There Are No Strangers Here

• Caitlin Hickson, Grade 9, Home Schooled - NSW
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

If you can’t find me I’ll be in a bookstore. It feels like home to me. I walk through the door and the smell of books, hushed voices, and colorful spines welcome me. I head straight to the back of the store where the novels are. I smile blissfully as I touch the books I know well, the names of characters and worlds I've been to before flit through my head.
Then I notice a book I've never seen, it’s black with silver letters, they spell out the words Broken Love. I am propelled towards it, but there is someone in my way.
A stranger.
I don’t talk to strangers.
I don’t like strangers.
I try to shuffle past but he looks up from the book he’d been flicking through. I can’t help but notice that the book is one of my favorites.
“Hey.” He says. He has eyes like the night sky, speckled with stars and his hair is the color of old book pages. “I need some help. Have you read this?”
He gestures to the novel in his hands. I nod my head, trying to find my voice, but it seems to have fallen down my throat into my stomach.
“Is it good?” He persists.
“Y-yes, it’s one of my favorite books.” I offer, pretty proud of myself for talking to a stranger.
“Thanks.” He smiles and the stars in his eyes light up. “Sorry, do you need to get through?”
The isles are narrow and I nod. He steps away from the bookshelf to let me pass. I reach for Broken Love. I feel like I’m in a dream, I’m soaking up the feeling of the beautiful hardcover in my hands. It’s about a romance, a sailor and a servant; I’m aching to read it.
I hear a voice. My heart sinks into the soles of my feet. “Come on darling, it’s time to go.”
It is my mum of course, and she is not the biggest fan of books to say the least. I turn around, still holding the gorgeous novel. Mum raises an eyebrow. I know what she’s going to say, I’m supposed to be saving for a car, university.
“Please?” I beg, knowing it’s useless.
“No.”
Before I know it Broken Love is back on the shelf and we are almost at the door. I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Thanks for the help.” He says and passes me a black book with sliver letters. He waves at me before disappearing down the street.
I stand there for a few seconds and my mum asks, “You made a friend?” She sounds surprised.
I nod, I guess I did make a friend. I open the book and inside the front cover is a scribbled note.
‘There are no strangers here; only friends you haven’t yet met (by Yeats).
Enjoy the book.’