Page 74 of Every Day (Every Day 1)

“Who has the moo shu chicken?” the waiter asks.

The waiter continues to indulge us as we laugh and talk our way through lunch. He’s a real pro, the kind of waiter who refills your water glass when it’s half empty, without you noticing he’s doing it.

He delivers us our fortune cookies at the end of the meal. Rhiannon breaks hers neatly in half, checks out the slip of paper, and frowns.

“This isn’t a fortune,” she says, showing it to me.

YOU HAVE A NICE SMILE.

“No. You will have a nice smile—that would be a fortune,” I tell her.

“I’m going to send it back.”

I raise an eyebrow … or at least try to. I’m sure I look like I’m having a stroke.

“Do you often send back fortune cookies?”

“No. This is the first time. I mean, this is a Chinese restaurant—”

“Malpractice.”

“Exactly.”

Rhiannon flags the waiter down, explains the predicament, and gets a nod. When he returns to our table, he has a half dozen more fortune cookies for her.

“I only need one,” she tells him. “Wait one second.”

The waiter and I are both paying close attention as Rhiannon cracks open her second fortune cookie. This time, it gets a nice smile.

She shows it to both of us.

ADVENTURE IS AROUND THE CORNER.

“Well done, sir,” I tell the waiter.

Rhiannon prods me to open mine. I do, and find it’s the exact same fortune as hers.

I don’t send it back.

We return to the library with about a half hour to spare. The librarian catches us walking back in, but doesn’t say a word.

“So,” Rhiannon asks me, “what should I read next?”

I show her Feed. I tell her all about The Book Thief. I drag her to find Destroy All Cars and First Day on Earth. I explain to her that these have been my companions all these years, the constants from day to day, the stories I can always return to even if mine is always changing.

“What about you?” I ask her. “What do you think I should read next?”

She takes my hand and leads me to the children’s section. She looks around for a second, then heads over to a display at the front. I see a certain green book sitting there and panic.

“No! Not that one!” I say.

But she isn’t reaching for the green book. She’s reaching for Harold and the Purple Crayon.

“What could you possibly have against Harold and the Purple Crayon?” she asks.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were heading for The Giving Tree.”

Rhiannon looks at me like I’m an insane duck. “I absolutely HATE The Giving Tree.”