden in his words. Amy notices his subtle wink; she’d call him out on it, if Jake weren’t over at her apartment. They only just met, after all.

“Shut it, Charles,” Jake says, before Amy can even speak. Thank goodness he picked up on Charles’ insinuations. She wasn’t the only one. “We went to the library, and then we arrived here. All we did was trade books and talk shop.”

“Talk shop?” Amy asks, crossing her arms and turning to look at Jake. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are greying and her hair is sticking out of its messy ponytail, but she can poke fun at Peralta in any state. “What are we, carpenters?”

Two split seconds after talking, Amy realizes she shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t insulting or anything, but she can’t believe she’s this old and still bad at conversation. Her fingers fly up, nails piercing into the nape of her neck in a stressful frenzy.

“Sorry, you wouldn’t believe how many weird terms I’ve picked up from reading so much,” Jake responds, laughing and looking at the ground all at once. His ears turn pink, Amy notes, and his smile has a nice crookedness to it.

The beep of the oven interrupts whatever poor discussion was taking place, and Amy rushes to turn it off. She takes a deep breath, opens the oven door, and removes a neat tray of macaroons. They’re white-gold, with stylishly browned coconut flakes at the top. Charles cheers, Jake moves to pick one up, and Amy has to keep herself from slapping his hand away.

They just met; she shouldn’t care this much about him.

“My mistake. I … didn’t want you to get burnt,” Amy apologizes, the realization of how strange she sounds sinking in. Jake thanks her before inching toward the pan of macaroons yet again, deciding they’re now cool enough to taste.

“Well, what do you think of the macaroons? They’re my own recipe,” Charles boasts.

Jake can’t say anything, still chewing while his mouth is covered in coconut flakes, but he’s in heaven. The macaroon is kind of falling apart in its silver cupcake tin, but everything is delicious and he’s satisfied. Amy reaches for a sweet, carefully unwrapping it and taking a bite. The sugary confection takes its time to sink in, but she’s soon thanking Charles for the recipe.

“They’re everything I ever wanted,” Jake says. “Easy to make, tasty, healthy, and fancy.”

“Healthy?!” Amy demands. “Didn’t you just eat one?”

“Hey, it has coconut as its main ingredient. Coconuts are fruits,” Jake protests.

Ordinarily, Amy would point out the weaknesses in Jake’s logic 一 his argument is fallacious as hell 一 but the macaroons turned out so well and Charles is about to hang up. Amy realizes she’s had such a nice day, she doesn’t want to ruin it with her own argumentative self.

“Well, it’s been fun baking with you!” Amy almost shouts, faking a smile. She knows Charles is trying to go, but he hates hanging up. Besides, Jake has work tomorrow; he should probably leave, too.

“Alright, I should go,” Charles says. He yawns before explaining he has to edit the baking video for his blog. “Bye, you two!”

Amy smiles a little, hearing the enthusiasm present in Charles’ voice. He’s a good friend, and she can see why he and Jake are so close.

“I should probably get going, too,” Jake admits, putting on his leather jacket. Amy doesn’t really want him to leave, but she knows he should.

“You have work tomorrow, right?” Amy asks, sounding awfully simple.

Of course he has work, it’s Monday tomorrow.

“Yeah, why?”

Amy doesn’t have to look up to know Jake’s leaving, hearing the jingle of car keys in the air.

“Just wondering what your hours were. I was thinking of stopping by Shelf Life more often.”

“That’d be great,” Jake says, grinning. Amy jumps up to open the door for him. Her head is a blur; she doesn’t know whether or not to hug Jake.

She doesn’t.

“Thanks for having me over. Night, Ames. It was great meeting you.”

She’s hated pet names her whole life, but suddenly Jake is calling her a nickname and her cheeks are reddening in the dim light of the threshold. They’re standing in between the carpet and the hallway, face to face and foolish as can be.

Maybe, someday, he’ll stay over. He’ll listen to all her stories, all the secrets she couldn’t bear to carry anymore. Tonight, maybe he’ll blush as he remembers her, when he’s at home and she’s nowhere around. Just maybe. Amy can only hope.

“It was good to meet you, too,” Amy replies, her shyness disappearing as she continues. “Listen, how do you feel about being ‘deckle edge’ in my phone contacts?”

Jake laughs for a good ten seconds (time feels longer and better around him, okay?). “Sure, Amy, as long as you can be ‘angel cake.’”

Biting her lip, Amy decides to not tell Jake there are still two boxes of cake mix 一 chocolate and red velvet 一 in her pantry. Instead, she excuses herself and returns with a ziploc baggie of coconut macaroons.

“I put half of them in. You were baking, too, you know,” Amy says. With a black sharpie, she writes his full name on the bag in her nicest handwriting.

“Is this a font?” Jake jokes, his eyebrows raised. He whistles, looking at Amy’s careful writing, and tells her he’ll treasure the bag for ages.

“Goodnight, Jake. I’ll text you, alright?” Amy hugs him, only briefly, and hands him the bag of macaroons.

With a click of her front door, he’s gone.

Tonight was good, she thinks, as her heartbeat slows and she looks over to the living room. Amy knows she was awkward at times, making uncomfortable comments and strange gestures, but Jake seemed genuinely glad to meet her.

Books are strewn about the coffee table, hardcovers shining under the ceiling fan’s light. Making her way around the room, Amy picks up books until she has to hold the stack under her chin. She puts the books in her room, promising to take them to work tomorrow, and doesn’t touch them for the rest of the night.

Instead, Amy takes out her phone and changes Jake’s contact name to ‘deckle edge.’ He hasn’t texted yet, so she keeps herself from texting first. She has more self control than that, right?

Amy puts her hair down, eats two macaroons, and gets ready for bed. She falls asleep hoping life will be nice enough to let her be happy someday. When the clock strikes 11:11, Amy is already fast asleep, dreaming about living someplace with a secret wall and a private library.

In three days’ time, Amy’s done a lot more than she thought she would.

She and Jake have started texting (he messaged her just after he got home from her apartment!) and he’s probably the biggest dork she’s ever met.

[yesterday, tuesday: opened texts]

deckle edge: hey ames

deckle edge: amyyyyyy

deckle edge: did anyone ever tell you aNNE MCCAFFREY IS OVERRATED

deckle edge: i hate her sm

angel cake: what even jake,,,she’s SO old

angel cake: why is this relevant??

angel cake: are you drunk

deckle edge: nopee

deckle edge: just mad bc mccaffrey is taking up shelf space

deckle edge: how do u deal with this at the library ?

angel cake: uh, we just weed the books

deckle edge: i want to make a 420 joke but i shouldnt

angel cake: shush

angel cake: we just delete old books from the system and donate them

angel cake: are bookstores allowed to do that or no

deckle edge: ok, i checked, we can’t throw books out

deckle edge: great :/

deckle edge: all that junk about profit and revenue

deckle edge: hey, wanna buy all of the mccaffrey books so shelf life gets more space?

deckle edge: please?

Amy’s also begun going to the public library more often. To relive some old memories, she wants to begin a book drive. There are posters all around the school, advertising the cause, and Amy happily watches as students donate. They’ll do anything for service hours, she’s noticed, and uses this knowledge to her advantage.

Sophia, the other librarian, definitely appreciates Amy’s efforts. Although she doesn’t go to book sales, she helps put up posters and donates books from home. Most of them are dusty, old tomes, but a book is a book. Nobody can shush students or tell them to push in their chairs like Sophia can. Amy really admires Sophia, and they’ve become close since they began working at the same time, in the same place.

On Friday afternoon, five days and eight coconut macaroons after the book sale, Amy is innocently working at the library when Charles arrives in her office. His face is alight with a grin, and his hands are clasped behind his back

“Hey, Santiago,” he says, attempting some semblance of coolness. His voice is a bit pitchy, though, and Amy can’t help but notice.

“Hi, Charles!” Amy looks up from the hardback open at her desk, the address and name of the library blacked out with sharpie. “Anything wrong?”

Amy crosses her fingers under the desk.

“Uh, no. I have a class to teach 一 macaroons won’t bake themselves! 一 but someone came to see you.” Charles practically sprints away from the library, and Amy would yell at him for running, but Jake steps out from the hall.

He’s wearing a purple Shelf Life t-shirt, plastered in a maze of popular book titles, and Amy smiles at the sight. Jake’s eyes are soft and she spots ‘Harry Potter’ on his left shoulder, so she feels doubly happy and her heart accelerates at once.

“Hey, Amy,” he says, his cheeks turning pink as he speaks. “Since you visited me at the store, I only thought it’d be fair that I see you at school.”

“It’s good to see you,” Amy replies, pushing her glasses up her nose and promptly standing up.

“Uh, Sophia, can you cover for me?” she yells, turning away from Jake. Sophia walks out of her office and into Amy’s, asking what’s wrong until her smooth voice turns into a stutter.

“Ah, you’re, uh, you’re busy. Sounds good. I’ll, just, um, take over for you and make sure you’re off the clock for 一 for however long you want.”

With anyone else, Amy would be blushing and apologizing like mad, but Jake just laughs and thanks Sophia. He boyishly leans one hand on her desk, and she loves it, for some reason. “What, does she think we’re together? Did you tell her about meeting me?”

Amy says no because it’s easier, but she told Sophia this morning all about Jake’s various literary hates: Mike Lupica, Anne McCaffrey, anyone who puts a full-size photo of themselves on the back of their book. Sophia winked and said Jake was a keeper, if he hates deckle edges as much as Amy does.

“Can I get a tour?” Jake asks, sincerity in his eyes. He gazes out the window, toward the bookshelves, with a childish hope Amy can only hope he keeps.

“I didn’t get a tour at Shelf Life,” Amy shoots back. She’s smiling, though, because she really can’t stop herself.

“Come by a second time, and you’ll get a tour from yours truly.”

Amy really hopes Jake is serious, because she’s far too gullible to tell. She walks out from behind the desk in her office and motions for him to follow.

“Ready for your tour? Don’t expect too much; we’re a small school district.”

“No problem,” Jake responds, shrugging. “Shelf Life is a small store.”

They make their way past the offices.

“Okay, these are the fiction shelves. Sophia hates their height, but I think they’re just perfect. You know, calm and fortress-like. It’s like you walk right into a forest.”

“Amy, that’s pretty insensitive,” Jake jokes, feigning offense. “A forest died for these books.”

“Shush it, you.” Amy waves her hand in the air, a strange sophistication settling over her, and explains, “The books are organized by genre, and they’re alphebetized within the genres.”

“Noice,” Jake says, “just the way we do it at the store.”

“Great minds thinks alike.” Amy taps at her temple with her index finger, taking Jake past the shelves.

To the left are desks and chairs, out of place but loved nonetheless. Amy boasts about how the desks have power outlets on the sides, and Jake tells her he wishes Shelf Life had furniture like this.

Amy leads Jake all over the library, from the tables to the computers and the nonfiction section and fancy conference room. He looks impressed, truly the best compliment to a Santiago, and they both look up at the clock when a ring pierces the air.

“School’s out,” Amy says, plainly.

“You know, those were my favorite words as a kid, but I’m sad to have this end.”

Amy nods quietly. “This doesn’t have to end,” she answers. “Would you like to get a coffee?”

Jake’s grinning, and Amy’s already planning in her head.

“Okay, we can separately drive to the Starbucks on Eleventh Street. I’ll see you in, like, fifteen minutes, unless you want to go home first to change, or something,” he explains.

“No, I’ll leave straight from school,” Amy replies. “The sooner I see you, the better.”

She can see Sophia winking at her from the offices. When Jake isn’t looking, Amy glares at Sophia and moves to get her purse. Sophia is a world-class lip-reader, and this particular talent practically doubles her ability as an eavesdropper.

“Bye, Ames.” Jake shoves one hand in his pocket, and uses the other to open the library door for Amy.

“See you soon, Deckle Edge.” Amy steps past the threshold, walking down the stairs to the parking lot.

“Where are you going? There’s an elevator!” Jake protests. Amy says it’s for people with disabilities, or deliverymen, so Jake steps out and walks down the staircase with Amy. He walks her to her car and everything. Before putting her key in the ignition, Amy has to take a moment to smile at everything that just happened.

[today, friday: opened texts]

deckle edge: ames, i bet $5 i get there first

angel cake: ill take that action ;)

Amy wins the bet. Jake argues she parked in the morning, so she had a better space, while he arrived in the afternoon and didn’t park as well.

“What was I supposed to do, come to school with you at 8 AM?” Jake falsely demands.

“Some friend you are,” Amy retorts. “Just pay for my coffee, okay? That’ll take care of the five bucks.”

Jake orders a vanilla bean frappuccino, while Amy gets a cotton candy one, and they happily sit in the booth talking.

“If you’re going to take photos for the aesthetic, do it now, when the cup’s full,” Jake advises.

Amy rolls her eyes, but admits she has a Polaroid camera and a string of Polaroid photos in her room. Jake makes fun of her until he realizes he can’t think of a nickname for her. They decide their last names will be perfectly suitable nicknames, until they think of something better. ‘Deckle Edge’ and ‘Angel Cake’ are reserved for texting.

“How was work, Peralta?” Amy’s trying out the whole use-the-surname-as-a-nickname thing, and she feels like a police captain.

“Pretty good, Santiago,” Jake nods, trying to look serious, but he can’t help but laugh. “Business was pretty slow, but then a middle school came by and the kids were adorable. Shelf Life is doing a book fair, for some reason. It’s kind of weird, but everyone seems to like it.”

“Wait 一 from which school?”

“Uh, Casper Creek Middle School, I think.”

“No way! That’s my district, ‘cause I teach at Foster High.” Amy talks in between sips of her cotton candy frap.

“How do you like teaching?” Jake asks. “Is it tough holding two teaching jobs?”

“Well, I think it was harder getting enough degrees for two teaching jobs,” Amy replies. “It’s ridiculous how talented you have to be a teacher, and yet the income’s a joke. Beside the pay, though, I love being able to teach kids and see that eureka moment in their eyes.”

“See, some people only have one job, Santiago, and they hate it! You have two, and you love both of them. I’m so jealous.”

They’re sitting across from each other, folding their hands together. From her seat, Amy can see a flock of crows flying past chrome buildings and stick-thin trees. She takes one last sip from her frappuccino and rises to throw it away.

“You want to go?” Jake interrupts Amy’s daydreamy train of thought. “If you want, we could split up and go home, but I was thinking 一 what about heading to Barnes & Noble across the street?”

“Aren’t they terrible competition for Shelf Life?” Amy frowns, thinking of Jake’s loyalty (or lack thereof).

“Just listen, Ames,” Jake says, pretending to be exasperated. “We won’t buy anything; we can just brush up on book knowledge. And, you know, if we accidentally drop a couple business cards for Shelf Life, there’s no harm in that.”

“Sounds good, Peralta.” Amy stands up from the booth, puts three dollars in the tip jar, and rushes out of the coffeehouse. Jake isn’t far behind her, and they both run across the street into Barnes & Noble.

The bell on the door rings as Jake and Amy step in. A painfully cheerful employee greets them, and Amy pities retail workers right then and there.

“Ah, the smell of high prices and new paperbacks,” Jake murmurs. Amy shushes him, though she completely agrees. Luckily, the staff seem none the wiser.

“Okay, let’s do what anyone else would find strange yet dull: quiz each other on books,” Amy says, almost whispering. She gazes toward the dark shelves, widely spread and amply stocked.

Jake leads Amy toward a table, and they sit down across from each other. “Okay, here are the rules, Santiago.”

“Oh, I love rules!” Amy gushes.

“Perfect. So we list books. The other person has to name a book starting with the last letter of the title. If you spend longer than, say, ten seconds thinking, you lose. Gina and I play this all the time, but I think we should add some money to the wager.”

“Sounds good. How about, every time you ‘lose’, you owe the other person a dollar.” After Jake agrees, Amy pulls a legal pad and two pens from her purse. She draws a t-chart and explains they’ll tally each person’s earnings. “So, like, if you have nine tallies and I have ten, we each eliminate nine and you owe me a dollar.”

Jake begins the game. “Catcher in the Rye.”

“Ender’s Game.”

“East of Eden.”

“Uh …” Amy stutters. “North by Northwest.”

“Time out!” Jake has to stop himself from yelling, but his words still ring loudly in the bookstore. “That’s a movie!”

After they stop to look it up, it turns out ‘North by Northwest’ is a book after all. Amy lets out a sigh of relief and writes a tally mark on her side of the chart. Jake rolls his eyes but agrees.

This time, Amy begins. “Alice in Wonderland.”

“Um, Death of a Salesman.”

“New Moon.”

“Night.”

“The Giver.”

“Runaway Jury.”

Amy quietly curses for not being able to think of a book starting with ‘Y’. Leaning over, Jake writes a tally mark on the legal pad.

“Lord of the Rings,” Jake says.

“Sky Key,” Amy replies, sharp as a tack.

“You. I bet that’s a book.”

Amy pauses for longer than ten seconds, sure that no writer would write a book named ‘You.’ She’s willing to risk her loss - a potential tally mark on her side of the legal pad.

As it turns out, ‘You’ is the title of a book. Jake chuckles as he oh-so-slowly adds a tally mark. Amy throws her pen at his head, but she misses, and he jokingly writes another tally just for her bad aim.

Jake and Amy finally leave the bookstore two hours later, after playing a couple games (something about writing Hollywood plotlines based on book titles?) and ranting excessively. Amy now owes Jake three dollars, and he quietly gloats about this fact.

“People come in all the time looking for books, and they’re all ‘uhhh, it was blue.’ Unbelievable! The title is on the title and on the spine.”

“You know what I hate? People talk about ‘real books’ and ‘online books’ like they’re two different things. The text is just moved onto a different media. It’s not that new!”

“I’m sick of books with covers of women 一 you know, with their eyes artistically cut off so you can just see their lipstick and perfect skin. I never want to see a decapitated-woman book cover again.”

“What did we just do?” Amy asks, a bit light-headed. She walks out of Barnes & Noble leaning on Jake’s arm for balance, and nearly trips over her own feet. “It feels like time stopped in there.”

“Yeah, I get that vibe, Santiago,” Jake mutters. His voice is gravelly, and he rubs at his bleary eyes. “Oh, we act like we’re fifty.”

“And I’m only twenty-eight!” Amy whines, almost cursing at the air. She’s acting like such an old person, but is too exhausted to stop.

“I’m thirty and this is all I’ll ever come to,” Jake complains, scowling at the ground. “I wear literary t-shirts and play word games with the local librarian.”

“Hey!” Amy gently swats at Jake’s shoulders. She misses and he laughs.

“Want to come over?” Jake asks, opening the passenger door for Amy with a click. “I’m too tired to be alone. Anyway, you know, I like your … company.”

Amy shakes her head, getting into Jake’s car and buckling her seat belt. “Um, sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t refusing to go over. I was, uh, shaking my head to feel more awake. How about we go get coffee at Starbucks, hmm?”

“Again?”

“You know you’d feel better with some caffeine in your system. I’ll pay, so my three-dollar-debt is cleared. How’s that sound?”

Jake giggles (yes, he’s truly sleep-drunk), extending a hand to Amy. He hasn’t gotten in the car yet, so he just stands above her in the parking lot and locks the car again. Amy takes his hand 一 quietly, happily 一 and drops it once she’s out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

She wishes she hadn’t let go, though, because it’s now too awkward to initiate another hand-hold and everything’s a silly mess now. It hurts less now that it’s nighttime. Jake murmurs ‘the usual’ to Amy, sleepily sitting down. She arrives at the table a few minutes after, holding out Jake’s precious vanilla bean frap and sipping at her own pink confection.

“Cotton candy frap? Where’d you find that, one of those secret menu pages on Instagram?” Jake chides.

“I got it last time, Peralta. You didn’t make fun of me then,” Amy says, her voice heavy with a numb, late-night sort of satisfaction.

“I wasn’t this tired then,” Jake retorts. He yawns and grins slightly, looking at Amy before gazing up at the high ceilings of this picturesque place. His eyes return to Amy, though, and she smiles over at him.

“Why are we this exhausted?! We spent two hours talking about books on a Friday night. It’s not like we were drinking and partying.”

“We’re old, Ames.”

“You’re older,” Amy tactfully shoots back, and Jake laughs far longer than he realistically should.

Tonight is nice. Blissful, really.

Jake comes over to Amy’s side of the booth, and rests his head on her shoulder in exchange for his leather jacket. They fall asleep momentarily, Jake’s arms around Amy and his jacket on her back.

An employee named Wendy offers them free drinks for being such a cute couple. People like Wendy are the reason the world is still a good place. Neither Jake nor Amy rush to correct her, so they get another two frappucinos and continue to tease each other while in their sleep-deprived states.

Amy didn’t believe days like these were ahead, but all she needed were people like Charles and Jake and Wendy. Jake drives her home in his Mustang; he carries her to the car and lets her sleep in the backseat and everything. When Amy wakes up, she’s in Jake’s apartment, gazing up at the Die Hard posters with wonder.

“I can’t believe I met you last Sunday,” Jake muses, once she’s sitting on his couch, wrapped in a blanket. “Now you’re wearing my jacket and making fun of my love of vanilla bean.”

“Jake, you know, we have, we have ….”

For a few seconds, Amy can’t even find the words to finish her sentence. “We have something, you know? There’s just so much to learn about each other, and we’re so similar … I have to admit I’ve never gotten so close so fast with anyone else.”

Maybe it’s the light, or the time of day, but Jake looks good when he’s tired, all soft and caring and kind-hearted.

“Yeah, I understand completely,” he replies. “I’ve never met someone like you, Santiago. I know, I’m being super sappy, but I’m okay with that right now. In all honesty, I love you for talking with me and texting me book memes during my shifts.”

“I love you, too. I like your jacket and your bookish t-shirt. Your apartment’s not bad, either. It’s … it’s all good.” Amy’s struggling to keep her eyes open, but her heartbeat just accelerated a bit, so that helps.

“Is that all you like me for? My wardrobe and my apartment?” Jake feigns demand, but he’s clearly too tired to do it effectively.

“Fine, Peralta,” Amy grumbles. She knows more than enough things to appreciate about Jake, though. “You’re funny. I mean it. You’re a nice guy without being one of those ‘nice guys finish last’ people. You have nice eyes, you know? And, um, you’re generous. I know because I’m never giving this jacket back.”

She smirks after saying that last line.

“Thank you, Ames. I’ll take what I can get.”

“What about me, huh? You think you can get away by only complimenting me for texting you?” Amy crosses her arms, trying to act stern, but she doubts it works.

“Okay. Amy Santiago. You are … really, truly incredible. You work two teaching jobs and you’re proud of yourself. You deserve to be. You’re really smart, because you try so hard. Your hair is super shiny, too. And you always manage to cheer me up, even when you’re texting me something dumb. So, yeah, you’re important to me. You and your nice smile and book memes.”

If it weren’t for the darkness, Jake would see her ears turning red.

“You know on Friends, how Monica talks about the night?”Jake’s words jar the quiet and Amy wishes she understood the reference.

After a few seconds of silence on Amy’s part, Jake explains, “It’s when you spend all night with someone and you learn everything about them. What do you say? Stay over with me and learn about me, scars and all?”

“It’s ‘warts and all’,” Amy unconsciously corrects.

“Yeah, but scars sound cooler,” Jake mutters.

Amy inches closer to Jake, hugging his jacket around her arms, and proposes they play ‘Never Have I Ever.’ He agrees at once, before she even rests her head on his shoulder and reads his t-shirt up close.

“Never have I ever questioned my sexuality,” Amy says. Jake slowly reached forward and writes himself a tally mark on the legal pad.

“This probably isn’t the best way to say this, but I’m bisexual?” he asks, his voice quivering a little. He knows you never can be too safe when coming out. People defy expectations. They flare up when you least expect them to. They leave when you think they’ll stand with you.

Amy smiles widely and takes Jake in a warm hug. She smells like him, thanks to the leather jacket, and he’s endlessly happy at the prospect of being loved. “I love you, you know that? I’m bi, too, and I know how hard it can be, but you don’t have to afraid around me.”

He knows this is sappy, and he didn’t expect Amy to be biphobic, but he still blushes and hugs her once more.

(Okay, maybe twice more. Or thrice. Tonight is one of opportunity, and having a fellow bisexual nearby never hurts.)

“You’ve never questioned before?” Jake asks, face filled with disbelief.

“I’m pretty lucky,” Amy admits. “My parents are really accepting, and I have seven brothers. Tons of them are part of the LGBT community, so I always had good role models growing up, and I just … always knew I was bi.”

“Unbelievable,” Jake replies, and they spend a whole hour talking about being bi.

“Never have I faked an orgasm,” Jake says, in between laughs.

Amy guiltily writes herself a tally, and Jake gasps dramatically. “No way! Who was it with?”

“My ex,” Amy admits. “Teddy. He was nice and everything, but he wasn’t exactly up to par. He told me he was nervous beforehand, and it was his first time, so I didn’t want to make him feel bad. I faked it and he believed me 一 for five months.”

“Oh, you miserable soul.” Jake shakes his head and Amy rolls her eyes. “Five months!”

“One night I just gave up pretending.” Amy giggles. “I just laid there and let him know how disappointing he was. We broke up right after he put his pants back on.”

“Never have I ever been walked in on,” Amy brags.

Jake thinks for a second before asking, “Does it count if the person came in after the sex?”

“Yes, unless you were fully clothed and back to normal.” Amy takes a leap, handing Jake the legal pad. Her guess is correct.

“Spill,” she encourages.

“Okay, it was years ago. I was in college, I was dating this guy, he stayed over, and my roommate found both of us in bed the next morning.”

“Oh,” Amy mumbles. “Uh, not as much spilling as I thought.”

“That sounds overtly sexual,”Jake says, scowling and batting Amy with the throw pillow on his couch.

“Never have I ever menstruated,” Jake says.

He writes the tally in for Amy, who scoffs and replies, “I mean, I’m on it right now. I’m not ashamed.”

Jake’s eyes widen and he blurts out, “Do you need anything? There’s a bag of pads in the bathroom and I do … eat food, so you can share. Unless you want fancy cravings food. Then I could go out and get it? Unless it was really far, or foreign. Then try Charles.”

Amy puts her hand on Jake’s shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Thanks, Jake. I’m fine, really. Also, I’m glad you do eat food.”

Jake awkwardly nods until Amy mutters, “I could tell you the story of my first period.”

“Do tell,” he responds, sitting upright.

“I was fifteen,” Amy begins, and Jake raises an eyebrow. “I was really jealous of all my friends, and I told everyone when I got it. My mom threw me a party and all my brothers had to sign the special card. At the time, I felt really mature, but it’s one big embarrassment looking back on it. After the initial surprise, I just wanted to sleep for a week.”

Jake carefully listens as Amy explains the various annoyances of blood. When he suggests he write Amy an updated period card, she begs him not to.

“Never have I ever dated a girl,” Amy admits. Jake puts his tally mark down and smiles softly.

“I’m so jealous!” Amy groans. “I’ve liked tons of girls, but it’s so hard finding another sapphic willing to date you.”

“I mean, I’ve liked tons of guys,” Jake defends himself.

“That’s different!” Amy protests. “You told me about that guy you slept with in college! It’s not the same.”

“You don’t have to date girls to prove you’re bi, Amy,” Jake replies.

“I know,” Amy says, “but dating a girl would be so fun!”

Jake hugs Amy and listens as she rants. They start talking about girl and boy crushes again, and end ‘Never Have I Ever’ to just confide in each other.

“Thanks, Jake.”

“No problem, Ames. I love you and your book memes and girl crushes. You wouldn’t be you without any part of yourself. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m glad you’re so easy to relate to.”

[yesterday, thursday: opened texts]

deckle edge: amy santiagoooo

deckle edge: pls cheer me up

deckle edge: my shift is super dullll

deckle edge: why dont people read more

angel cake: fiiine

angel cake: ill relate to you with literature!!

angel cake: not even joking

deckle edge: hey

deckle edge: we just got shipments of those illustrated harry potter books??

deckle edge: im in love and ive never even read the series

angel cake: i hate you for never reading harry potter