Jeraline's Alley

books. Even if they died in the book, they still lived forever, and those were the kind of friends I needed.
Next to my bookshelf was my double door closet that held all my sewing supplies and clothes. On the adjoining wall was a single window that overlooked the building next to ours, which was always a bit awkward. Hundreds of glass gateways into strangers’ private lives and vice versa. It was why I had thick curtains and shutters. I didn’t want anyone spying on me, especially since my bed lay right underneath it.
A small table with my sewing machine on top of it was against the wall facing my closet and bookshelf. Right now, I had a couple sketchbooks opened and lying next to the machine, designs I planned on making. When I wasn’t reading, I was sewing. It was the only way I knew how to express myself and bring to life what was inside my head. And now that I saw that dress in my fantasy with Josh tonight, I knew what I needed to sew next.
Sitting down on the plushy office chair, I thumbed through the sketchbook, trying to find a blank page to draw on. Ignoring the flyer I had jammed in there about the Cassiopeia Design School contest, I tried to focus on the dress I had imagined in my fantasy. I passed by some of my favorite drawings of gowns that were currently hanging next to me on the portable clothing rack leaned up against the wall. I needed the space to hang them since my closet held mostly fabric and supplies, and I barely had room for actual clothes.
Once I had a design in my head, my brain wouldn’t rest until I completed it. Gowns were my favorite. There was something so magical about a full-length dress, especially one with an enormous train. I didn’t know if my gowns were any good, but I hoped someday I could make something that would stun anyone who saw it with its beauty.
Picking up a pencil, I began to draw. Before long, I had a rough sketch of what I had seen in my head. A thrill of excitement shot through me, and my mind was already piecing together the pattern. For some reason, my brain just saw how to make things, and I would make them. I couldn’t explain it. It would appear like puzzle pieces floating around in my head, and I somehow knew how to fit them all together.
It felt good.
It felt right.
It felt like destiny.
There went the dramatics again. Maybe I did spend too much time alone?
After I was happy with the sketch, I crawled into bed and reached over to switch off the lamp on my nightstand. I paused when seeing the two framed pictures resting on its surface along with my favorite old beat-up copy of The Gateway to Winterbrook right next to them. The book was on its last legs, filled with hundreds of creases, pages on the verge of falling out, but it was loved and it showed. Picking up the book, I thumbed through it, glancing at all my favorite marked quotes.
Satisfied, I put the book down and looked at the first framed picture. It was Josh’s Employee of the Month photo. Yes, I stole it. Sue me. I have a problem.
As if in answer to my gnawing guilt, the character Olivia from The Gateway to Winterbrook materialized next to me, sitting on the bed, her adorable twelve-year-old face already eyeing me in disappointment. “I can’t believe you stole that from the store.”
I tried to hide the shame on my face, but I could tell it wasn’t working, so I reasoned with Olivia. “It’s like when you first saw the door that led to Winterbrook in the bookstore. It called to you, and you knew it was yours to open.”
Olivia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You are not comparing stealing an Employee of the Month picture on a wall with how I found a gateway into another world, are you?”
“Maybe.”
“You should return it.” Olivia gave me side-eye.
I knew she was right, hence why I was imagining her. And admitting that made her disappear entirely.
I was alone once more.
Putting Josh’s picture down, I picked up the second photo.
My parents. Hannah and Paul Arnold. Happy on the top of the Empire State Building in mid-dance. Staring into each other’s eyes, radiating pure love. As I pictured them dancing, the photo came to life and they waltzed with glee, ending with a kiss.
I missed them so much.
Placing the picture back next to Josh’s, I looked up at the ceiling and said, “I hope you’re still dancing up there.” Tracing my finger over their faces, I sighed. “Good night.”

I walked up to The Hidden Corner bookstore trying to push down the rising chug in my stomach. My poor gut took the brunt of all my stress, and I wondered how long it could possibly survive, the amount of times I’d put it through the ringer. I’d be dead by thirty at this rate.
Deep breaths.
I won’t screw up and embarrass myself. I won’t screw up and get in trouble with Rachel. I won’t screw up and look like an idiot in front of Josh. I just won’t screw up.
Easy.
Except not screwing up wasn’t in my nature. Born to be a bumbling disaster, I was like that cartoon character that no matter how everything was perfectly set up for them, they’d somehow find a way to utterly destroy it all by simply existing.
The bookstore always lightened my mood though, no matter how much stress I was under. I had found it right after my parents died and thought it was a sign to work there since its name was The Hidden Corner and that was the name of the bookstore in The Gateway to Winterbrook, where Olivia found the door to Winterbrook. Though Rachel had vehemently denied she named the store because of the book, it didn’t matter