2 Allie: Introduction

MANY YEARS LATER

***

The summer months had come and gone, and once again September descended on the small town of Sunset Coast, California. It was, of course, an autumn only in name. The temperatures soared well into the nineties, and would continue to do so until mid-October. The ocean blew in a humid breeze that made everyone feel less sweaters and more tank tops. Even the trees weren't convinced that their time had come, staying green and leafy as the days ticked on, while their northern brothers covered the mountainsides in red and gold.

The only sure sign that the season had changed at all was the flipped calender pages in everyone's kitchens, and the deluge of college kids old and new returning for another year at Sunset Coast University, proud patron of underachieving high school students since 1946. Allie Breckenridge may not have bragged that this was her school at any job interviews, but at the end of the day, it was cozy, and it was home.

At least, when it wasn't wringing her dry for every cent she had.

English major that she was, Allie understood more than most that books didn't just grow on trees. But online courses had no excuse costing upward of two hundred dollars for a code on a piece of paper. Every September, it was always the same. Take half her summer earnings, pawn off anything unnecessary from her tiny student home a mile away from campus, and pray to everything holy that she had enough cash to buy all her books.

She'd squeaked by with secondhand copies and a few extra shifts at the cafe her previous two years studying here. But those were her core classes. Now, as a junior, her courses were moving toward more specialized material — and in the case of her major, that meant reading. Lots and lots of reading. And more reading meant more books. Twenty novels and three anthologies, to be exact. Two new textbooks, one for history and one for French. And the two hundred dollar code for her math class, which she couldn't afford, because the professor this year had switched at the last minute from the course she actually budgeted for.

Allie bit down on her lip and groaned bitterly. There was nothing for it. With the new code, the books cost five hundred fifty dollars, and she only had four hundred to spare. If she returned ten of the scrappy used novels and one anthology, she could squeeze in under budget. But the year was just starting, and to make one hundred fifty dollars on top of her rent and utilities, she'd have to beg her manager for as many shifts as possible within the first month of school.

All because of a stupid code on a stupid piece of cardboard.

The iced coffee in her hand, now melted and mostly empty, felt a lot guiltier now than when she bought it an hour ago. With a disgusted sigh, she tossed it in the trash, put back her old British novels and Best American Short Stories, and walked to the front of the bookstore to fork over her cash.

The student bookstore sat in the back of the recently renovated student union, a couple hundred yards and two staircases down from the only entrance that wasn't still under construction. Allie hated the place, furiously, perhaps a bit unfairly, though she didn't let it stop her. Most book shops were quiet havens for her, shelves lined with colorful spines, the promise of a good story hanging thick in the air. But importantly, the student union didn't have a book shop. It had a book store, and worse, it was a university book store. Meaning: more floor space was given to orange, red, and yellow SCU merchandise than books, they kept all their fiction to a single back shelf of bestsellers, and everything they sold was much, much too expensive.

She couldn't get out quickly enough.

A line stood at the register today, young freshman grabbing last minute coursebooks and arguing over whether they needed sixth edition or seventh for Honors Algebra I. When her turn finally came, a friendly-looking girl with wavy black hair smiled at her from behind the counter. Allie had no idea where the energy for that smile came from, especially when it looked so genuine, but she did her best to return it even as the dread of a four hundred dollar purchase loomed over her.

She heaved her stack of books onto the countertop and pushed them across, where the girl took them and started scanning them with a cheery swiftness to match her smile. Allie could only watch in confused silence. No one on Earth was supposed to act this cheerful behind a register. Surely some law of the universe forbade it. Or maybe her boss was right, and this is what he meant when he said she could smile more if she just tried.

"Did you find everything you were looking for today?" the girl asked, turning her bright-eyed look from the books to Allie.

"Yes. Unfortunately," she replied, realizing too late the sardonic word she tacked on the end. She laughed to play it off as a joke, but the register girl had already quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Unfortunately?" Running her hands over the keyboard, the girl punched in the numbers of her books, then gave a quiet gasp of understanding. "Ah. Right. I think I see what you mean."

She didn't have to read off the total. The helpful green panel on the back of the register told Allie everything she needed to know: with tax, her total was $405.67. All her budgeted money, and a meal on top of it. Allie grunted, digging her worn out wallet from the back pocket of her jeans.

"Nothing I wasn't expecting, don't worry." She slid her debit card across the counter, a bit of her soul still clinging to those precious tips she'll never get back. "Kinda sucks, though. I'll be back in a month or so for the other half."

The girl's eyebrows arced all the way up now, after sliding her card through the reader with a tidy and tragic beep.

"Half? Oh, honey," she said, her voice dipping out of its customer service lilt, down to the range where a normal person might speak. "You know there are people on campus who can help you out —"

Something hard lurched in Allie's chest. The pride of a foster kid, who'd always made it on her own before. Or the innate distrust in anything — person, system, or charity — that offered to help her without asking something in return.

She cut the girl off before she could continue. "No, no. I'm alright. I can manage." Her words came out curter than she'd hoped, but at least they welcomed no opportunity for this well-meaning girl to talk to her any longer. She grabbed the bag, her arms sagging with the weight. "Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day?"

The register girl's concerned and confused reply very nearly disappeared into the chatter beyond the door as Allie shouldered past students coming in to do their own fresh round of shopping, but she caught just enough of it to curse her stupid, pigheaded stubbornness.

Then again, that was who she was. Allie Breckenridge, reliant on no one, perfectly happy on her own. If she'd been any different, odds were she wouldn't have made it past ten.