What I Couldn't Tell Him

14 - I Don't Want A Reputation

ALDEN POV

An hour later, beads of sweat were collecting on my forehead. Every time someone spoke to me, I had an angry comment to spit back.

"Jordan! I need a cigarette now!" I moan at break. He stands there, features furrowed in concern.

"I don't have any left. Brooklyn was stressed. He took the rest." He explains, puffing on his own hungrily.

"Sh*t! Couldn't have saved me one?" I grumble, shaking my head in frustration.

"You said no!" He defends himself, "You'll have to go to the library. I know a guy who can do it cheap." He suggests. I groan, hating the people in there.

"Fine. Where?" I mutter, palm on my forehead. He chuckles.

"Next to sociology, behind MFL." He directs me and I nod. I shuffle off into the building, clutching some money Jordan gave me. I stomp up the stairs, along the ugly carpeted corridor and past the teacher's lounge that stinks of coffee.

The library is huge, with imposing bookshelves leaning over. It is stuffed with books and looks relatively innocent until you walk behind English History: 1650-1850 and the walls take on a yellow tinge.

It becomes a black market, filled with things you don't want to describe. I stumble along, past fights, suspicious white powder and vodka. Eventually, I am in the MFL section, the pages of French vocab books turning at the corners.

"What do you want?" A dirty boy, a bit younger than me, questions. His hair is shaved close to his head and his eyes are bloodshot. He has a backpack on the table, the zip buckling with the weight of its contents.

"Cigarettes," I answer plainly. He eyes me cautiously and I open my palm.

"You know Jordan?" He asks, peeling the money from my hand and placing a grimy plastic bag stuffed full in its place.

"Yeah," I say, mimicking his tone and the gruffness. He nods.

"You know the blonde girl?" He asks again. I look up at him, confused.

"Who?" I say, trying to sound disinterested.

"Some girl. Came in yesterday. Didn't buy anything. We talked to her, she wasn't any trouble. Just curious." He answers. I shrug. He slides his hands into his pockets, the waist of his pants dropping even further.

"I don't know. She here now?" He nods and motions for me to follow him. We edge past some dizzy looking girls and into Sociology. He walks behind the tall shelf, and I follow but only halfway, worried it will be someone I recognise; someone I'd rather not recognise.

It takes me a moment to comprehend it. Jaimie is sat at a wooden table, headphones in. Her long, athletic form is draped over a chair, legs crossed.

She doesn't notice us until the boy speaks.

"Hey?" He says, voice rugged. She looks up to meet his eyes. She pulls out her headphones, and I dart behind a bookshelf, peering through the books.

"Yeah?" She asks calmly, unaffected by the boy in front of her. He seems more afraid than she does. Everyone here is wary of the library kids except her. She never was like everyone else though.

The boy talks to her as though she is in control and I wonder what "We talked to her" really meant.

"Someone here, you know him?" He looks at me and I step out. Her eyes go wide and her back straight, but only momentarily. Then she regains her composure.

"Kind of." She shrugs, putting one headphone in, but keeping her eyes on me.

The boy looks between us, then steps away, back to his little shop. He doesn't look interested anymore.