Free How (Not) to Fall in Love by Lisa Brown Roberts

him standing on the sidewalk, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Toby lunged for me, and I took the leash from Lucas, careful to avoid skin contact.
    “It’s great,” I sighed. I thought again about working there, and pictured myself standing behind the counter, waiting on customers.
    Lucas nodded. “Yeah, it’s a cool place. And Liz is awesome.” He exhaled smoke from his perfectly straight nose.
    I crinkled my own nose as the cigarette smoke reached me.
    He stubbed out his cigarette quickly and tossed it into a trash can. “I need to get back to work,” he said. “Broken toasters are calling.”
    I stole one more glance at him, hoping not to forget any details. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” I said.
    He nodded. “I hope so.” He pushed through the door of the Second Hand Story, pausing briefly to glance over his shoulder. His lips quirked in a mysterious smile that made me half want to run away, and half want to chase him like a pathetic fan girl.
    Instead I walked as quickly as I could to my truck, still trying to preserve a little dignity by not breaking into a full-on sprint.
    Spending time on Broadway made me feel like the universe had cracked open a new door for me. I could see a tiny bit of light on the other side.
    Did I dare open the door all the way?

Chapter Nine
    October 2
    A s I sat in study hall, my last period of the day, Mom’s text intruded on my black thoughts. “I have a great idea. R u there?”
    “No,” I typed. “I’ve been abducted by aliens. They have Dad, too.”
    She ignored my black humor. “Meet me after school. Bring your camera.”
    Mom hadn’t exactly been full of great ideas lately. I dreaded hearing the next one.
    “???” I texted back.
    She sent me an address. Sigh. Was she still thinking about me taking pictures of houses for a real estate website?
    “C u later,” I replied.
    Mom texted back a row of smiley faces. Lately we did better communicating via texts and notepads than in person, because when we were together in the evenings, she turned into someone else when she drank.
    After school I waited until the parking lot was almost empty before I revved up the beast. It was my latest strategy to avoid stares and mocking laughter, especially since Sal had slapped on a “Save a horse, ride a cowboy” bumper sticker.
    “It’s true,” she’d said when I busted her. “You need a cowboy, or any boy toy. Something to take your mind off all the stress.”
    “Not exactly my first priority,” I’d replied, trying to block out the image of Lucas’s face that popped to mind.
    I found the house and parked my rusty truck behind a row of shiny, perfect cars: Mom’s Volvo, Fake-Bake Pam’s Mercedes, and a couple of BMWs. The place was immense, even bigger than our house, and that was saying something. Mom must have been watching for me or maybe the belching Reaper announced my arrival. She flung open the massive front door before I could ring the doorbell.
    “Darcy, come in. You have your camera, right?”
    I nodded and stepped into the enormous entrance hall. Suits of armor? Flags with coats of arms? Seriously? How pretentious could you get?
    Laughter bounced off the stone floor, as did the clicking of high heels. Fake-Bake Pam and some other lady walked toward us with bright red lipstick smiles stretching their face-lifted cheeks.
    Mom put an arm around me. “Darcy, this is Pam Hendricks. You know her daughter Chloe.”
    Fake-Bake Pam narrowed her eyes and gave me one of those wimpy girl handshakes that felt like a dead fish. I hated that. My dad always taught me that a woman’s handshake should be as firm as a man’s. Liz had a strong handshake, warm but firm. I gave Pam’s hand an extra squeeze as I thought of the hell Chloe had put me through at school.
    “Darcy,” she said, wincing at my grip. “It’s so cute of your mom to give you this little job.”
    Job? What job? I glanced at Mom, whose expression silently begged me to act like I knew what was