Personal Touch Read Online Free PDF Page B

rather high off the ground and most young maidens aren’t that easily swung around. Still, I love it. Westerns are terribly romantic.
    Boy, have I got romance on the brain, I thought glumly. “The last reader loved that book,” I told Margaret. Mr. Lansberry had just exchanged it. He liked action novels. He was always bringing in some fat 400-page book and complaining that “nothing happened in this story.” I’d always say, “Listen, there can’t be 400 pages and nothing happened.”
    “I’ll take it.” Margaret paid for the book. “Have you noticed something, Sunny?” she said, leaning on the counter. She rested her chin on her palms and stared into my eyes. Our faces were about two inches apart. She’s going to tell me I don’t have a tan yet, I thought.
    “There are no handsome summer boys here this year,” said Margaret.
    “Yes. I definitely noticed that. It’s a good summer for nonreaders, too.”
    “You want to hear my theory?” she said.
    Naturally I wanted to hear the theory of the only girl friend I had with a decent boyfriend.
    “My theory is that our first fifteen summers were spent just gazing at those handsome summer boys. We knew we were too young and boring and dumb to the boys then. But this year—when we’re ready—well, it’s kind of like going shopping for clothes.”
    “Going shopping for clothes?” I said.
    “When you don’t have any money, Sunny, the stores are crammed with terrific clothing. When you’re broke, everything fits. But when you have money, boy, just try to find a halfway decent dress.”
    We laughed.
    She’s right, I thought. I’m ready and there’s nothing here.
    I didn’t let myself think the depressing thought that perhaps all sorts of good-looking boys were ready too and they’d looked me over and said to themselves, there’s nothing here.
    Three more customers came in. I waited on them while Margaret leaned on her palms and wrinkled her tanned forehead in thought.
    David, I said to myself, No longer dating Margaret.
    Maybe if I think about him long enough I could get my crush back. If I get the crush back so hard I’m absolutely aching for David, maybe I’d find the courage to call him up and ask him out myself. If not, at least I’d have a fantasy of my own to while away the sweltering hours of bookselling.
    But if Margaret felt like an old woman around David, if Margaret would rather read a spy novel than bother with David again, it was going to be hard to resurrect my crush on him.
    When the three customers left—sagging from the heat—I said very casually, “You’ve been out there on the beach every single day, Margaret. You’ve had a chance to see everything there is. So what is there?”
    I knew she’d know I meant boys. I could trust Margaret not to tell me about the seashells and driftwood.
    “Nothing,” said Margaret. “Absolutely nothing.” She sighed, brushed her hair off her forehead and stooped to put her face directly in front of the fan for a moment. “Except Tim,” she said after a while. “That old Tim has definitely, but definitely, grown up.”
    Margaret may have been right about Tim. I don’t know. My own feeling was that if Tim was the best on the beach, the heck with the beach. I’d get my tan cycling back and forth to work or not at all.
    But the following Monday all piddling worries about things like suntans and boys disappeared. Jeter quit.
    “Running a store is too much work,” she told my mother. “I’ve never liked summer people anyway, and this year’s crop is worse than most. The truth of the matter is, I don’t care if they have enough chairs. They can sit on the sand and get seaweed in their hair and it’s fine by me. And anybody who runs out of charcoal on Sunday night is more than welcome to eat his fish raw.”
    “I know exactly how you feel,” said my mother, “but if we don’t have the Chair Fair income, we’ll starve.”
    Good grief, I thought, looking down at my willowy self. Would