Page 5 of The Library of Borrowed Hearts

“I wasn’t talking about the Frisbee, you fool,” he said. “I was referring to the name.”

I blinked. This was new. Conversation wasn’t something Jasper and I shared very often. Our interactions ranged almost entirely around the property rights associated with childhood toys and the land onto which they fell. Somewhere inside this man’s house lived about thirty soccer balls, an equal number of plastic Frisbees, and an old baseball I’d scrawled with a barely legibleBabe Ruthbefore I’d tossed it over to see what he would do.

“What’s wrong with calling him Noodle?” I asked, refusing to let thatfoolpart get to me. “Lots of kids have nicknames.”

“Not ones named after food.” He narrowed his eyes at me. Like the rest of him, they were powerful, their brilliant blue unwavering. “I knew a boy named Beef once.”

I blinked again, even more taken aback this time. This wasn’t just conversation. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were bordering on chitchat.

“That’s a fun nickname,” I said. “Was he a vegetarian?”

Jasper scoffed so hard I could practically see the spittle flying from his mouth. “Of course not. No one was a vegetarian back then. You ate what was put in front of you, and you were grateful for each mouthful.”

I got the feeling I was being insulted, and even though I knewwhy, I wasn’t exactly sure of the how.

“And before you ask, no, Beef wasn’t a large kid,” Jasper added. “He was the scrawniest scrap of a human being I ever met. Hell of a fighter, though, which is how he got the name. He had a beef with everyone, even if he’d never met them before.”

“I’m not sure I understand the moral of this story,” I said. “Is your problem with Noodle’s nickname that it’s too…weak? He needs something stronger?”

“I’m saying the world takes you at your word. Make sure the thing you’re telling them is what you want them to hear.” His lips pulled down in a frown. “And I’m not giving you that Frisbee. It’s mine now.”

I bit back a groan. After all that, he wasstillgoing to make me beg for it? The door started to close, so I slipped my foot in through the crack.

“Please, Mr. Holmes?” I asked. “I know I promised it wouldn’t happen again, but the truth is, Ineedthat Frisbee.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one needs a Frisbee. Throw plates if you’re desperate.”

He tried to close the door around my foot, but I wasn’t backing down. If he wanted me to believe that the trick to success was simply standing up and telling the world what you wanted it to hear, then I was ready to give his approach a go. After all, what was the worst thing he could do to me? StealmoreFrisbees?

“I know it seems like a little thing to you, but it’ll cost me five bucks to replace,” I said, my irritation mounting. “That’s five bucks I could put toward Trixie’s yearbook costs. Five bucks to put a gallon of gas in my guzzler of a car. Five bucks I could use to buy the name-brand cereal instead of a sad off-brand replacement.”

He stared down at my foot and back up at my face, his gaze equally displeased with both.

“How you waste your money is your problem, not mine,” he said with a grunt. “You kids today are all the same. If you knew anything, you’d realize those off-brand cereals are just as good as the real thing. Half the time, they make them in the same factories.”

As far as I was concerned, that was the final straw. This man, with his marble birdbaths and well-sculpted gardens, his hoard of stolen soccer balls, his kitchen with only one mouth to feed, hadno ideawhat a tiny thing like name-brand cereal meant to a family like mine.

Yes, Theo would eat it in one sitting. And, yeah, technically speaking, it would satisfy the same nutritional needs in the end. But eating that cheap cereal in a cheap bowl every day wore a person down. Not in a way that you could quantify, but by tiny degrees. Each bite was a reminderthat no matter how hard we worked or how far we stretched our dollars, some things would never change.

We’d always be starting at the bottom.

“Tell me something, Mr. Holmes,” I said, my voice tight. “You’ve lived in this house for—what—forty, fifty years?”

“Thereabouts,” he agreed, grumbling. “So what?”

“So then you’ve seen my entire life unfold before your eyes,” I said. “My mom’s, too, probably. You saw her hitch herself to a succession of rotten boyfriends, desperate for someone to lift her up and take her away from this place. Watched those same rotten boyfriends come and go, only staying long enough to knock her up before moving on to greener pastures. Saw her bring home four squalling babies, saw how much she struggled to keep them in formula and diapers and cereal—knockoff brand or otherwise.”

I could tell from Jasper’s growing frown that he wasn’t expecting this direct attack, but I was on too much of a roll to stop now.

“You also saw me go off to college, only to return two years later with nothing to show for it but half a degree and a load of student debt,” I added. “And I bet you know why, too. I bet you were the one who called CPS.”

The fact that his gaze shifted to a few inches above my head told me everything I needed to know. Since I was, in all honesty,gratefulfor that particular intervention, I didn’t press too hard. According to the woman who’d called me, my mom had been gone for over two weeks before the kids had been scooped up and placed in foster care.

Trixie had been eleven at the time. Theo and Noodle had only been seven.

“You know it all,” I continued, eyes blazing. “She left them alone. She walked away from her own children. So, yeah. A five-dollar Frisbee might not mean much to you, but it means a lot to Noodle—a kid whose name you may not think ismachoenough, but who’s doing the besthe can with the hand he’s been dealt. I can always buy another one to replace it, and I will, but I literally stole a library book from work today to help us get by.That’swhat I’m dealing with.That’swhat five dollars means to me.”

Instead of immediately going inside to get the Frisbee, Jasper tilted his head. It wasn’t much of a reaction—in fact, it was disappointing considering how much of myself I’d just laid bare—but it was enough.