Subtle. Very subtle.
Part of me is like, fine, I’ll pack up my things and go. But the other part of me is thinking that if it keeps going like this, I’m not going to have any libraries left. And I am not about to stay home all the time.
Plus, it’s like, why are you stalking me? What do you want me to do? I’ve been given exactly one order, find A, which is impossible.
I can’t let this creep haunt me like this. He needs to get it in his thick skull that I can’t help him. Or her. Whichever form he/she decides to menace me with.
The girl sees me standing by her stuff. I can tell she has no idea what to do.
“Hey,” I say. “You.”
She’s far enough away that my voice carries and a couple of other people look. I don’t care. She looks mortified. But she comes over.
“Look—” she starts, reaching for something in her back pocket.
But I’m not in the mood for her threats.
“No, you look,” I say. “You have to stop it. I can’t help you. I can’t do anything. And you driving me crazy is only going to…well, drive me crazy. How does that help you? What good does that do? Just leave me alone, okay?”
She’s got her phone in her hand. I don’t know why.
“What are you talking about?” she says.
“I saw you looking at me,” I tell her. “I saw you looking, and I saw you going through my stuff. I mean, not physically, but with your eyes. When I went to pee. So I know it’s you. I know what you’re doing.”
She actually reaches up her hand and pulls at her hair a little. Her face is getting red.
“Oh God, this is so embarrassing. I am so, so sorry. You totally caught me.”
This is not the reaction I was expecting from a body-swapping demon.
I sputter, “I mean, I just—”
She waves off the sputtering. “No, no. I’m an idiot. It’s just—I’ve never seen you here before. I’m here every Sunday, and I’ve never seen you. So I was curious. And, fuck it, you’re cute. So there was that, too. Now, naturally, I’ve made a complete fool of myself and you will conclude that I’m this crazy, foulmouthed library stalker girl who undresses you with her eyes.”
“I didn’t say you undressed me with your eyes. I said you were going through my stuff with your eyes.”
“Oh Jesus. That’s of course what I meant.”
“Who the heck are you?”
“I was about to ask the same question. Only I wasn’t going to use the word heck.”
Okay, so either Poole is an incredible actor or I was 100 percent wrong about this girl.
“Now I’m starting to feel a little idiotic,” I admit.
“I should’ve warned you—it’s contagious.”
“Well, I guess we both have it now.”
She holds out her hand. “I’m Jaiden. But you can call me Library Stalker Girl for short.”
I take her hand and we shake like we’re in business school.
“I’m Nathan. But you can call me Massively Overreacting Library Boy for short.”
“Initial unpleasantness aside, it’s nice to meet you, Massively Overreacting Library Boy.”
“A pleasure, Library Stalker Girl.”
She moves her duffel off the seat next to hers and gestures to the chair like it’s a game show prize. “Care to join me?”
“Beam me up.”
She snorts. “Did you really just say beam me up?”
“Don’t judge.”
“Not judging!”
* * *
—
Since I’ve never been on a date before, I have no idea what exactly counts as a date. Is it goofing around at a library for three hours on a Sunday afternoon? Shooting jokes back and forth, then being the oldest nonparent attendees of story time? If a girl leans against you while a volunteer reads aloud from Last Stop on Market Street, is that as much of a come-on as, say, kissing in an alleyway? If she insists on getting some crayons to do the activity sheet, and then colors in everything you outline, is that a good sign? When, at the end of the three hours, she says, “We have to do this again,” does she intend that to be as specific as it sounds—i.e., We have to hang out at story time at the public library again—or is there some leeway? If you propose going for lunch or dinner or coffee or something else that doesn’t involve young children, are you asking her on a first date or a second? If she says yes, does it even matter?
* * *
—
So I’m happy when I get home. The kind of happiness that I’m a little worried my parents will smell on me. Like, if I told them I met a girl, they’d say, We can’t wait to meet her. But what they’d really mean is We can’t wait to wire her to a lie detector and see what horrible things she’s done in her past, because surely they must be bad if she’s willing to be seen with you.
I take a moment in the car to compose myself, then get out and head to the garage door. I don’t even sense the movement, I’m so in my own head. I don’t know anything’s wrong until I feel the sharp tip of a knife pressing into my back, and hear an angry voice in my ear saying, “From now on, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.”
A
Day 6133 (continued)
I need to talk to you.
Please. Call me.
It’s Poole. He’s here.
Nathan’s messages to Rhiannon aren’t long—but they make their point.
“And you’re sure he doesn’t know you came up here to meet me?” I ask.
“Positive. He knows I was looking for you. He knows I found you. But he doesn’t know you’re here.”
The waitress must wonder what’s going on. We are two teenagers sitting in front of a pizza without taking a bite. This must never happen.
“I have to call him,” Rhiannon says after we look at each other for long enough to realize that looking at each other isn’t going to answer anything. “I can’t just leave him hanging.”
“You have to assume he’s with Poole, even if he says he’s not.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. I just had to say it. I’m nervous.”
“So am I. And I’m not even sure why.”