Part 8

Owen gestured at the room. It was on the top floor, a corner room, with some cheap paneling on the walls that looked subtly askew. Not that much of it was visible; the room was a cluttered mess of furniture, each flat surface piled high with random objects. “There's always one in every house, I guess. The room you never quite get around to decorating; the one where you dump all the stuff you don't want to throw away but don't want to keep. Except I do want to throw a lot of this away—or donate it to charity—because this room would be perfect as a library. I'm sick of having my books scattered around the house where I can't find them.” He gave Sterling a sidelong look, noting the unenthusiastic expression on the boy's face. “I meant it when I said I'd pay you for helping me to renovate it. You're giving up an extra shift to help me today, I know, and I don't want you to lose out.”

“You don't have to pay me,” Sterling said, somewh