Just a Matter of Time Read Free

minutes. It was like going from bread and water to a buffet with an endless dessert bar.”
    Gordon’s gaze fell to his Americano. I thought he wasn’t going to say anything, and my strange confession had coffee-flavored bile burning the back of my throat.
    “So. Yeah,” he said at last. “Some people can steal time.”
    “Like Maya.”
    “Exactly like Maya.”
    “Like you?” It was a guess, an educated one, but still.
    “Remember Title 1 in first grade?” he asked.
    Amazingly, I did. It was one of those memories I’d pulled out during ninth grade and reexamined. The two of us were a team, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, wrestling with the words on the page. The words confused me so much that the Title 1 teacher thought I must be dyslexic or have ADD.
    “I didn’t know it then,” Gordon said, “but I was stealing your time to get through class.”
    “You what?”
    He held up a hand. “I was six years old. All I knew was whenever I leaned against you, I could think better and make it through class.”
    “The teacher thought I was ADD.”
    He dropped his gaze, then peered up at me through thick black lashes. It was a swoon-worthy look. Part of me suspected he knew that. If he had done that during the epic ninth-grade crush, I might have fainted.
    “Sorry?” He gave me a little shrug.
    And that would’ve slain me. But I wasn’t back in ninth grade; I was thinking about first. Over the summer, Grandma, disgusted with the teacher, had taken me to the library every day. She wrote articles that eventually found homes in places like Ladies’ Home Journal and Woman’s Day . I read. By September, I was reading at a fourth-grade level. Goodbye Title 1 and hello challenge reading.
    “Do you steal time now?” I asked.
    “Look,” he said, like I’d bumped a recent bruise. “People are incredibly careless with their time.” He cocked his head, his expression thoughtful. “Imagine if everyone let dollar bills float out of their pockets and litter the street. Would you blame me for walking behind them and picking up all that cash?”
    “Technically, isn’t that stealing?”
    “If the other person doesn’t miss it, does it matter?”
    “I’m seriously missing my time,” I said.
    “That’s because you have quality time.”
    “What?”
    “You’re smart and creative.” Gordon’s cheeks went this amazing pink. It made his dark eyes brighten so I could see the tiny flecks of green. Deep down, the embers of that long-ago crush flared. My own cheeks heated. Between us, we could’ve brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
    “You really don’t want some people’s time,” he continued, “like if they’re drunk or high. Easy to steal, but pretty worthless.”
    “Oh.”
    “And some adults, like workaholics?” Gordon rolled his eyes. “Just clutter and full of static.”
    “Can anyone steal time?”
    “I don’t know. Some people seem born to it.”
    “Like you?”
    “Maybe.”
    “What about Maya?”
    “Maya’s special. She’s a time leech.”
    “A what?”
    “You know that saying about how everyone has the same twenty-four hours in a day?”
    I nodded.
    “Well, if you can figure out how to steal time, you end up with more—or at least better—time. Maya’s been using yours. It’s why I’ve been trying to run interference. That’s why I gave you a little bit of my time.”
    “You can do that?”
    “It was extra, from someone else, and I didn’t really need it.”
    Those little bursts. I felt my eyes grow wide. Despite everything, I smiled. “That was you?”
    He nodded. “Except, I can’t always do that. I mean, I won’t always be around.”
    “How do I get rid of her?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Can I learn to steal time?”
    “No idea.”
    Then what was the point to all this? “So you’re trying to help me, but have no idea how to do that?”
    “Pretty much.”
    I sighed, took a sip of my coffee, but it had gone cold. I scrunched up my nose and Gordon laughed. “I’ll buy you