We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

I can smell her, a little bit minty, a little bit smoky. I wonder if this is what she would taste like if I kissed her.

She holds out the records. I take them but she doesn’t let go. “Oh for five,” she tsks, shaking her head. “I’m off my game.”

“I warned you I was a lost cause.”

“Those are my favorite kind.” She stands on her tippy-toes to kiss me, somewhere between the cheek and lip. “I’ll put you on the list for our show tonight,” she murmurs. “Come. And we’ll keep trying.”

Fight Club

As soon as Hannah leaves, I call Chad. “Guess what we’re doing tonight?”

“Homework,” he replies.

“Definitely not.”

“I got this project on—”

“Forget your project,” I interrupt. “We’re seeing Beethoven’s Anvil!”

Chad pauses. “Aren’t they opening for the Sheaths?”

“Are they? I have no idea.”

“They are. At a big theater, with expensive tickets. That sold out months ago.”

“What if you’re on the list?”

“Who’s on the list?”

“We are.”

“How are we on the list?”

“Hannah put us there.”

“When?”

“Today.” I pause. “She came by. We hung out.”

“You hung out with Hannah Crew?”

“Not just that. She kissed me.”

“No shit!”

“Well, it was sort of a kiss. Half on my mouth, half on my cheek.”

“So more of a friend thing?”

“I don’t think it was a friend thing.” Was it? I remember how it felt when we shook hands. My palm still tingles. No, not a friend thing. “Pick me up at six?” I say.

“You got it.”

It’s only after I hang up that I remember I asked Ira to dinner tonight, to force myself to tell him. But that misery can wait until tomorrow.

Chad pulls up at five, idling at the curb. I appreciate his eagerness, but Ira frowns on leaving early, and after I bailed on our dinner I don’t feel like I can push it. “I can’t leave till six,” I tell Chad.

“All gravy. I came for the boxes.”

“What boxes?”

“Those boxes.” He points to the steps, where Ike, Richie, and Garry are each carrying two boxes.

I run over to stop them. “Are those our books?”

“They ain’t mine,” Richie replies.

“What are you doing with them?”

“Giving them to Chad,” Ike says innocently. “For his whatchamacallit.”

“Database,” Richie says.

“For that,” Ike says.

“What database are they talking about?” I call to Chad.

“The one I’m building. For my class,” Chad says. When I don’t say anything, he adds, impatiently, “I told you I was taking a class on database systems. This is my project.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“We talked about it. Last week.”

“No we didn’t,” I say.

“We did,” Chad replies mildly. “You said you couldn’t find anything in the store and I said you would if you had a database.”

“And then you told him to shut up,” Richie adds.

“There was that,” Chad admits. “But you’re always telling me to shut up, and anyway, the guys were boxing up the books, so Ike called me up and then I got my project approved. I even went to the library today. The librarian told me there’s special software that’s normally hella expensive but is free for students.” Chad grins at me. “You’re welcome!”

When Chad returns at six, my mood has soured.

“What’s eating you?”

I climb into the truck and look back toward the store. The shelves are now emptied. Chad’s building a database. The guys are “working for coffee.” Ira thinks the store is getting a second chance. All because I’m too chickenshit to tell the truth.

I take a deep breath. I turn to Chad. “I have to tell you something.”

He sighs dramatically. “You’re not still hung up on the books, are you?” he says as we pass the middle school. A group of kids on lowrider BMX bikes are tracing circles around the muddy grass.

“I’m not hung up, but you should’ve asked me first.”

“You want me to get down on one knee and ask to index your books? Sorry, dawg. No can do.” We drive by the high school, where a group of older kids are passing a bottle back and forth. “I’m doing you a favor. Building you something you can use in your store,” Chad continues, pushing through the light at the edge of town and gunning the truck toward the interstate. “It might even improve sales.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. In case you haven’t noticed, our business is not exactly thriving.”

“I’m paralyzed, not blind,” he replies. “But I took a business class last semester and the prof made us write a business plan. Your dad says you don’t have one. Which is nuts. You need a business plan to get things like loans from the Small Business Administration. Did you know you could get a loan?”

“We’re already deep in debt. More loans won’t solve that.”

“They might. If you negotiate the debt down, and then consolidate it in a low-interest SBA loan, you can save thousands of dollars. Then you use the savings to diversify your revenue stream.”

I look at him, agog. He’s channeling CPA Dexter Collings.

“Yeah, I’m smarter than you think! And no offense, but you and your dad don’t seem to know how to run a business.”

Mom used to handle the business side of things, but after the asteroid, not even she could right the ship. “None taken. But Chad, even the best business plan won’t save us.”

“How do you know?”

“Because . . .”

Because I sold the business to Penny Macklemore.

“Because we’re a used bookstore in a small town where the only people who read buy their new books online.” I pause. “I’m thinking of selling the place. Get out while we can. Like the Colemans did.”

I watch this trial balloon float up into the air and for a second I think Chad gets it because his jolly expression grows pensive.

“You know how long it takes to fall seventy-five feet?” he asks.

“No.”

“About three seconds. Now, you probably think three seconds is nothing, but trust me, when you’re plummeting off a cliff, it feels like a hella long time. Long enough for you to think, ‘Well, I’m