Selby just sat and stared. She tried not to slouch – she knew that was a bad look. So she sat as upright as possible, with a neutral expression on her face, and waited for a customer. It was a long wait. Selby had seen a TV documentary about meditation. She tried doing it now. She reasoned if she could let go of her physical self, this situation might not be so painfully boring. She focused on her breathing and emptying her mind. She started to feel heavy and relaxed.

  Her head started to dip forward. She was just drifting off when . . .

  ‘Do your homework!’ snapped Mum.

  Selby’s head snapped up. She had a surge of adrenaline. Mum was glaring at her from the cooking section. Selby remembered she was in the bookstore, being punished. She shook herself to wake up more. She took out her folder from her bag and flipped to the maths section. It was quadratic equations. She didn’t mind them. She had done all the homework at lunch. She wondered if she could get away with just sitting and staring at this page. No, that wasn’t fair. Her mother was right. She should do her homework. Selby flipped to English.

  The homework essay question stared back up at her. A wave of sadness washed over Selby. She really, really didn’t want to write this essay. She closed her eyes, hoping it would go away. She flicked back to the maths. She would rather stare at that.

  Just then, the shop bell tinkled. A customer. Selby’s eyes flew open. A tall dark-skinned boy, a couple of years older than her, entered.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said with a groan. It was just Dan, a friend of her brother’s. All her brother’s friends were annoying. They were all huge geeks who loved all the huge geek things. In her mind, Dan would always be Sam Gamgee. He had dressed up as Sam to Eric’s Frodo so they could go to their fourth-grade book parade as hobbits from Lord of the Rings. Dan was now six-foot-two and skinny, but he would always be a short hairy-footed creature to her.

  ‘Exemplary customer service, little one,’ said Dan.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Selby, picking up a pen and trying to focus on her work.

  Dan walked over to the counter.

  Selby ignored him. But he didn’t go away. She glanced up. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Dan. ‘I’m pretty sure I know the stock in this bookstore better than you do.’

  Dan came to the bookstore every single day. When he was nine years old his mother had died. No-one knew what to do with him. His Dad was an electrician who had emigrated from Zimbabwe. He was a great dad, but he struggled to know what to say to his huge nerd son. Then Dan’s grandfather had a good idea. He set up an account with the store and promised to buy Dan any book he wanted to read until he finished high school. Dan had, as a result, read a lot of books.

  ‘Enjoy then,’ said Selby, waving her arm at the store like a game show hostess waving at a new speed boat.

  ‘I’m not here to have fun,’ said Dan. ‘I’m here to work.’

  ‘Huh?’ said Selby.

  Dan smirked, ‘They didn’t tell you, did they?’

  Selby got a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘I’m your new tutor,’ said Dan. His smirk was positively a grin now. He was enjoying this too much. ‘I hear you’ve been a very naughty girl. No homework for six months and throwing rocks at platypuses.’

  ‘I didn’t throw rocks at platypuses,’ argued Selby.

  Dan shook his head sadly. ‘That’s what all the juvenile delinquents say. Sadly, I can’t cure you of your violent impulses. But I can help with the homework.’

  ‘Urgh,’ said Selby.

  ‘Ah, Dan’s here,’ said Mum bustling down from the back of the store. ‘So good to see you. Are you doing all right? Are you eating enough? You’ve grown so thin.’

  ‘No, just taller, Mrs Michaels,’ said Dan.

  ‘So tall,’ agreed Mum. ‘It’s just not right. You boys grow up so fast. Here, eat something.’

  There was a candy jar on the counter. Kids were given a piece when they bought a book. It was also handy for when kids threw tantrums in the store if their parents spent too long browsing. Mum grabbed a handful of mini chocolate bars and stuffed them in Dan’s jacket pocket.

  ‘Is your dad feeding you enough?’ she asked. ‘I can always send over a home-cooked meal.’

  Selby snorted back a laugh. Mum was not a good cook. Mum glared at Selby. ‘I hope you’re ready to work,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you were going to get me a proper tutor,’ said Selby.

  ‘Dan is a proper tutor,’ said Mrs Michaels. ‘We were lucky to get him. He’s the top tutor in town.’

  ‘I could have ridden my bike over the bridge,’ said Selby. The next town over was the other side of the river. They had a coaching clinic there, staffed by people who had not gone to the same high school as her.

  ‘And who knows what mischief you would have got up to,’ accused Mum, ‘when you stopped to throw rocks along the way.’

  Selby rolled her eyes. She was branded. That was the thing about living in a country town – once word got out that you’d done something strange, it would stay with you for the rest of your life. She’d be in her nineties and people would still point at her and say she was the one who threw rocks at wildlife. Truth and reality didn’t matter.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ said Selby.

  ‘No, you’re staying where I can see you,’ snapped Mum.

  ‘You want me to work right here in the shop?’ asked Selby.

  ‘I think you can handle the workload,’ said her mother sarcastically, before stomping off to the back of the store again. Selby wondered how long it would be before Mum forgot to be mad at her. It looked like this was going to last for weeks. Or at least until Mum found a good book to read and tuned her out again.

  ‘Shall we get started?’ asked Dan.

  Selby couldn’t believe this was actually going to happen. She was going to be tutored by her brother’s geeky friend. She felt bad about upsetting her parents and letting them down, but this was the first moment that she felt sorry for herself and genuinely wished she hadn’t stopped doing all her homework six months ago.

  It was one thing to be a woefully ignorant embarrassment to your family. But to do it in full view of a smirking eighteen-year-old, who was going to repeat anything you said to your insufferable older brother, was a nightmare.

  ‘Why are you even here?’ asked Selby.

  ‘Because your parents are paying me by the hour,’ said Dan.

  ‘No, I mean, why are you still here in town?’ asked Selby. ‘Everyone else went off to uni. I’m sure you must have been smart enough to get into some course in advanced nerd studies or something.’

  ‘I did,’ said Dan. ‘I’m deferring for a year or two. I promised I’d stay and help Dad.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Selby. That didn’t sound like fun.

  ‘I’ll probably learn more here anyway,’ said Dan.

  ‘How do you figure that?’ asked Selby.

  ‘Anywhere there are people there will be endless intrigue to observe,’ said Dan.

  ‘Really?’ said Selby.

  ‘Sure,’ said Dan. ‘Jane Austen barely went anywhere but she found seven books’ worth of stories to tell. Look at you. You’re a prime example. By all appearances you’re a small-town delinquent, but I’m sure even you have hidden depths.’

  Selby just grunted. She may not have read any Jane Austen books but she had seen plenty of TV adaptations. She knew Jane Austen didn’t exactly explore a vast variety of themes – all her books were romance novels about young women. But Selby had learned many years ago that there was no point arguing with her brother or his friends. They could always out-talk her. It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t make them right just because they sounded right.

  ‘Besides,’ said Dan. ‘I can learn anything and travel anywhere without leaving town. That is the magic of books. I can travel around the world, into space, back and forth in time. I can walk in a woman’s shoes in seventeenth century Paris or sit at the trial of Socrates in ancient Greece. All through the power of reading.’

  Selby rolled her eyes and sighed. She was used to this sort of crazy idealistic talk from her parents. ‘Whatever,’ she said.

  ‘So, shall we start?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Sure,’ said Selby. She might have a complex mass of feelings on the subject, but that didn’t mean she intended to share them.

  Dan came around behind the counter and sat on the stool next to her so he could look over her shoulder.

  ‘Is that your maths homework?’ he asked.

  ‘Ahuh,’ said Selby.

  ‘You’ve done it already,’ said Dan.

  Selby didn’t respond except to roll her eyes at him.

  ‘Why don’t we start on something you haven’t done yet?’ suggested Dan.

  Selby flicked through the pages of her folder. The biology section was at the back. She liked biology. It was her favourite subject. She didn’t particularly enjoy it, but she didn’t hate it as much as everything else. And Mrs Denison let her take her shoes off in class, which she appreciated.

  Dan’s hand flew out and blocked her flicking. ‘Let’s stop here, in English,’ said Dan.

  Selby’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘I hear you’re struggling with that,’ said Dan.

  A lump formed in Selby’s throat. Oh my gosh, she did not want to cry in front of this boy. Not about something as dumb as her English marks.

  Dan flicked through to the most recent notes. ‘Is this your new assignment?’ He pointed to a page that had just one sentence written at the top. It was an essay question.

  What is Hamlet’s beef? Discuss.

  ‘Beef?’ said Dan.

  ‘You know, it’s slang, for when you’ve got a problem with someone,’ said Selby.

  ‘I know what “beef” means,’ said Dan, ‘I just can’t believe it’s in an essay question. Let me guess, you’ve got Ms Karim for English?’

  Selby nodded.

  ‘She always wants to make things relatable to teens,’ said Dan. ‘It’s ridiculous. The point of literature is that it should already be relatable to everyone. Dumbing it down with colloquialisms just discourages young people from developing a full vocabulary.’

  Selby had stopped listening. She was doodling on the margin of the page.

  ‘So, what’s your opinion?’ asked Dan. ‘What is Hamlet’s beef, dude?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Selby.

  ‘Well, what was he complaining about in the play?’ asked Dan.

  Selby shrugged.

  ‘I know you can speak your mind,’ said Dan. ‘I heard you screaming at Eric when he used your favourite t-shirt to mop up a coke spill.’

  ‘I haven’t read the play,’ Selby snapped out.

  Dan threw up his hands. ‘Why not?’ He flipped back through her notes. ‘You’ve been studying this for . . . three weeks already!’

  Selby looked about for any opportunity of escape. Perhaps her mother was spontaneously combusting in the back of the store.

  ‘Where’s your copy of the play?’ asked Dan.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Selby.

  ‘How can you not know?’ asked Dan. He was actually getting angry, like he was a real teacher or something.

  ‘I lent my copy to Bree,’ said Selby. ‘She left hers in her pocket and it went through the washing machine.’

  ‘So you had no intention of reading it?’ asked Dan.

  ‘I haven’t read any of the school’s set texts for two years,’ said Selby. ‘I didn’t think the teachers would notice. They never have before.’

  Dan took a deep breath. ‘I’ve never had to tutor someone with quite your attitude before,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t want a tutor,’ said Selby.

  ‘You prefer failure?’ asked Dan.

  ‘I prefer not having a tutor,’ said Selby.

  ‘Well, this is a bookstore,’ said Dan. ‘Go and fetch a copy. We’ll read it together.’

  Selby actually groaned.

  ‘I can understand not liking a subject like PE, because that can be physically painful,’ said Dan. ‘But this is just reading. It doesn’t hurt.’

  ‘For me, it does,’ grumbled Selby.

  She slid off her stool and wound her way to the darkest, least-frequented section of the store where they kept the classics. She found a copy of Hamlet. There were a lot in stock because the kids at the high school always studied it in year 11. Selby laid the brand new copy down on the counter.

  Dan opened it up and flicked past the introduction. ‘Here we go . . . act one, scene one.’ He slid the book across so it was in front of Selby. ‘Read,’ he instructed.

  Selby laid her hand on the book to hold the page open. It was so new, the pristine spine was trying to force the pages shut. She bent her head over the text and tried to read.

  AOTCEN SOCENENE.

  The letters swam in front of her eyes. But she had to do this. She concentrated and the words started to emerge . . .

  ACTONE SCENEONE.

  ‘Out loud,’ said Dan.

  ‘Huh?’ Selby looked up.

  ‘Read it out loud,’ said Dan.

  ‘You’re kidding?’ said Selby.

  ‘No, it’s a play,’ said Dan. ‘It’s meant to be heard aloud. Not read in your head.’

  Selby blushed, ‘I’m not reading aloud. Not here, in the store.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Dan. ‘It’s a bookstore. An empty bookstore. It’s the perfect place to read a good book.’

  ‘I read slow,’ mumbled Selby

  ‘Slowly,’ corrected Dan. ‘You need the “ly” on the end. And it doesn’t matter if you read slowly. I’m being paid by the hour. It’s better for me if you take longer.’ He grinned.

  Selby’s heart sank. She wasn’t really too slow at reading, but it took her longer than other people because her brain danced about as she read. It was like every line was a word scramble. Her brain noticed every possible word permutation before going back and working out the most likely phrase. But then sometimes her brain went off on tangents, thinking about the other letter combinations, especially if they were more interesting. Before she knew it, half an hour had gone by and she had only read one page and had no idea what had happened in the plot. So she could read. It just took a lot of focus.

  Selby looked at the words. She needed to concentrate. She was determined not to embarrass herself in front of her brother’s nerd friend. Sometimes it helped if she ran a finger under the words as she read. She knew it looked babyish, but she’d rather that than stuff up now. Selby pointed to the first word, focused in on the shape of each letter and started to read aloud . . .

  BARNARDO

  Who’s there?

  FRANCISCO

  Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself!

  She stopped. ‘Well, what does that mean?’ asked Selby. ‘“Nay” – that’s what horses say. And “unfold yourself”. It sounds like he’s talking to a stack of ironing.’

  ‘Don’t overthink it,’ said Dan. ‘Just let the words wash over you. It’s always confusing when you first start hearing Shakespeare, but then your brain adjusts and you start to understand it all from the context.’

  ‘It’d take more than a brain adjustment,’ muttered Selby.

  ‘Just read,’ said Dan.

  Selby took a deep breath and started reading the dialogue again . . .

  BARNARDO

  Long live the king!

  FRANCISCO

  Barnardo?

  BARNARDO

  He.

  FRANCISCO

  You come most carefully upon your hour.

  BARNARDO

  ’ Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

  FRANCISCO

  For this relief much thanks.

  ’Tis bitter cold,

  And I am sick at heart.

  Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

  Selby’s head snapped up. It was the shop’s bell. A customer had entered. ‘Cookbooks?’ the customer asked.

  ‘Down the back,’ said Selby. ‘Mum’s organising stock there. She’ll be able to help you.’

  Selby glanced at Dan. He was staring at her. It made her self-conscious. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘You have a beautiful voice,’ said Dan. ‘You read very well.’

  Selby looked into his eyes. She didn’t often make eye contact with anyone, but she couldn’t believe he was serious. His big brown eyes were like wells into his soul. He wasn’t lying. Suddenly she wished he was. She looked away.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Selby. He had to be making fun of her. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘You do,’ said Dan. ‘It’s melodic. Almost magical. Keep reading.’

  Selby focused in again.

  BARNARDO

  Have you had quiet guard?

  FRANCISCO

  Not a mouse stirring.

  BARNARDO

  Well, good night.

  If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

  The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

  Selby was beginning to enjoy saying the words. The serifs of the letters felt like tails on her tongue. Every curl was a swoop and a wave into the energy of the story. She could practically smell the ink. She could almost hear the scratch of the quill as she imagined Shakespeare scrawling each word on the page. She felt warm, but in a good way – so comfortable, so right. The blood was rushing in her ears, but she could still hear her own voice.

  FRANCISCO

  Stand ho! Who is there?

  HORATIO

  Friends to this ground.

  MARCELLUS

  And liegemen to the Dane.

  FRANCISCO

  Give you good night.

  Gradually Selby felt herself being drawn down, like the pull of gravity, through the page, into the book then into the ether. There was a tremendous rushing of wind and words. She wasn’t in the bookstore anymore. She was travelling, but not through space or even time. She could still hear her own voice, punctuated by the mumble and applause of a crowd.