All She Had Was One Little Secret

All She Had Was One Little Secret is a story about a girl named Rebecca, who is troubled in life at the moment. One day, she stumbles upon a small used book store/internet cafe. She meets the owner, and soon begins to visit the store frequently, reading classics and IMing the mysterious JCLamb, a quiet writer who has a few secrets of his own.

It all started with a walk downtown.

I had just dumped my boyfriend, been forced to do a really weird English project, lost my job, and run out of reasons to even get off my lazy butt in the morning.

I won't bore you with the details of my ex-boyfriend (stupid guy, not right for me, you know the drill) or my job (even though I loved it), but I will tell you about my English project.

The assignment was for the whole class, actually. It was "to find out if people open up when they don't know who's listening" and here's what we had to do:

"Create an e-mail address. Nobody will know what it is except for you and the teacher. You will be given another e-mail address, and you will instant message a secret person for the next five months. As you get to know each other, you will write down certain traits you notice about this person, what you notice about them the most.

"When I get your notes back in five months, I will expect two names on the paper. Yours at the top, and the name of the person you think you got to know.

"At the end of the project, I will announce who was paired with whom, and your grade on the project. Remember, this a joint project, even though you don't know who you're working with."

Everyone went nuts when the project was announced. They figured they knew who they were IMing right away.

I, of course, was depressed anyway, so i didn't care. My name? Quickpenn. Why? I don't know. I love English, and when it comes to writing, I guess I'm quick.

 

How I found myself in that part of town, I don't know. I just walked and walked. I looked around  noticed a small shop, an internet cafe, plus a used bookstore combined.

Page One, it was called. Cool, I thought as I walked in. A man sorting stuff behind a counter piled with books to my right looked up when I walked in. 

"Hello, can I help you?" he asked me. Stuttered a bit, but he seemed nice enough.

"No, thanks." I said, fascinated by this small bookstore. "I'll just browse, maybe use one of you computers in a bit."

"Alright then, miss, you just tell me when you want to use one."

"Yes, sir." I smiled, to be polite, and explored the place.

Now, you might want to remember that this place was pretty small. Shelves lined the walls, and there were three large book cases on one side of the room, all of which were organized by genre.

Sci-fi, fantasty, romance, self-help guides, history, and quite a few others were labled (some weren't, because the owner knew the place so well). The literary classics were right in front of you when you walked in, kid's books were to the left, and after that on the left-hand side of the store, the internet cafe.

There were two apple computers at one table, an empty table with three chairs, a counter, a sink, and fridge with drinks in it (on my left).

There were books, too, a shelf with a set in perfect condition (on my right), another with as similar set, but with a different color, and in less perfect condition in front of me. There was a third set on a shelf high up right near the ceiling on the left side of the cafe. There was also a small, used-but-comfy-looking chair just outside the cafe.

And there was so much dust!

A lot of books were old, most had been reprinted at least once, especailly the really old books. Just touching something made dust fly. It seemed almsot perfect; small, old, dusty, warm, kinda like home should feel.

ot everything is new, and even if it is, it's still not new. Like a swap-shed or a hideaway or a basement.

"How are you doing? find something you like?" I jumped, nearly forgetting where I was.

 I shrugged and knelt down to look at the classics, noticing some Shakespere works. I picked it off the shelf, not really knowing what I was taking.

"I'll take this, sir, if it's okay."

"Oh, a classics fan, like myself." he smiled. "That'll be $6.30, miss. You said you wanted to use a computer?" I nodded, smiled, and handed him the money, and he led me over to the table with computers.

I got home that day and began reading the Shakespere book. I finished reading it in three days.

The End

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