Vicky skipped inside before the bookstore closed. Luckily, Pop had warned her that the store’s door was a toe-pincher for book lovers. 

Soon, the red lipstick girl crisscrossed a finger over her chest after numbing her toes. Instantly, the teller pressed her drowsy eyes at the ticking clock above Vicky’s head and tapped her wristwatch. In response, Vicky waved a novel titled ‘Diary of Book Lovers,’ and stuck her tongue at the yawning  teller. “Please, buy me,” said a book packed inside a ceiling-kissing shelf. “Dah! Why should I…?” asked Vicky, squinting.

 “Nobody has ever read me,” said the blinking book, making Vicky wipe her misting eyes. “How much …?” asked Vicky, tiptoeing to snatch the dusty book. “N$600.00, only,” said the lonely book with hiccups. Vicky cupped her mouth and blinked. 

“That’s all I have,” she said, throwing her arms in the air. Afterwards, she massaged folded banknotes from her moneybox. “Where’s your title?” she asked, scanning for the title at the back of the book.  

“So, how many pages do you have?” she asked,  giggling at the numberless pages. “1000 pages,” said the book, proudly. Vicky blew the dust from the book and splashed her birthday money on it. She stretched the crinkled notes towards the teller,  who snatched them, leaving nail-scratches on Vicky’s baby-soft hands. “No guarantee on this book!” stuttered the teller,  slamming the till’s drawer. First,  the teller stabbed the key into the keyhole and slammed the door shut. By now, the only customer in the wall-hanging TV was Vicky, hugging the dust-termites book. Immediately, she squatted on a wooden bench, waiting for the yango, but soon realized she had no money. 

Then, she licked her finger and flicked through the book. A ball-sized tear from her eyes dropped on page seven, and backward-written words appeared. “Go to page 999,” said the book. There, she found a bundle of clipped purple banknotes. Afterwards,  she requested an A-class Mercedes yango.  

The driver played birthday songs and followed the kite-like balloons floating over Vicky’s house.  She thumbed the book to page 888 and recited an acronym poem written as her birthday present. Soon she sniffed the vanilla cake from the kitchen. In a blink,  Vicky spotted a doll-shaped birthday cake waiting for her. 

Now, she unhooked a plastic kitchen knife and sliced the cake, licking the creamy icing that matched the book under her left armpit.  

Finally,  she jumped on her white bed, and the book flipped itself to page 500, and there was a white ink pen. That night,  Vicky wrote and drew cartoons on odd pages of tickling bedtime  stories that turned out to be best-selling children’s books.