Clearing the Line

A thick hardcover had slid halfway out of line, cutting off the ledge. I don't turn around just because something heavy sits in the way. I hooked my sword chain aside, squared up to the gap, and jammed both hands against the spine. The dust jacket was slick. It didn't budge an inch on the first shove. I dropped my hips, wedged my sandals against the shelf groove, and drove my shoulder straight into the paper edge. With a loud, gritty scrape across the wood, the volume finally slammed flush against the upright. Line of sight restored.