Chapter 3 Getting Crammed With Smarts
Tasha scarfed down all the biscuits and mac and cheese, then guzzled the chocolate milk.
Done eating, she swiped her mouth, stacked the dishes, and grabbed her bargain-bin toiletry kit.
The bookstore’s bathroom was a cramped little nook—just a toilet and sink—but it was clean enough. Tasha washed up, brushed her teeth, and trudged to the storeroom.
Yup, same old bedding.
There it was: a faded blue-and-white floral bedspread with a lumpy feather pillow, like something straight out of a dusty old farmhouse. The blanket was so worn the edges were practically transparent, but it was clean, with a faint mothball vibe.
Tasha knew this set—it was Polly and her late husband’s from their country days. The pattern was pure grandma-chic, and the cotton was stiff as a board.
This worn-out bedding was the only reason Polly’s tightfisted daughter-in-law let it end up in the bookstore.
Tasha spread it out quietly. The blanket was heavy, the cotton packed so tight it felt like a plank. Old, sure, but it had been the good stuff once.
The storeroom was a shoebox, stuffed with books that made it feel like the walls were closing in. Tasha’s bedroll was crammed into the only clear spot—a narrow strip between towering book stacks. One wrong roll, and she’d knock over a pile.
This wasn’t a bedroom; it was a glorified storage bin. A single, dim bulb overhead gave off a sickly yellow glow that barely lit the place.
Tasha set up her makeshift bed. Just when the system thought she’d crash, she spun around and headed back to the bookstore.
She scanned the shelves, then yanked out a Merriam-Webster Dictionary.
The system were left speechless.’Uh… seriously?’
Tasha plopped into Polly’s chair, cracked open the dictionary, and started reading from word one.
In her previous life, Tasha’s brain was a sieve—everything she studied slipped right through. When she got a bit of fame, internet trolls had a blast, dubbing her a “illiterate celebrity.”
But now, she was packing a genius-level IQ of 138. Thing was, she knew it was all potential, no substance. She had to start from scratch and fill that brain up.
The system was low-key impressed by her grit but had to ask, “Host, it’s super late. Not gonna hit the hay?”
Outside, streetlights glowed, but the pedestrian mall was dead quiet.
“Nah, I’m good. Got you to keep me company, right?” Tasha said, eyes locked on the page.
The system shut up.
Tasha flipped through the dictionary, and man, her mind was a steel trap.
Every word stuck like it was glued there. She closed her eyes and could see each word—page, line, everything. This was straight-up photographic memory.
And her reading speed? Insane. She was blazing through ten lines at a glance. Dictionaries are boring as heck, but after tearing through a fifth of it, Tasha checked the bookstore’s clock.
Just an hour and a half had passed.
At this rate, she’d rip through the whole thing—maybe even memorize it—in under eight hours flat.
Tasha’s mind was blown. Four more hours in, it was one a.m. She’d blasted through most of the book. Her head throbbed like a bad hangover, and her eyes stung like she’d been chopping onions, but she was hooked, gobbling up every word.
She’d never felt so pumped. It was like her brain, this big ol’ empty space, was finally getting crammed with smarts, shoving out all the old clueless vibes.
No way was she sliding back to her old life. She was gonna suck up every ounce of knowledge she could.
Finally, the system butted in, “Hey, Host, your health’s down to 38. You’re not just ‘off’—you’re one gust away from toppling over.”
Tasha’s voice was all scratchy. “One more hour.”
By two a.m., her vision was fuzzing out, little black dots buzzing like gnats. She had to pump the brakes on her reading spree.
Her stomach was roaring, but there was no food in sight. She snagged a water bottle, filled it from the store’s dispenser, and chugged it like a champ.
Her head felt ready to explode, and her heart was racing like it was in a sprint. Wobbling like a tipsy toddler, she stumbled to the storage room and crashed onto her floor mat.
“Forced sleep mode,” Tasha muttered. “Wake me at six.”
The system was about to roll when Tasha added, “Hold up.”
“What now, Host?”the system asked.
“How much do I weigh? I wanna cash in.”
“115 pounds. You can trade 4 max.”
“I’ll trade—” Tasha yawned, barely keeping her eyes open.
“Host, your health’s in the toilet. It might screw with your tasks. Maybe—”
“Beauty points. All four pounds,” Tasha snapped, cutting it off.
Beauty points were the last thing she needed. But, come on, no one would say no to a glow-up. The system didn’t argue and made the swap.
A slight warmth hit Tasha, but compared to her first trade, it was nothing—barely a tingle. She figured the heat depended on how much weight you swapped. Noted.
She was dying to check her new look, but sleep was screaming her name.
The system killed the lights with some techy trick and zapped her into dreamland.
The system killed the lights with some techy trick and zapped her into dreamland.
Same old Tasha stared back. Same sallow skin, same plain-Jane face. She leaned in, squinting.
Then she spotted it—her acne scars were maybe a tiny bit lighter.
‘Seriously? Two beauty points for that?’ She shrugged. ‘Whatever, it’s a start,’ she told herself, keeping it chill.
Tasha stepped out of the bathroom, still rubbing a towel through her damp hair, and found Polly already at the bookstore counter, skimming the morning paper with a coffee in hand.
“Hey, Tasha, you’re alive!” Polly teased, nudging her reading glasses up with a grin.
The old lady was practically a walking ray of sunshine, always brightening up the dusty little shop.
“Morning, Polly,” Tasha replied with a polite nod, her lips twitching into a smile.
Polly’s eyes twinkled. “Man, I slept like a rock last night. Used to stress about some lowlife breaking in after hours, but with you around, I’m sleeping easy.”
Tasha gave a half-smirk. She knew Polly was just tossing her a bone. The bookstore’s heavy-duty shutter could fend off a tank—nobody was sneaking in, Tasha or not.
Reading her like an open book, Polly leaned in. “Plus, you being here means I can ditch early and go play doting grandma with my grandkids. Before you showed up, I was stuck here ’til ten o’clock.”
That much was legit. From eight to ten at night, the film studio crowd spilled onto the street, turning the pedestrian mall into a zoo. It was prime time for the bookstore, and shutting down early would be like throwing money out the window.
Tasha’s face softened, a real smile breaking through. “Happy to help you out.”
Polly jerked her chin toward the counter. “Breakfast’s up. Grab it.”
Two burgers and a steaming mug of milk sat waiting. Tasha’s stomach was screaming—she was starved. No time for pleasantries, she snatched a burger and demolished it in three bites, standing right there.
Juicy, warm, and just plain awesome. With her hunger dialed down a notch, she took her time with the second burger, actually tasting it this time.
Polly gawked, half-laughing. “Dang, girl, you eating for two or what? Slow down before you choke! If that didn’t fill you up, I’ll hook you up with extra for lunch.”
Tasha swallowed a bite and waved her off. “I’m good, Polly. Won’t be back for lunch anyway.”
“Not coming back? Where you headed?” Polly’s brows shot up, curious as all get-out.
Tasha flashed a shy grin. “The film studios.”
Polly froze, then gave Tasha a once-over, like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
Polly hadn’t pegged this plain-Jane girl for a wannabe star. She’d been slinging books near the film studios for decades, watching dreamers roll through—some drop-dead gorgeous, some rough around the edges, but none as… well, average as Tasha. The kind of face one’d lose in a crowd faster than a dropped dime.
Polly was no newbie. She’d seen it all, from the days when heartthrobs ruled the screens and character actors could steal a scene with a single ugly mug.
But a face like Tasha’s? That screamed “extra in a crowd shot” for life.
She chewed her lip, torn. Crushing the kid’s dreams felt wrong, but letting her chase a fantasy was just as bad.
Finally, she sighed. “Listen, kid, I get it—you’ve got stars in your eyes. But this showbiz stuff? It’s a long shot. One in a million makes it! Trust me, you’re young, you’re… not bad-looking. Why not snag a steady job?”
Tasha saw right through her. She’d gotten the same lecture in her old life.
With a cheeky grin, Tasha shot back, “Polly, thanks, really. But I’m all in.”
Polly sighed. “Alright, chase your dream. At least you won’t starve.”
She’d seen too many dreamers crash and burn, too stubborn to quit until they hit rock bottom. ‘Some folks just gotta learn the hard way,’ she thought.
Tasha just smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna be a big-time star.”
‘With that face? Good luck.’ Polly bit her tongue, giving a half-hearted nod.
As Tasha hit the door, she spun back. “Hey, can I grab a book? I’ll keep it pristine, swear. If I wreck it, I’ll pay up.”
Polly figured Tasha wasn’t a total lost cause. Jerking her thumb toward the back, she said, “Those shelves? Take your pick. Old books collecting dust. Just bring it back.”
Tasha wandered over. The shelves were a mess—dog-eared books, reeking of mildew, some pages yellowed and brittle. A wild mix of classics, sappy old romance novels, fortune-telling junk, random manuals, outdated magazines, and even a few musty almanacs.
Tasha skimmed the pile, grabbed a beat-up copy of How the Steel Was Tempered, and tucked it into the plastic bag from yesterday’s biscuits. Then she was out the door.
