They Trashed My Books, So I Rewrote My Life novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Pizza on the Floor

On Wednesday night the three of us sat on the floor of my empty study, eating pizza off the lid of the box.

The reading chair was back in its corner, and it was the only thing in the room that looked like mine.

Hattie lay stretched out on the rug with her shoes off.

Rhys sat with his back against a bare shelf and his work boots crossed at the ankle, and a laptop open on his knee.

"The ballroom screen is forty feet wide," he said. "I looked at the hotel's event page. The sponsors' slideshow runs on it."

"So how do we get my video on it?" Hattie asked.

"The video is hers. We get her up there, and we get a tech to say yes."

"The girl with the clipboard," I said.

Hattie sat up. "The one who told you about Lot 413?"

"She emailed me this afternoon from a new address. Sound check is at six on Saturday, and the AV table sits at the back of the ballroom with one tech and one laptop."

"A spy in the studio," Hattie said. "That's the most dramatic thing I've ever heard."

Rhys wrote the time on the pizza box, and the room went quiet while he did it.

Hattie reached for the last slice and watched him over it.

"Why does Natalie hate charity?" he asked her, not me.

"Ask her."

I put my crust down.

"My mother died when I was eleven," I said. "Before that it was just us in a one-room apartment above a laundromat in Dorchester, and church dinners on Wednesdays."

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