that had a coat of moisture on the inside, I shrugged my shoulders and lifted up her book from the library.
“No. You keep it for now. I’ll get it later. You might like it to read.” She glanced at the title.
It was a biography of a famous movie star.
I wouldn’t read it, but I might glance at the pictures. Impressed that she trusted me with a library book so quickly, I offered, “You want some bagels?”
It was the least I could do for her birthday.
She shook her head and her hair brushed the cover of her book. “No, thanks. Get ’em while they’re fresh! I’ll see you later.”
And with that, she was gone.
Entering the shop, I noticed the space for the customers was surprisingly small, and the counters were above my head. There was a clear way to get in line and order that I wasn’t grasping. The adults just stepped in front of me. I was about to give up, even though the baked goods smelled incredible, when someone tapped on my shoulder.
Pixie Rae was right behind me. “I figured this might be a problem. Hang on.” She passed me her load, then she went almost behind the counter and dragged out a step stool. She used it to make eye contact with the man behind the counter.
“Pixie! Happy Birthday, Sunshine!” The whole place seemed to know her name. People came out from the back with flour on their hands to give her a high-five. After she accepted all the well-wishes, she thumbed at me over her shoulder. “Gaze is new here, so we got to let him get some food.”
And like a magician she revealed me. I found myself smiling back at all the workers now peeking over the countertop to say hi to me and introduce themselves.
When all was said and done, Pixie had a cake in a box tied with a red striped ribbon, and I had a bagel with cream cheese that was still warm from the oven and an extra sack of a few must-have treats. My five dollars was still firmly in my pocket and Pixie’s books and puzzle rested on my forearms.
To say I was dazzled by Pixie Rae’s magic would be an understatement. She was so capable. She seemed like a mini adult.
Walking back into the neighborhood with her got me introduced to a lot more people. Some our age, most our parents’ age.
We walked past my building and into hers. She pulled her key out from a ribbon around her neck. She should have had to open the door to the building, but it was propped open, so we walked right through and up her five flights of stairs. I could kind of guess which apartment was hers based on how it faced my building.
As Pixie opened the door, she warned me, “Just don’t be judgy. My mom works a lot of jobs and I’m in charge of keeping the place up.”
I shrugged because I really didn’t care. My father and I lived like bachelors, or so he said. Pixie’s place was neat and together, so I wasn’t sure where the judgment was supposed to be coming from. She motioned for me to set her books down onto a scuffed coffee table, and she put her cake in the refrigerator.
“You can eat your bagel in the kitchen if you want.” She patted the round metal table here.
I took her up on her offer because I was flat-out starving. Halfway through my third bite, the keys in the door jingled. I could see into the living room from where I was quietly sitting.
“Hey, munchkin.”
Even Ms. Stone’s greeting sounded tired before I saw the bags under her eyes. She was a pretty lady. A bigger, older Pixie. I halfway stood, getting ready to pack up myself to leave, but Pixie motioned for me to sit back down with her palm facing the floor. I sank back down and continued eating.
Ms. Stone barely made it all the way into the living room, staggering like she was walking barefoot on lava until she sat down in the armchair. Pixie asked her mom a few mumbled questions, but as far as I could tell, she didn’t get an answer.
Then I felt like I was peeking in her window again as I saw the routine Pixie was clearly used to doing. She loosened her mother’s collar for comfort and slid her shoes off her feet. After grabbing a fuzzy blanket off the couch, she tucked her