Mark My Words Read Online Free PDF Page B

garage smelled like tools and faintly of gas. Mom flicked on the wall switch, and yellow light bathed the chilly room.
    Passing Mom’s compact car and Ray’s truck, Mom guided me to a shelf in the corner. Pointing to a few boxes on the bottom, she said, “There they are. Do you want to take them? I can have Ray help you carry them out.”
    “Oh.” I shook my head. “No. I won’t take them all. I’m looking for a specific one.”
    Mom grinned. “Something to help with your novel?”
    I paused, studying her face. “Mom, do you honestly like it? Like, would you like it if I wasn’t your son?”
    Her brown eyes appeared even darker in this lighting. Reaching out, she gently patted my cheek. “I don’t like the book just because you wrote it. I like it because it’s good.” Dropping her hand, she nodded. “Seriously.” My chest expanded at her words. Maybe I actually had something this time. “I can’t wait to see it in bookstores,” she added, and the tightness in my chest returned.
    “I’ve been keeping my eyes open for a job,” I said. “You know, in case this doesn’t work out.”
    “Nonsense. It’s going to sell.”
    “I know, but in the meantime I need to bring in more than my freelance work is right now.”
    “If you need anything, Ray and I are happy to help.”
    “But you shouldn’t have to. I’m an adult.”
    “An adult with a dream worth pursuing,” she responded. “You’ve got something special, Colin. I’ve always known it.” Shivering, she hugged herself. “Well, it’s too cold out here for me. I’ll go make some tea. Do you want some?”
    “No, thanks.”
    “Okay. Let me know if you need any help finding something.” As Mom hurried inside, I knelt down in front of the boxes. Curving my hand around one of them, I scooted it toward me. My name was scrawled on top with Sharpie in Mom’s handwriting. Bringing it down to the floor, I pried the top open. Inside I was greeted with the scent of old books. It’s a smell that’s impossible to describe, but instantly recognizable. And a warm feeling swelled in my chest. I ran my fingertips over the spines, and when I pulled my hand back the pads of my fingers were coated in a thick film of dust. Cold from the cement seeped through my jeans. I readjusted my position, and dug into the box. After sifting through the books, I surmised that the ones I was looking for weren’t in here. Firmly closing the top, I shoved it back onto the shelf and reached for a different box.
    This time I found what I was looking for right away. The choose-your-own-ending books were on top. Yanking a few of them out, I spread them out in my lap. Opening the first one, I was surprised that after all of these years I could still remember the story and the ending I’d chosen. Satisfied, I set aside a couple of the books and then shut the remainder of them into the box. After securing the box back on the shelf, I tucked the books under my arm and stood up.
    I headed back into the house armed with my books and a plan.

5
     
    I’d overslept.
    Every morning, I woke up at six a.m. like clockwork. I never needed to set an alarm. It was as if my body was internally set to that time. But this morning I slept peacefully until eight o’clock. When I rolled over, and saw how light it was outside I was confused. Blinking profusely, I stared at my clock in disbelief. Then again, I had stayed up late. I was busy reading through the books I’d brought home from my parents’ house. It was reminiscent of when I was a kid. Of all the nights I’d hide under my covers reading with my flashlight. As an adult, my mom had confessed that she knew what I was doing all along. However, when I was younger I thought I was so clever, pulling one over on my parents.
    Sliding out of bed, I padded into the bathroom. Yawning, I turned on the shower. As steam rose around me, filling the tiny bathroom, I contemplated staying home today. I mean, wasn’t that the beauty of not having a