90s Nostalgia Books Novels & Stories

The head librarian’s name was Ethan, and he was surprisingly young and handsome. As a young scholar, he did not say much, nor did he ask about my past. Thanks to him, I felt especially relieved and liberated. Life in the Tidal Waves Pack was peaceful and orderly. Slowly but surely, I got used to my new life and stopped thinking about Leonard. However, his life was not quite as peaceful after losing me. He locked himself in his room in despair, drowning his feelings in alcohol every day. The more he drank, though, the more he dwelt on our sweet memories together. The regret and pain continued to multiply, slicing his heart into pieces.

“Ariel… actually… our family cleaned itself up eight years ago.” “James was afraid you’d grow up spoiled, so he kept making us pretend to be poor. He kept saying poor kids mature faster.” Dad Number Ninety-Nine, Logan, added aggrievedly, “And all that leaving early and coming home late, James forced us to attend night school! To earn diplomas! Otherwise, he wouldn’t let us come home for dinner!” “The blood on our clothes? That was from helping at Dad Number Seventy-Seven Adam’s chain slaughterhouses when they opened. We were killing pigs there!”

Like how his fingers tapped to an invisible beat at stoplights or how he checked the mirrors without even thinking about it, always alert. He caught her looking and shot her a quick sideways glance. “What?” She shook her head, a smile creeping onto her face. “Nothing.” --- The bookstore was filled with the scent of paper and nostalgia. It was the kind of place that would have been her favorite as a teenager, wooden shelves, warm lighting, and the low hum of a coffee machine in the background. Nora took off like a shot, instantly heading for the children’s section. “I’ll go with her,” Adrian said, already trailing behind.

"My dear sister, why bother? Look at this. You're kicked out of your own house now!" My eyes caught the small clay jar she was holding. My eyes narrowed, and I barked, "Give me that!" Seeing how panicked I was, Selena suddenly smiled, then let it go without warning. The jar hit the floor with a loud crash, shattering into pieces. My eyes burned with fury. I lunged at Selena and slapped her. "Was that on purpose?" Selena screamed and immediately apologized, her voice pitiful. I just wanted to kill her. That jar was something my grandmother and I had made together when I was in elementary school. It was the only keepsake she had left me.

“Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.” I shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “I like knowing how people lived before everything got loud. Plus, it’s an excuse to hide in here. Away from parties and drama.” “Smart girl,” he murmured. The way he said it made my stomach flip. Time passed. Maybe twenty minutes. We talked about everything and nothing. My terrible roommate. His awful coffee from the faculty lounge. How the basement always felt colder than the rest of the building. Our voices got softer, more comfortable. The dark made it easier somehow. Like we we

When I was little, Mom told me I'd damaged Gemma, my sister's hearing, so she and Dad gave Gemma ninety-nine "favor coupons"——every time she cashed one in, I had to give in. On my birthday, Gemma wanted mango cake. She used one of her coupons, and Mom replaced my birthday cake with mango cake, even though I was allergic to it. When Gemma got caught smoking at school, she used another coupon, and Mom made me take the blame for her. The whole school thought I was a troublemaker. For an entire year, no one would so much as talk to me. ... Between the ages of eight and eighteen, Gemma used ninety-six coupons. And ninety-six times, I was the one pushed aside. I thought that once she used th

I was also afraid that I might ruin whatever this strange truce we managed to have. Instead, I picked up one of the books and flipped it open. I skimmed through the first few pages. The smell of old paper and ink-filled my nostrils. It was comforting. I had always found solace in books. “Which one did you pick?” Ronan asked. He sounded curious. “’ Stories from the Northern Pegasus,’” I replied, holding up the book. “It’s one of my favorites. I read this book a lot when I lived with my father."

He hangs up, and I look at the dead man on the floor. I turn my back and get into the car. - To the headquarters. The car stops on a busy street full of Macdonals and Starbucks stores, but I enter the old bookstore that no one gives a fuck about. The last book that the bookstore sold must have been in 1990, but all the shelves were full of old books without a speck of dust. I look at the man behind the counter, who greets me with a nod. Moving between the shelves, I reach the end of the hall. A bookshelf slides out of its place as if by magic, and I open the steel door that becomes visible using a retina reader and a code.

We’d had it for seven years, and the glaze at the bottom had started to chip, just like our relationship—worn down and cracked in places. I packed and tossed things as I went, loading every souvenir of “us” into boxes headed straight for the dumpster. The bedroom was quickly buried in cardboard as I sorted through my stuff piece by piece, separating what was mine from what was hers. At the back of the closet, I found the first gift Annie ever gave me. It was a dark gray scarf, awkwardly stitched with uneven rows. She’d spent a whole month secretly learning to knit just to make it for me. I stared at it for a long time. In the end, I stuffed it into the “deal with later” bag.

A boy who absolutely loved me like his life depended on it. And then poof. Popularity, gone. Friends ditched. The boy, history. The life I thought I had evaporated. I still own a pair of Louboutins and an issue of A Lady’s Guide to Not Messing Up Twice. That counts for something, right?