Two weeks. Two weeks left of summer.

Miriam Smith sighed and plunked up the rickety staircase to her older brother’s room. Switched on, the lights revealed a little bookcase by the door and Miriam took down a decrepit copy of The Hobbit. Her mother’s. The last summer reading book.

Later that day, the family took a trip to Starbucks. Miriam began to read, and almost immediately became caught up in the funny little world of J.R.R. Tolkien and his hobbits and dwarfs. What a unique style, what an enchanting realm! Elves that sang and danced at campfires…

However, as I said earlier, this was a decrepit copy from way back when, and it began to tear until two halves were just barely attached. Like a wiggling loose tooth waiting to emerge. And soon after this, the tooth fell out.

Miriam could have wept.

Mrs. Smith, as could be guessed, was upset at the demise of her beloved childhood book and wore a pained expression for a moment, but otherwise hid her sorrow.

“We’ll tape it when we get home,” she said.