Many years ago, I worked as a live-in nanny. (One of the greatest jobs I've ever had!!) One of my charges was an 12 year old budding genius named Neal. Neal was an avid reader. He was into Tolkien long before Peter Jackson made it hip. Neal and I would sit for hours and discuss science fiction and fantasy literature. For Christmas one year his mother bought us each a copy of Wells The Time Machine and we read it together.

I was away from the family home one weekend and had left behind a paperback. The paperback was in a plastic book cover bearing the logo of a local used bookstore. (When you buy and trade paperbacks as often I did, a book cover is a good investment.) The bright green cover hid the title of the book. The only way to know what was inside, was to open it. Several times over the weekend Neal commented to his mother, "I wonder what Traci is reading." His mother told him to leave the book alone. It was not his business. His mother told me he imagined all sorts of titles that I might be reading. Titles I would then pass on to him and we would discuss and dissect.

When I returned to work the following Tuesday, Neal was distant. He didn't want to discuss much of anything with me. Finally, on Thursday night I asked. "What's the problem here?"

I tell you all this by way of confession. While others in my book club are catching up on the classics they skipped in high school, I am lazing around in the flashy and cheap science fiction bin. While others are discovering the joys of The Great Gatsby and War and Peace, I am delving into alternate universes and time travel gone wrong. It's summer and I'm relaxing with some quick and easy reads.