As a little kid, I loved candy. Loved slowly unwrapping silver tinfoil and colorful plastic wrappers to unearth the sweets below. I loved the first bite, the chocolaty goodness overwhelming my taste buds or the tangy fruitiness of a piece of taffy making me enjoy the day a little more. I loved the feeling in my fingers when I dipped them into a bowl of Halloween candy and pulled out my favorite; and the feeling of jellybeans and M&Ms slipping through my fingers as I tried to choose a favorite flavor. The best thing about candy was, I didn’t get it every day. My parents always told us to eat healthy, so candy was a rare event for me.


When I grew older and learned how to read, books were added to the list of things I couldn’t resist. Only good books fit the requirements. When I read a fascinating series and got the next installment, I couldn’t resist the cellophane on the cover, knowing that I was the first reader of this copy- the first one to admire the cover art, to trace the title with her fingers. It was like a piece of taffy that I couldn’t eat until I got home. The cover was the wrapper. The words were the candy.


And the wait for a book to come to the library was always infuriating. A great example is the Princess Diaries. Our library didn’t provide the seventh book in the series until I requested it specially of two different librarians. I remember, coming to the library week after week, waiting for a book to be there. I couldn’t read the second book in the Percy Jackson series for six months because some idiot kept checking it out. I remember, the disappointment when I ran my fingers along the worn spines on the shelves. Percy Jackson, Greek Mythology, Rick Riordan… Oh! Oh. Not there. Again.


What does this have to do with anything? It doesn’t. It didn’t, that is, until I fell in love. I saw him every day at school, and on weekends for Hebrew school. It was addicting to see him, it was like seeing a candy bar at the store, like seeing a book in the library. But I couldn’t buy the candy, I couldn’t read the book. He didn’t want me; he wanted someone else. "The Sea of Monsters is checked out, hon, sorry. We’ll tell you if they’ve returned it yet."