The Book Ninja Read online

  ‘Okay, this may be the funniest thing I have ever done in my life,’ Frankie called to a sweaty, derrière-wiggling Cat.

  ‘Stop talking and wiggle that butt, Frankston! Wiggle, goddamn it!’ Cat slapped Frankie’s bum.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Frankie laughed.

  Moments later, while attempting the Fantastic Baby, a dance move requiring the simultaneous flicking of legs and arms, Frankie puffed, ‘So, can you please tell me now which one is Jin Soo?’

  ‘I told you already, I’m not telling you. It was a one-time thing and it’s never happening again. I never want to think about it or talk about it. Ever!’ Cat hissed, angrily moving her arms and legs all over the place like a psychotic octopus.

  ‘And I told you that the only way in hell I was coming to this dance class was if you pointed out the second guy you have ever slept with!’ Frankie wheezed while shimmying.

  ‘Oh, all right, fine. But stop shimmying; that’s not even a K-Pop move,’ snapped Cat, looking around nervously. ‘It’s him,’ she said, pointing vaguely towards the front of the room.

  Frankie squinted and twisted her neck to get a better look. ‘Who? The one in the silver mesh singlet?’

  ‘No, him. At the front of the class.’

  ‘Who? The instructor?’

  Cat nodded sheepishly.

  ‘You slept with the instructor of your K-Pop class? Cat!’ gasped Frankie.

  ‘Yes. And now you know, we are never talking about it again,’ Cat said firmly.

  Frankie shuddered. Cat’s confession suddenly felt all too real. ‘Okay, fine,’ Frankie agreed reluctantly.

  ‘And to finish up, let’s move into the Ring Ding Dong! Do the Ring Ding Dong!’ bellowed Jin Soo.

  ‘Do you want to ring ding his dong, Cat?’ Frankie smiled innocently.

  ‘Stop it!’ Cat punched Frankie’s arm, hard.

  Everyone started to grind towards the floor, sweat rolling down their foreheads. Suddenly, the music came to a halt and Frankie jerked to a stop, two beats behind everybody else. Jin Soo, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, thanked the group for their attendance. As the dancers started to disperse and chat in small groups, he took off his shirt, revealing drool-worthy, sculpted abs. Frankie wolf-whistled in Cat’s ear, but then stepped back and saw her friend staring uncomfortably at the floor.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Frankie said.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. I just want to get out of here,’ Cat replied, leading the way quickly out of the K-Pop warehouse and onto bustling Swan Street.

  ‘I still can’t believe you slept with him, Cat. Are you really not going to tell Claud?’

  They strolled past cafes, the rich scent of coffee and freshly baked bread wafting around them.

  ‘I can’t tell him, Frank. He would therapy-knit himself into a frenzy,’ Cat said, stopping out the front of Feast of Merit, their favourite Richmond cafe.

  ‘I think that’s a good idea, Catty,’ agreed Frankie as they joined the queue at the takeaway window. ‘And remember, you promised me you would never do anything like this again, or off with your head!’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I know,’ Cat replied.

  ‘A double-shot latte and one peppermint tea, please,’ Frankie said to the barista, handing over a ten-dollar note.

  ‘Coming right up. What’s your name, please?’ The barista scribbled down their order directly onto two takeaway cups.

  ‘Jin Soo,’ Frankie answered with a wry smile. Cat scowled.

  They sat on two crates perched on the footpath, waiting for their name to be called.

  ‘Oh God. I cannot wait to drink coffee again. Only five more months till this baby comes shooting out of me. Promise me that when you visit me at the hospital you’ll bring coffee, sashimi, soft cheese and—’

  ‘And a bottle of pinot. I know, I know. You’ve only reminded me every single day since the second you found out you were pregnant,’ Frankie said.

  ‘And I will continue to remind you every day until I see a sashimi-and-soft-cheese platter with a side of coffee and pinot laid before me.’

  Frankie nodded, checking the time on her phone. It was already 8.45am. She was going to be so late to open the shop. Frankie spied her reflection in the cafe window and snorted in disgust. Her hair was wild and frizzy and her I ♥ NY T-shirt clung to her, but there was no way she’d make it home in time to shower.

  She forced her eyes away from herself and focused instead on Cat, who was explaining how Claud was stuck in Adelaide after progressing to the next round of the Fastest Needles in the South annual competition.

  ‘He’s devastated to be missing the next appointment with my obstetrician, but I said, “You’ve been training for months, honey! You’ll be there for the next one.”’

  ‘Probably for the best; he doesn’t need any more inspiration for baby clothes. How many woollen onesies are you up to now?’ Frankie glanced over to the takeaway station, increasingly anxious to get a move on. If she was going to have to change in the backroom of the bookstore, she at least wanted enough time to run their emergency work straightener through her hair.

  ‘Did you bring books to drop on the train on your way?’ Cat asked.

  ‘I sure did, they’re right here.’ Frankie patted her backpack.

  ‘Any emails about them yet?’

  ‘Not yet, but it’s only been a week. It takes time to get to the end of the book,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Oh, hurry up already, dream man! Or crazy stalkers—’ Cat suddenly went silent and ducked her head behind a stray menu, furiously poking Frankie.

  ‘What are you doing? Ouch! Cat, that hurts.’ Frankie swatted Cat’s hand away.

  ‘He’s here,’ Cat said.

  ‘Who’s here?’

  ‘Jin Soo. He’s in line to order a coffee. Shit. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t look.’

  ‘Why do you still go to his classes if you want to avoid him?’ Frankie hissed, crouching behind the slightly sad-looking fiddle-leaf fig sitting on the crate in front of them.

  ‘Because you just don’t get that kind of soundtrack anywhere else. And I never speak to him anymore. I’m just in and out. In and out. In and out!’ said Cat, flushed.

  ‘Okay, okay. Please stop saying “in and out”! Do you want to leave? I’ll grab the drinks and meet you round the corner.’

  Cat nodded furiously, slowly standing up.

  ‘Jin Soo!’ shouted the barista.

  Frankie and Cat both froze.

  ‘Jin Soo! Jin Soo!’

  ‘That’s us,’ whispered Frankie to Cat.

  Jin Soo looked up from his phone and immediately spotted Cat. He smiled at her, clearly confused.

  ‘Jin Soo!’ the barista called again.

  ‘Run,’ hissed Cat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Run!’ Cat repeated, and raced off, as fast as her little legs would carry her. Abandoning their drinks, Frankie sprinted after her, trying to suppress her laughter.

  Once a safe two and a half blocks away, Frankie stopped. She curled over and put her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. ‘Jesus you’re fit,’ she called after Cat. ‘Oh God, now I’m even sweatier. And I haven’t even had my coffee!’ Frankie said, between breaths.

  ‘Sorry, that was ridiculous of me.’

  ‘That name thing was ridiculous of me,’ Frankie countered with a grimace. She checked her watch and looked herself up and down. ‘I should get going; I feel filthy and I have some book ninja-ing to take care of on the way. Are you going to be all right?’ Frankie smiled.

  Cat nodded. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Frankston.’ Cat laughed, and walked the other way, leaving Frankie to hop on the train with books ready to plant.

  Frankie walked through Richmond station and peered up at the train times on the electronic board. One minute till the City Loop train line; she dashed to platform three and skidded through the closing doors of the train just in time. Leaning against the door for a second, she closed her eyes and attempted to catch her breath. God
, I am so unfit; I really have to do more exercise. Maybe more K-Pop? She opened her eyes, scouting out the carriage. Most seats were occupied by commuters on their phones, on their laptops, on their Kindles. Nobody flicked through real books.

  ‘Typical,’ Frankie muttered as she made her way to a spare seat. She sat down and slowly slid her copy of Lost and Found out of her backpack, balancing it surreptitiously on her lap while peering around to check if anyone was watching her. But everybody was too busy with their heads in their devices. Opening the book to the seventh-last page, she ran her fingers over the indentations left by her pen. Frankie closed the book, kissed it and put it down inconspicuously next to her.

  Please let the man who finds this book be my soulmate.

  ‘O.M.G. Are you Frankie Rose?’ she heard a shrill voice say behind her.

  Frankie turned around. ‘Yes,’ she replied sceptically.

  ‘O.M.G! O.M.G! O.M.G!’ the lanky teenage girl screeched, clambering out of her seat to perch, uninvited, next to Frankie, half-sitting on Lost and Found.

  ‘Sorry, but have we met?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘I’m only your biggest fan. I’ve read A Modern Austen AND Something about Jane, like, a million times. They are seriously amazing. O.M.G. – I can’t believe it’s you. I recognised you from your headshot inside the cover. Although, you were a bit more done up there,’ the girl said, taking in Frankie’s dishevelled appearance.

  Frankie smiled uncomfortably, shifting in her seat.

  ‘So, are you going to release a number three? I have to know what happens to Charlotte and Alexander. I just have to!’ The girl edged closer and closer, until Frankie could smell her salty breath.

  ‘Oh, um, no. No more books, I’m afraid. I’m not writing anymore,’ Frankie said, inching further away.

  ‘What? Why? That is the worst thing I have ever heard in my whole entire life. Seriously, don’t let those terrible reviews get you down, babe. I don’t know what they were talking about. “The worst book to have ever been published”? Please, have they not read Othello? We had to read it for school and it was boring with a capital B.’ The girl laughed, playfully nudging Frankie’s shoulder.

  Not this, not now, Frankie whined to herself. She had to get away from this Shakespeare-bashing fan. ‘I … I, think I see my colleague,’ said Frankie, suddenly flustered. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and skidded towards the train’s internal doors.

  ‘You forgot your book, babe!’ the girl called after her.

  Frankie slipped into the next carriage and flung herself onto a spare seat.

  She put her head in her hands. ‘What a fucking nightmare,’ she said under her breath.

  ‘Tough day?’ said the man sitting opposite her.

  She looked up and almost died. It was John-Knightley-Mr-Darcy-Edmund-Bertram from the bookstore. The man she had recently kissed, without invitation, smack-bang on the nose. And Frankie had just sworn under her breath at a teenage girl. And she looked … like this.

  ‘You could say that.’ Frankie attempted a smile but was certain it came off as a wince.

  ‘Anything I can help with?’ he said, his startling blue eyes twinkling everywhere. He looked even more perfect than during their horrific first encounter, this time wearing a checkered shirt and beige chinos.

  Who is this guy? Frankie thought as she felt herself blush. The man, entirely composed, smiled warmly and returned to his book. The Hunger Games. Frankie couldn’t stop staring, so she took out her copy of Mansfield Park and pretended to read.

  He looked up from his book. ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘Uh, Mansfield Park. For the hundredth time.’ She let out a low, forced chuckle.

  ‘Oh, I’ve never heard of it. Any good?’

  Never heard of Mansfield Park? Frankie choked back a gasp. But look at those eyes, she thought as she tried not to gape. That bone structure. Maybe I could change his ways, Pygmalion-style.

  But before she could answer his question, the man took out his wallet, nodding to a group of inspectors flooding the train.

  ‘Shit!’ Frankie thought and said at the same time as she remembered her train card sitting in her bag at home.

  ‘My travel pass, it’s in my other bag. I just changed bags.’ She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. ‘I was in such a rush for K-Pop and—’

  ‘Ticket please?’ the inspector said to the couple behind her.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got this.’ The gorgeous man half-smiled. Oh, I could get lost in that smile, Frankie thought, and then she snapped out of it and focused on the fact that she was about to be hit with a two-hundred-dollar fine.

  The ticket inspectors approached, and just then, as Frankie was scrambling for an excuse that might sound reasonable, the man dropped his book and moved his face dangerously close to Frankie’s. There was no doubt about his intentions this time. He grabbed her face, leaned in and kissed her. He pushed his hands through her hair, and a small moan escaped her lips. He kissed her with an ardent need unlike anything Frankie had experienced. If they had been characters in a book, everything around them would have slipped away, buttons would have flown, shoes fallen off. And then, just like that, he broke away.

  ‘They’re gone.’ He smiled.

  ‘Who?’ Frankie replied in a trembled whisper.

  ‘The ticket inspectors.’

  ‘Oh, uh, thanks,’ Frankie said huskily.

  ‘No problem. Works every time.’

  Every time? This guy is smooth. Frankie let out a breathy, awkward laugh, her cheeks burning and heart fluttering like a caffeinated butterfly.

  ‘Well, that was better than our first kiss.’ The handsome stranger winked, and then returned to The Hunger Games as if nothing had happened.

  —5—

  * * *

  Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

  * * *

  Beginning a new book is much like dating.

  First, there’s trepidation. You ask yourself: What am I looking for in a book? What mood am I in? What are my friends reading? Work is picking up, do I really have the capacity to invest in the War and Peaces of this world, or should I be looking for something lighter, perhaps a little more Vinegar Girl?

  Next comes the blinding hope. You’ve finally selected a book and you’re feeling pretty damn good about yourself. You’ve brewed a cup of tea, you’re sprawled out on your couch and the heater is on high. The book rests delicately on your lap and you’re alight with the possibility of it all. You dream about the rich dialogue and the entrancing characters (you’ll even love to hate the bad guys). You imagine being so enthralled by the twists and turns that you forget to eat that block of chocolate you really shouldn’t have bought. Facebook will suddenly become obsolete, you’ll consider selling your television and you won’t need to worry about going to the gym ever again because the emotional journey you’re about to embark on is the only exercise you’ll ever need. Just about anything could happen.

  During the next stage, you find yourself being incredibly open-minded. You’re a few pages in and there’s no denying that the plot has captured your attention. You’re enjoying the fresh (yet understated) description of scenery, and you like the protagonist’s vibe. You think to yourself, Yeah, I could really like this book and Maybe excessive use of alliteration actually is my thing? So, you read on.

  Ooh, did that character really just say that? You’ve reached a bit of a stalemate. Dialogue is getting a bit repetitive and the main character just refuses to get the job done! But you loved all of the author’s previous works and you really don’t mind the underscoring themes of the book. You’ve come this far. Maybe things will get better in a few chapters?

  The aggravation juncture: NOT ANOTHER SPLIT INFINITIVE! GREAT, ANOTHER HALF-ARSED LOVE TRIANGLE! YOU CALL THAT A RED HERRING?! BITCH, PLEASE!

  Then you hit the refusing-to-accept-reality phase. You really hate how the author keeps using the same adjectives over and over again, but you find yourself LOLi
ng every time the sister enters stage left. Plus, you hate leaving your business unfinished. But then again, maybe James Joyce was right when he said something about life being too short to read a bad book. You persevere, sentence by sentence, chapter by chapter. Then you find yourself putting off reading. You start making excuses. You’ve managed to do all of the ironing (rustic creased is so in right now, yeah?) and your eyebrows have never been so sculpted. You might only be getting through a couple of pages at a time, but at least you can tell yourself that you’re giving it a good go.

  It’ll change. Things will turn around. If you just overlook the fluffy, We’re Just Fucking Around To Up The Word Count And Increase Suspense chapters, it will actually be an interesting book. Maybe the author will consider feedback from Goodreads reviews and do a little nip-and-tuck on the extraneous plot lines in the sequel? Perhaps jazzing things up with a funky bookmark will improve things?

  You’re at your wit’s end. You’ve tried. You’ve really given it your all, but you’re just not feeling a connection. It’s time to get real and work out how to end things.

  Do you:

  A. Let it peter out. Increase the burst between reading and slowly phase it out without anybody being any the wiser.

  B. Start reading another book at the same time, because it’s not like you’re exclusive or anything.

  C. Be more direct. (Note: a little white lie never hurt anybody.) Explain to the book that, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ You’ve really enjoyed your time together – wasn’t it so funny when the main character walked in on his parents having sex? – but you don’t think you really see it in ‘that way’. Things are pretty hectic at the moment between your colleagues having babies and that new side project you’re trying on for size. Would you mind if we left things for now? Can we just be friends?

  D. Change your name, and your number, and get the hell out of town.

  Until next time, my dears.