Warped (Maurissa Guibord) Read Free Page A

from the front counter, where he was checking the day's receipts.
    Tessa climbed the stairs to the second floor, went through the door to their apartment and closed it. It was kind of nice living right over the store, though sometimes Tessa wished they lived in a normal house. It seemed there was always something that needed doing in the store. She must have put a thousand miles on those stair treads by now.
    In the kitchen she flicked on the lights and took a portion of lasagna out of the freezer for her dad's dinner. She wasn't hungry, and Hunter would be coming to pick her up at seven. Maybe she shouldn't go out tonight, Tessa thought, pushing the microwave buttons. She wasn't up for it, what with all the smiling and talking. Both would be expected on a first date. Her face hurt just thinking about it.
    She grabbed a bowl of salad from the fridge and nibbled on a slice of carrot. Then again, she'd already told her father about going out. Now if she didn't go, he'd want to know why. Here's the thing, Dad. I'm feeling a little weird and moody, and earlier, I hallucinated a teensy bit . It could very well lead to a discussion about her menstrual cycle. God.
    Tessa put a single placemat at the head of the table and arranged the plate and silverware. Ever since her mother had died four years ago, her father had done his best. She knew that. She frowned and adjusted the knife and fork to equal distances from the table's edge. But she was seventeen now. She could take care of herself. Besides, her father had something else on his mind lately. Or rather, some one else.
    The timer dinged. She was fine, Tessa decided. She would go out. Smiley talk, here I come .
    Her father came into the kitchen, carrying the wooden crate from the auction. "The store's all closed up," he said. "I left the other boxes downstairs. We can go through them tomorrow. But I thought you might want this up here." He set the crate on the table.
    Tessa didn't answer. She stared at the crate. There was absolutely nothing scary about it. So why did her legs feel wobbly all of a sudden? She glanced down and loosened the white-knuckle grip she had taken on the kitchen chair.
    Her father lifted the lid. He peered inside. "Tessa," he said in a low, excited voice. "Get me those cotton gloves in the junk drawer, would you?"
    She got the gloves and handed them to her father, who put them on and reached in to lift out the large book. "Holy smokes," he murmured, turning the weighty volume in his hands. The book had thick, yellowed pages with the unevenly stacked edges of old-fashioned hand-binding. On the cover, in swirling, embossed letters, Tessa could make out the title:

TEXO VITA
    " Texo Vita . What does that mean?" she asked.
    "I have no idea," her father admitted. "It's Latin, I suppose. Hmm. Vita means 'life,' doesn't it?" He opened the book, then, nestling it in the crook of his arm, gently turned a few of the pages. Tessa stepped closer. The pages were covered with a thin, scrawled handwriting, but she couldn't make out any of the words. They were normal letters but all jumbled up and crowded, with way too many consonants and squiggles.
    "I've never seen parchment like this," said her father, "except in a museum. I believe it's vellum. From sheepskin."
    She nodded. "The cover has a little bit of red rot. How old do you think it is?"
    Her father frowned. "I'm not really sure," he said, continuing to scan the text with a look of absorbed fascination.
    His expression was priceless, Tessa thought. As if he'd just won the book lover's lottery or something. Her father closed the book and set it down gently on the table. His hands hovered over it for a moment, as if he were afraid it would fly away.
    "You think it's worth a lot?" Tessa asked.
    "Could be. But something like this is beyond my expertise. I know an antiquarian book specialist in Portsmouth. I could take it for an appraisal." He turned back to the crate and reached in again. "Let's see what else we've got