What I Didn’t Know I Needed

by Amanda Glover

I never had a job before getting hired at The Lucky Reader’s bookstore in Midtown. I figured getting one was a smart way to help begin my new life living in Atlanta. Luckily, the position they had open was someone to organize the backroom, dust, and restock inventory. I’m not a “people person,” so it’s good that I’m shoved behind the scenes. 

The store is small, and there isn’t much room for all the books, CDs, movies, and records, and the C in “Lucky” is close to falling off, but it has been good here. It’s nice to have another way of distracting myself from memories of my life before Atlanta. Taking school seriously for once in my life will hopefully be another once classes start in the Fall. 

My manager, Logan, is pretty cool. He’s a senior Graphic Design major at SCAD. The other employees are all right as well. Vera is an Emory University dropout. Ian’s wife is pregnant, so he’s working there to make extra money for them. Joe is the owner and likes bringing us desserts. Then, there’s Izzie. 

When I walked into the store on my first day of work, she was waiting for me behind the register, typing on an old typewriter. I wondered why she was using a typewriter when there was a monitor right next to her. 

I waited a few seconds for her to look up when the bell above the door made a loud ding after I entered. 

“You’re Isabel?” I cautiously asked after she didn’t look up at me. 

The way she glared at me, I almost walked out. “What did you just call me?” My face burned. “Logan said a girl with that name would be waiting for me when I got here at 9:30. Sorry, I assumed you were—” 

Her face lit up when she started laughing, revealing a row of silver braces. “Legally, I am. Sorry, I was just screwing with you. Call me Izzie though. You must be Kat, our newest servant.” I shrugged. “If you say so.” 

She emerged from behind the counter. “I like your legal name though: Katerina. It’s a cute girl’s name. So, Logan isn’t coming for another hour. I love the guy, but he doesn’t have what it takes to be a semi-decent manager. Until he’s here, you’re my servant. Cool?” 

She just called me cute. I raised my eyebrows. “Um. . .” 

“Dude, relax. Don’t piss yourself, at least not near any of the merchandise. I’m kind of kidding. But, I do have to teach you stuff. Nothing too hard, at least for today. Worst-case scenario, you decide alphabetizing mystery novels isn’t your cup of tea and run out of here screaming.” 

I felt intimidated by how comfortable she was with me less than two minutes after meeting me. At first, her 70 mph talking speed made my head spin. Then, it kind of turned me on. I pushed those feelings down. I couldn’t handle feelings like that. 

But, I couldn’t not look at Izzie. She’s my height, has brown eyes, and long black hair with an undercut underneath. She has two hoops in one nostril, a huge butterfly tattoo on the middle of her chest, and a semicolon tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. 

A few weeks after I started working, I asked her what it meant while we were going through a box of new donations in the back room. 

She smiled. I noticed on my first day that her mouth became crooked whenever she did that. “I went through a lot when I first started at Agnes Scott. I had a bit of a Girl, Interrupted moment.” 

I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

After that, neither of us spoke for twenty minutes while we went through the donations. I froze when she pulled up a stool and sat by me as I sorted. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. 

“Am I doing this right?” I asked when she didn’t say anything. 

“What’s your story?” 

“My story?” 

She nodded once. “Yeah. Like, where are you from? Your family? School? Hopes? Dreams? You don’t talk much about yourself.” 

“Well, I’m not that interesting.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Izzie—” 

“Come on! I know there’s a story somewhere in you.” 

I smiled at the box of books in front of me. “Um, okay? I was born in Virginia. I moved here to move in with my mother. I go to Georgia State. I don’t really know what I want to major in—” I paused and shook my head. “What about you, Isabel? You don’t talk much about yourself either.” 

“You don’t ask.” 

“Well, I’m asking now.” 

Izzie’s real name is Isabel Rahmani. Her father is Iranian, and her mother is Irish. She’s twenty-one years old and a junior at Agnes Scott, majoring in Computer Science and a minor in Film and Media Studies. She lives with her best friend, who’s a guy, but I shouldn’t worry ‘cause he’s “as gay as she is.” 

My stomach flipped. “Why would I worry who you live with?” Or that she’s gay? She smiled her crooked smile. “No reason.” 

Her family, which are her parents and older sister live in Sandy Springs. She’s had guinea pigs all her life. She drives a Subaru and thinks I’m “annoyingly cute.” 

I blushed. “I’m annoying?” 

“No, no! But it is annoying that you’re so secretive. I’m good at keeping secrets. I may seem awesome, but I’ve got baggage too.” 

She looked so vulnerable when she said that. It was like she had a thousand stories hidden behind her eyes. 

I went back to my box of books but froze when Izzie covered my hands with hers. “As creepy as it might sound, I can tell things about you. You’ve been hurt. I want you to know, you can talk to me. I don’t bite unless I’m being attacked,” she smiled. That damn crooked smile. 

To be honest, our encounter on my first day of work was pretty overwhelming. Meeting new people always makes me uneasy, but this was different. I’m not used to people feeling so comfortable around me after barely knowing me. But Izzie is unapologetically herself. She doesn’t shrink when speaking to me. She doesn’t fake–smile at me. Her smiles are genuine and inviting. She doesn’t talk to me just so she can get information to spread rumors about me. Most importantly, she cares about what I have to say. 

I took my time telling her the big stuff about me. I spread out facts about me over several months. I had to know that I could trust her.

We both got off work at four that day, so I went with her to get food at Cookout. The way she originally asked me to come sounded like a date, but I felt weird letting her go out with me without telling her the big stuff—the stuff from before Atlanta. 

It was nice out, so we sat in their outdoor seating area. The closer we got to finishing our meals, the more fidgeting I became. 

Izzie spent the whole meal sitting in front of me but moved next to me once we finished. “Are you good? You seem a little off,” she said, her voice filled with concern. I squeezed my elbows, trying to gather the courage to speak again. But in the past, speaking has gotten me in trouble. Maybe this is a bad idea. 

Izzie tilted her head after I refused to look at her. “Kat. It’s me.” 

I sighed and ran my hands down the sides of my face. “There’s some stuff I need to talk to you about.” 

She smiled. “You can tell me anything.” 

I briefly closed my eyes. “I’m not normal.” 

“Who is? What even is ‘normal?’” 

“Certainly not me.” I waited a few seconds before speaking again. “I’m not a bad person or anything, but I did something bad.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I got my ex killed.” 

Izzie laughed a little. But stopped when I looked at her with a blank expression. “Tell me what happened.” 

“There’s something else first.” She widened her eyes like she was eager for me to explain. “I’m bipolar.” 

For a moment, there was silence again. My mind raced as she processed what she learned. Izzie’s expression read a mixture of shock and concern, her eyes wide as she absorbed what I had just told her. 

“For as long as I can remember, I always felt like my mind was on a never-ending rollercoaster. My emotions were always heightened, so I was never sure what others really thought about me or what I thought about them. I always had trouble making and keeping friends. I barely knew how to start a conversation without being awkward or just not making sense. Being in a school made things worse because I always had trouble focusing. My living situation didn’t help,” I explained. 

“This was when you lived with your dad and stepfamily back in Virginia?” Izzie asked. In the past, I had vaguely mentioned to Izzie that I had to live with my father, stepmother, and stepsister during high school. I never really got along with them. My father always treated me like I was imposing on his new life with my stepfamily, who made it obvious that I was a nuisance. 

I fidgeted with my fingers. “Yeah, I had to. Mom is also bipolar, and she wasn’t in the best mental state to take care of me back then. But I moved here to live with her again once she got better and I graduated high school.” 

Izzie looked sad. “You never told me that.” 

I sighed. “Well, brace yourself for the rest of this story.” 

“I didn’t expect to meet anyone special back then, Izzie. My stepsister had blabbed to our entire grade about my issues, so they all thought I was crazy,” I continued. 

She leaned in closer and rested her hand on my shoulder. 

“When I lived in Virginia, I dated a girl named Aria from my old high school. She was my first. . . . .everything. To be honest, she was the only person there who treated me like a human being.” I placed my forehead in my hands, scared to move forward with the story. Izzie rubbed my shoulder. “Do you need to take a break?”

I smiled weakly at her and shook my head. “This was before I was put on meds, but my behavior was becoming a lot more erratic. Aria was scared to leave me alone most days.” I held onto my arms, feeling ashamed. 

“The day it happened, I wasn’t feeling up to school and locked myself in my bedroom. But I spent that entire day in an intense episode.” 

She looked sad again. “Oh, Kat. That must’ve been terrifying.” 

I looked to the sky, trying to stop the tears from coming out. 

“I had called Aria, begging her to come to my house. I was so scared of what I might do if she wasn’t there,” I said. 

Izzie looked nervous. “Did you end up doing something to yourself that day?” I looked at her semicolon tattoo and shook my head. 

“Did she end up coming over?” asked Izzie. 

“No, she didn’t,” I said quietly. 

“What happened—” 

“She was rushing to get over to me and ended up—” My face heated up quickly as I let myself cry. “It was a bad car accident.” 

Izzie wrapped her arms around me, but that didn’t stop me from shaking uncontrollably. “Kat, I’m so sorry. I’m just so sorry.” 

I don’t remember much of what was said after I found out that Aria had died. The words didn’t really register. It was like my mind couldn’t process it all at once. I just kept hearing that she’s dead over and over. I could barely breathe. My hands went numb. I don’t think I even spoke after that. I just a muffled a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and then everything went black. 

I didn’t see it happen, but it felt like I was there. The image of how it must’ve happened to her is burned into my mind. I keep imagining the moment she should still be talking, laughing, and smiling like she always did. But she took her last breath on a road she’d driven a hundred times, a road that feels like a ghost now, haunted by the memory of what I caused. 

Izzie smoothed my hair down after releasing me from her embrace. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” 

I jolted up and glared at her. “How was it not? She wasn’t even supposed to be driving in that direction. I was the one to scare her enough with my crazy to head towards my house.” “First of all, you’re not crazy,” Izzie said firmly. “Second, she loved you and wanted to be there for you whether or not you were having an episode.” 

I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t know her. How can you possibly know that? 

Izzie gently held onto my shoulders while staring into my eyes. My heart fluttered. “Because anyone decent enough to worm their way to your heart must be one of the most incredible people on this planet.” 

I started crying again, so Izzie let me rest my head on her shoulder. We stayed like that for a few minutes before I pulled myself together. 

“You didn’t need to be afraid to tell me that you’re bipolar, either. I know everyone is different but I’ve befriended others who have it too. Do you remember what I told you about myself a few weeks after you started working at The Lucky Readers?” She asked. 

I sniffed and rubbed my nose. “Can you be more specific? That feels like forever ago.” She moved a strand of blond hair from my face. “When you asked about my tattoo?” She held up her wrist, showing me her semicolon tattoo. 

“You said you went through a lot when you first started college,” I said. She told me how severe her depression was when back then early on when we started working together, but I was always afraid to ask more. 

“I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I first got to college. Everything around me felt bigger and different. I got so swamped with my classes, schoolwork, and trying to become someone my friends and family could be proud of that it took over. It got so bad that I was close to failing two classes. I was so overwhelmed that it really took a toll on my mental health. Like, it got bad, Kat,” Izzie said. “I know it’s extremely different than how you must’ve felt after getting diagnosed as bipolar and how that affected you. There’s not a part of me that doesn’t understand that, but you don’t have to be fine all the time. It’s okay to admit something is wrong, especially to me.” 

That’s when I kissed her. I never gave myself time to decide whether or not it was a good time to do so. I just felt like it was, so I let myself melt into her. Izzie’s breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t pull away. It was gentle at first, like a question—hesitant and unsure. But it soon deepened. The kiss was more than just a gesture; it was a release, a culmination of everything recently spoken between us. That’s when I felt her fingers lace through my hair. Her body leaned forward as if she’d been waiting for this moment. It felt like the world around us had paused, and for a moment, nothing else existed except the two of us wrapped in the sweet, unexpected magic of the moment. 

When we finally pulled away, we smiled at each other. We were quiet for a while because no words could translate what we both felt. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” she laughed. “I think I’ve just been waiting for that.” I raised my eyebrows. “You were waiting for me to kiss you?” 

She tilted her head to the side with a confused look. “I mean, you’re a very reserved person, Kat. I guess I. . . hoped you felt the way I did, but I didn’t want to be wrong and make you uncomfortable. Since you said yes to going out today, I figured. . maybe you did? But I knew I wanted you to be the one to cross that boundary if ever got there.” 

I smirked at the ground when I felt my cheeks flush. When I looked back up at Izzie, her eyes were full of concern. 

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked. 

The weight that pressed against my chest while telling Izzie my story had lifted a bit after that kiss, but I wasn’t fully healed yet. Talking about Aria and what happened to her took a lot out of me and I’m still working on forgiving myself for it. I believe Izzie meant it when she said Aria dying wasn’t my fault, but I’m still working on seeing it that way. Somedays I know what happened was an accident. On other days, I feel the weight of what I can’t change and the pain of feeling responsible for something beyond my control. For a long time, I wondered how different my life would be if I was like everyone else. Maybe I’d have more friends, a better relationship with my father and stepfamily, and be easier to love. I want to warn Izzie that she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into by being with someone like me. Then again, I don’t know what I’m getting into with her. But I do know that I feel happier than I’ve felt in a while. 

“Yeah,” I said confidently. “That was everything I didn’t know I needed.”

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2024 Spooky Story Contest Winner

Girl

by Dominic Viti

Tonight his son won’t take the garbage out because someone is out there, the boy says, moving around in the dark. 

The father tells him to grow a pair, cinches the bag shut, walks downstairs, and pushes out the door into the alley, only to find his son is right. There is someone out here, he realizes, lifting the lid—not a man but a girl, throwing herself against the dumpster walls, falling down and getting back up to do it all over again. 

The child is trapped, he thinks, trapped and confused, so he reaches inside to give her a hand and pull her out. Which he would have done had the girl not sunk her teeth into his fingers and said: I’m not trapped or confused and I’m not a girl, I’m the part of your son you don’t understand, and I beat myself up not because I want to escape but because I want you to see how he feels. 

Too stunned to speak, the father leaves the lid open because he doesn’t know what else to do and because he doesn’t know if this is real. Then, with his good hand, he drops the trash into a separate receptacle, one without life, and walks back upstairs to hug his son. 

About the Author

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2024 Cover Art Winner

Congratulations, Jackson Williams! Read more …

Congratulations to Kalani Washington, our 2024 winner of the Valentine’s contest! Her poem resonated with us, and we hope it does with you, too! This year’s submissions made us laugh, filled us with intrigue, and convinced us that SCAD is ripe with writer-y energy! Thank you to everyone who participated, and stay tuned for future contests.

Bitter

by Kalani Washington

Once, I tasted love’s bitter bite.
An unripe apple coursing with sour venom.
Little flames scorched the tender spots in my mouth,
Never to be healed.

It began as a curiosity,
A shiny, waxed exterior, smooth and flawless.
Red as the blazing sun, giving way to night’s passion,
Enticing and false.

Soft spots decayed, festering within.
Worms wriggling within the sweet flesh.
Seeds concealing poison, on the verge of combustion,
The fruits of our labor.

Now, what need do I have for desire?
A withering stomach clinging onto empty promises.
The lies served to me, clear on the menu.
I believe I’ve lost my appetite.

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