Jassy
The bell hanging over the front entrance to Walter's World of War rang violently, its brass clapper banging like crazy, as the door opened.
I was in the back stacks, sorting through some items that had been misplaced. I mean, really, who would put The Crippled Eagles in the World War II section? I tucked the book under my arm and came around the corner of the shelf. “Hey,” I called out. “How are-”
“Jassy?”
I stopped in my tracks, nearly dropped my copy of the out of print book right there on the floor. I shook my head from side-to-side. “No f*****g way,” I said, my voice almost gone from surprise.
There, in all her glory, stood Benji. Still thin as a rail, with her high-pitched voice. She'd dyed her hair black, pitch black, and had gotten her eyebrow pierced. But, yeah, that was
