The bright sunshine from the morning sun cracked through the gray clouds, flooding the sky. Frigid wind blew through the tree leaves, pulling them from their stems and creating piles of crunch along the sidewalk. The footsteps of her small, wedged boots were all Adrienne could focus on as she made her way down the road. Her wavy brown hair blew through the cold air as she counted each step along the way. It was something she had done for as long as she could remember. One, two, one, two, one, two, she repeated in her head, marking each step with a number. One, two, one, two. The sharp tap of her heels on the hard pavement stopped, replaced with the jingling bell of an opening door. Adrienne pushed her way into the warm bookshop and was greeted by the familiar scent of old paper and pipe-tobacco. Often, she would come here to study for exams or presentations. The ambient lighting, creaking floors, and frigid draft from cracked windows made it the perfect place for Adrienne. Hawthorne’s was her favorite place in the world.
“Adrienne, sweetheart! Come on in, hun. I brought you a chocolate-chip muffin, baked fresh this morning!”
A short woman excitedly approached the girl with arms wide. Adrienne accepted her embrace, responding, “Oh, Mrs. Hawthorne, good morning. I just grabbed a coffee, but I always have room for a muffin.” Adrienne flinched, startled by the fluffy feeling of a small, gray cat rubbing its side along her calf. The kitten stared at her, curiously, with lime-green eyes, but scurried away when she leaned down to pet its back. “Aww, I was excited to see Othello. He is getting so big!” Adrienne had never had a pet when she grew up, so as soon as Mrs. Hawthorne got a cat for the bookshop, Adrienne made it her goal to bond with him.
Mrs. Hawthorne adjusted her glasses, pushing them higher on the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, I think he is gonna grow up to be a chunky one. Anyway, what brings you here this morning, hun? Did you already finish the stack I gave you last week?” Adrienne nodded shyly, worried about how many options there would be left for her to read. Although her schedule was often full because of her classes and studying for exams, she always had time for a book. Mrs. Hawthorne, now holding the tiny Othello, shuffled closer to Adrienne, as if she was going to tell her a secret. “I think I have just the thing to tide you over for a while,” Mrs. Hawthorne mumbled, barely intelligible to Adrienne.
Dropping Othello onto a nearby table, Mrs. Hawthorne pulled her curly, white hair into a bun on the top of her head. “Quickly now, Adrienne. This book is life changing.” The mystery was almost tangible in Mrs. Hawthorne’s voice. Adrienne hesitated for a moment. Then, with a quickening heartbeat, she slung her backpack down onto the carpet and followed her. The unfamiliar urgency in Mrs. Hawthorne’s voice sparked an uneasy curiosity in Adrienne. Should she be worried about what Mrs. Hawthorne was bringing her to?
The weathered wooden planks of the floor creaked under Adrienne’s boots as she walked the intricate path to the back of the bookshop, winding through tight spaces with antique art along the walls. They finally walked into a cold, dark room, where Mrs. Hawthorne tugged a small chain above her head to illuminate the room with a flickering lightbulb. She moved to the corner of the room and picked up a gorgeous, leather-bound book. Although dusty, Adrienne could see the cover was embossed with a gold crest and the spine had gold detailing.
“This book has been in my family for ages. I have never brought myself to read it, partly because I don’t have the time. I thought you would like it; it might be different than what you’re used to!” Mrs. Hawthorne seemed very excited when she was saying this, like she was hiding something. Adrienne accepted the book from her hands and glided her fingers along the gilded edges of the nearly ancient pages. She found herself in search of a title on the cover but was unable to find one. She pulled back the stiff cover protecting the thin pages to see if the title was within the book, but still came up short.
She looked to Mrs. Hawthorne. “This truly is a gorgeous book, thank you. But, uh, where is the title?”
“Oh, no one in my family ever knew. A few assumed it was a journal, or something kept by one of our ancestors, but I’m not convinced.” Mrs. Hawthorne seemed to know more than what she was letting on, but Adrienne was so excited to dive into the chapters of this mysterious book, she didn’t waste time asking questions. With a quick goodbye to Mrs. Hawthorne and Othello, she was off to the lake to read the newest addition to her library.
One, two, one, two, one, two. She repeated her habit as she quickly strolled down the street, watching the newfound droplets of water fall from the once bright and sunny sky. Adrienne had always preferred darker and rainier weather, so she wasn’t complaining. When she made it to the lake, she scrambled through the soggy leaves until she made it to the only dry spot of land by the lake. The large and looming leaves on the tall tree created a small, covered area for her to read. She squatted low to the ground until she was able to lean against the tree trunk and lay her legs out in front of her. Shuffling in her backpack, she pulled out the delicate book and began to flip through the pages, inhaling the scent of rustic paper. Adrienne took a deep breath before turning to the very first page of the book. She read the words on the pages, anticipation rising within her. Adrienne was hoping to uncover a story about faraway lands or mythical castles. But as she read on, she had an unsettling realization. She tossed the book down near her feet, holding in a scream. The story she was reading was not a work of fiction; it was a true story. A true story written about her.
***
The book sat on a pile of leaves near Adrienne’s feet as she struggled to comprehend what she had read. She stared at it as the golden bookmark attached to the spine waved in the wind. Questions flew through her brain. Is it a coincidence? No, it cannot be a coincidence. The details are exactly right. Who wrote this? Why was Mrs. Hawthorne acting so weird about it, rushing me to the book with no explanation? Is the author of this book stalking me? Should I call 911? No, that’s crazy. Right?
Adrienne continued to spiral, falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of overthinking. She picked up the book again and searched for any detail that might prove the book wasn’t about her. She read on, sometimes skipping pages or whole chapters, dumbfounded by the accuracy of the words, until she reached the present moment. She was terrified. The ink seemed to magically appear on the pages, as if an invisible hand was recording her every move.
Scrambling, she shoved the book deep within her backpack, hurrying away from the lake. One, two, one, two, one, two, she said with a newfound urgency, somewhat of an anxious pep in her step. Her speedwalk turned into a jog, her jog turned into a run. Before she noticed, she was sprinting atop fallen leaves and slick mud. By the time she made it back to the downtown sidewalks of her small town, her breathing was uneven.
“One, two, one, two, one, two,” Adrienne mumbled under her panting breath. Finally, she made it to her apartment complex. Neighbors shot her strange looks, but for the first time, she didn’t care. Focused on reaching her home, she sprinted past the elevator and pushed open the heavy metal door leading to the stairs. “Two, four, six, eight. Two, four, six, eight,” echoed through the narrow stairwell as she counted each step she passed, taking two steps with each stride. Pushing through another metal door, she finally slowed down, reaching her apartment door. Adrienne fumbled her keys out of her pocket, shoving the key through the keyhole. She swung the door open, slamming it into the frame. Letting out a deep sigh, she calmed her lungs, which were begging for a breath. Her heart was beating faster than ever before, but not because of the exercise. The adrenaline pulsing through her body was because of the realization she had made at the lake. She might be able to control her own life.
***
The book rested on a dark brown wooden coffee table, a mug filled with chamomile and honey tea next to it, filling the room with a sweet aroma. The tea’s fresh and floral scent mixed with the salted-caramel fragrance of the candle, its flame illuminating the golden accents of the book. The floors creaked as Adrienne approached the dark green leather couch with an old, black pen she had fished out of her desk drawer. The textured pages of the book were nearly whispering to her, taunting her, begging her to press the ink into the thin sheets that held her entire past, present, and maybe even future. Her long and nimble fingers were trembling as she pressed the tip of the pen, the spring responding with a click as it recoiled. She flipped to the page she left off on, skipping through the pages added since she had last read. As Adrienne reached the first blank page, she took a deep breath, the eager anticipation of what might happen forcing her hand to the beige paper.
A delivery driver knocks on my door, but he says he went to the wrong address.
The wall clock to her left was all Adrienne heard as she was waiting for the life-changing knocks that would prove her theory. She counted the ticks that came from the thin, red hand of the clock. One, two, three, four, five–
A gasp escaped from her throat as she jumped to her feet. Three powerful thuds came from the knuckles on the other side of the door, and she was filled with an inexplicable feeling of both fear and excitement. Quickly, she approached the door and unlocked the deadbolt with a click. Standing on the other side of the door was a man in a dark gray shirt, khaki shorts and a blue vest with “Amazon” printed on the back. His green eyes blinked down to the small, cardboard box he was holding, and he began to walk away.
“So sorry, ma’am, wrong address. Have a nice day,” he apologized as he checked apartment numbers, searching for the owner of the package. Adrienne’s dark blue eyes were wide as she crept back into her home, shutting the door. A feeling of power rushed through her as she gathered her thoughts. She nearly fainted when she thought to herself, I can write my own future… I can write my own future!
***
Over the next few months, she tested her newfound power. At first, she started with small changes like bumping her grades up and perfecting the muffin recipe she’d previously struggled with. She made things easy. She met and connected with friends. She even wrote in a love interest. Adrienne had drafted her dream guy, Marshal, her ideal meet-cute, and crafted herself her dream relationship. Adrienne bubbled with excitement as she watched her GPA rise and her friend group grow. She marveled at the experience. None of these things had ever come easy in her life before. She believed she had found the missing element to her happiness, the last piece of the puzzle that was her life.
As all of these changes became constants in her life, Adrienne found she was bored and unsatisfied with the small improvements she had made. She didn’t have to work for anything – it was all just handed to her. Everything was planned. All of the excitement and spontaneity of life had disappeared. She knew everything that was going to happen in her life. Adrienne’s grades and popularity were unearned, the love in her relationship with Marshal was forged by her own pen and paper. She wrote it in her book and then watched it all happen. It unfolded in front of her like a third-grade play – shallow and predictable.
One evening, as Adrienne sat on her bed, mindlessly scribbling her expectations for the next day in her book, she was tempted by thoughts of drastic changes to her life, and she made a decision. Her hand began to cramp up as she scripted the largest change yet. As she decided how she wanted her future to play out, she dove into what she was most passionate about – books. Adrienne began to form the success story of a brand-new bookstore in town. She described the vaulted ceilings, the oak-wood columns and intricately carved spandrels. She imagined her dark, moody hideaway from reality, and she wrote herself as the owner of this perfect bookshop. By the time Adrienne was finished describing in perfect detail how she wanted her bookstore to be, she was exhausted. The sun had set, and the once bright sky was filled with stars. She didn’t even notice all the time that had passed by. She tossed her book onto her bed and lay down beside it. Filled with excitement for the bookstore coming into her future, she quickly drifted off to sleep.
***
Several months later, business was booming at her bookstore. She had graduated from her Master’s program in Literature, number one in her class. She had great friends and an amazing boyfriend. Adrienne’s life wasn’t perfect though, there was a growing ache of guilt. She felt bad about the people who put in real effort, those who were cheated by the chapters she wrote. With every passing picture-perfect day, she was forced to contemplate. How different would my life be without this book? Would it be better? Would other people’s lives be better without it? How much of this success would I have earned without the book? Adrienne distracted herself from these thoughts with managing and growing her bookstore. Customers were traveling from neighboring towns just to visit her store, and she was receiving new shipments of books daily.
One afternoon, she found herself strolling down the road to Mrs. Hawthorne’s store. One, two, one, two, one, two, she counted as she walked down the cold, hard sidewalk. Although she felt immense success and joy from her own store, there was just something different about Mrs. Hawthorne’s. Adrienne’s store didn’t have the smell of old paper and pipe-tobacco she loved so much, it didn’t have her favorite books lining the walls, and it didn’t have her favorite person sipping tea at the front desk. Adrienne heard the familiar jingle of a bell as she walked through the door into the warm store. She was shocked by the loneliness of the shop, the shelves that were once filled with books now empty and covered with dust.
“Oh, hi, Adrienne. How are you doing, hun?” Mrs. Hawthorne’s face looked different as she greeted Adrienne into her store. She was still smiling as big as ever to see Adrienne, but the joy that once filled her face seemed to have been stripped along with all of the books.
“What happened, Mrs. Hawthorne? Where did the books go?” Adrienne scrambled to find the words. This bookshop had always been her favorite place. She had loved it her whole lifetime, and now it just seemed dull and lifeless. The books that held her favorite stories were gone, their dust graves still holding their place on the shelf.
“Business hasn’t been too good since you opened your store. All of my customers have stopped visiting my shop in favor of yours,” Mrs. Hawthorne whispered. Adrienne could see the tears filling her waterline; Mrs. Hawthorne was barely keeping it together. Her store, her home, was nearly lost, and she was losing an important part of her. Years earlier, Mrs. Hawthorne had explained to Adrienne that the store had originally belonged to her mother-in-law, but she had gotten too weak to care for it, and it had nearly gone out of business. When Mrs. Hawthorne’s husband passed, she took over the store and brought it back to life. She created a safe and welcoming space for the entire town, and it was slipping from her fingers.
Adrienne rushed over to Mrs. Hawthorne, as she finally understood that the loss of Mrs. Hawthorne’s store was her own fault. She embraced Mrs. Hawthorne in a tight, long hug as she searched for the words to make her apology. An “I’m sorry” just wouldn’t cut it in this situation, as the hurt Adrienne had created was far more than superficial.
Salty tears swelled up in Adrienne’s eyes as she mumbled, “I don’t even know what to say, Mrs. Hawthorne. This is all my fault, my store has ruined yours, your legacy, nearly gone all because of me. I’m so, so…”
“Oh hush, Adrienne. You know I want nothing more than for you to be happy. I don’t mind. In fact I’m glad I don’t have to run this store anymore,” Mrs. Hawthorne interrupted Adrienne, her voice firm but gentle. Adrienne was able to see through Mrs. Hawthorne’s lie; she knew that the shop was so much more than just a place for Mrs. Hawthorne.
“No, I promise I will make this right,” Adrienne said as she rushed out onto the sidewalk, leaving Mrs. Hawthorne alone and shocked.
***
The very next week, Adrienne sold her bookstore space to a small publishing firm and pulled all of the inventory into her small apartment. She knew just what had to happen. After all of the paperwork had been sorted out, Adrienne made her way as fast as she could to Mrs. Hawthorne’s bookshop. When Adrienne arrived, she saw the lights inside the frosted windows were dark. There was no one inside. She slunk through the entire town center but was unable to find Mrs. Hawthorne, until she reached an old coffee shop in town. Adrienne locked eyes with her through the window, ready to make up for her mistake. She found her way through the dark, oak wood door and was greeted by a wave of coffee bean perfumes.
“Mrs. Hawthorne, you have done so much for me, and I got greedy with all you’ve given me,” Adrienne blurted out. “I wanted control and success out of my life, and I didn’t want to go through the risks that came with earning it. I see how what I’ve done has hurt other people, and I want to make it right. I want to give you this, to make up for me ruining your store.” Adrienne slid a fresh and clean envelope along the table. “I want to help you bring life back into the shop, and bring back the warm and welcoming feeling everyone gets when they walk through your doors. I sold my bookstore, and I want the inventory and the proceeds from the sale to go into Hawthorne’s. It’s what I should have done from the beginning.”
“Oh, Adrienne, I couldn’t. Really, it’s too much. Besides, I want you to be successful. Go run your store!” Mrs. Hawthorne brushed away the envelope of money, both shocked and pleased by Adrienne’s kindness.
Adrienne pushed the envelope into Mrs. Hawthorne’s light leather bag and spoke with a newfound confidence that Mrs. Hawthorne had not heard from her before. “No, if not for you then do it for me. Do it so I can still have the bookshop that I love more than anything.”
Mrs. Hawthorne rolled her eyes and picked up her purse. “Well then let’s go! We have a bookstore to revamp!”
Adrienne grabbed Mrs. Hawthorne’s arm before she got too far from the table. “Wait, actually, I just want to finish one thing first.”
***
Adrienne walked towards the lake, reliving moments of the past several months, feeling guilty over the choices she made for her own benefit. One, two, one, two. This wasn’t who she was! She deeply cared about people. One, two, one, two. And she had hurt them. One, two, one…Adrienne’s habit stopped her in her tracks. She thought to herself, What if I just lived in the moment? What if instead of obsessing over the details, I took in the gorgeous scenery around me? She continued walking, ignoring her steps, and paying attention to the color of the leaves on the trees instead. She followed a path she marked herself until she found her reading spot. Digging through her bag, she pulled out the leather book and flipped through the wrinkled pages one last time. Kneeling close to the lakeside, she dipped her fingers into the crystal-clear water, feeling the chill it brought to her fingertips. Adrienne gently set the book down on top of the water and pushed it out into the lake. She watched the ripples flow away from the book. Feeling lighter than she had in months, she stood up and looked back at the book, sighing as it slowly sank into the water. As the ink seeped from the pages into the lake, Adrienne watched the book and regretted a lot of what she had done over the past few months. She knew now that the uncertainty of life and the reward felt after earning success were so much more valuable than being able to plot and plan every moment of a life. Success and happiness were more meaningful after having lived through a little sadness and struggle. The reward of a job well done wasn’t much of a reward if you didn’t have to do the job. It was far more valuable to live a life unscripted.
(by Layla Hall ’27)