Free Book Scavenger by Jennifer Chambliss Bertman Page B

Francisco!” he shouted. Her parents said that so often with every place they lived, it had become an inside joke. When their parents made a remark about a sunny day or a sale on tomatoes, Emily or Matthew would say, “Only in … (fill in the blank of wherever they were living).” It usually flustered their mom like she’d been scolded and she’d snap, “Well, not everything can be an enriching experience.”
    They walked under sculptures of open books dangling from wires like birds in flight and soon found themselves in front of City Lights. Emily’s dad wanted a picture taken of him standing under the CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE painted on the front window; then one with him, Matthew, and Emily; then he asked a stranger to take one of the whole family. He was so excited you’d think he was visiting Disneyland.
    They filed through the entrance into a small room shaped like a pizza slice.
    â€œAmazing to think this room made up the whole bookstore in the beginning, isn’t it?” And it was kind of amazing, since the original pizza-slice-sized store would have fit maybe ten people tops, and that would have been shoulder-to-shoulder. The bookstore was now a hodgepodge of rooms that spanned nearly a whole block. “As other businesses left this building,” her dad explained, “City Lights gradually took over the whole space.”
    They stepped up into a larger room washed in sunshine from tall windows. Matthew nearly collided with a college-aged guy, who did a double take of Matthew’s shirt—the one with five diamond playing cards on it. “Flush!” the guy said, and Matthew said, “Yeah, man.”
    â€œYou hear about the underground concert? At the Fillmore?”
    â€œSeriously?” Matthew pulled at his Mohawk, trying to play it cool, but Emily could tell by her brother’s bouncing knee that this was new and exciting news. “I knew they were doing an underground tour, but I didn’t know they’d be here.”
    â€œYeah, man,” the guy said. “You have to buy tickets for Shoot the Moon, but Flush will be playing, too.”
    Matthew waited until the guy walked out of the store before hurrying to their dad.
    â€œDad, did you hear that?” Their dad studied notes written on Post-its tacked to a bulletin board that asked, WHAT’S THE ONE BOOK YOU ALWAYS RECOMMEND?
    â€œFlush at the Fillmore, Dad. That’s, like, my Jack Kerouac and my City Lights. I have to go to that concert. I’ll never have this chance again!”
    It sounded melodramatic, but her brother was probably right. By the time his favorite band came back to that venue, the Cranes would probably be long gone, living in Ohio or Mississippi or wherever their parents’ whims took them next.
    â€œWe can talk about it.”
    â€œBut it’s Flush!”
    â€œYou’re causing a traffic jam, Matthew,” their mom said. “Your dad didn’t say no. We just need more information. Now’s not the time.”
    Matthew plugged his earbuds back in and stepped through an arched doorway leading to another room of books. The rest of the Cranes split into different directions to explore the bookstore on their own.
    Emily walked from small room to small room, up and down the three levels that made up City Lights. She noted the mismatched flooring; the hand-lettered signs with sayings like A KIND OF LIBRARY WHERE BOOKS ARE SOLD ; an oval mirror with a lion’s head on top; framed art, photos, and memorabilia from the Beat poets. Emily trailed her fingers along the varied book spines and thought about young Garrison Griswold, freshly moved to San Francisco, and how this bookstore and its owner had been an inspiration to him.
    She’d hoped coming here might help her understand the hidden words she and James had found in Mr. Griswold’s book. Fort, wild, home, rat, open, belief ,she chanted to herself as she wandered among