House foundations are made from concrete and rebar. My foundation is made from paper pulp and ink. Sunny days spent indoors, shelves alphabetized, eating and drinking whatever the characters I’m reading eat. I like it when they drink tea, imagining I sip when they sip. There is no one better to break bread with than your best book friends. My BBFs are loyal. They stuck with me through high school, college, two grad programs, a move to New York and then back home to Los Angeles. They were there when I needed company in heartache, by my side in the hospital bed after a particularly nasty car accident, joyfully nestled in my purse on dates and interviews, and bravely in my hand above treacherous bath waters. My BBFs are so accepting, they never judge; I mean they’ve been there, done that, behaved poorly. My BBFs are brilliant, to boot. I always learn something when we’re together. (My favorite is when they teach me a new word.) You may think me misanthropic, finding my besties in books, but you’d be wrong. After all, people write books.