library | jmb

5

The scene around me was hazy, blurry. The sensation was familiar, but my mind wouldn't clarify what was going on. I was in a cold room with no windows or doors. It was like a big icebox. The second I thought it, the walls became slick with ice, the floor as well. Everything was covered in ice. My teeth began to chatter so hard they hurt. And then a musky scent enveloped me. Like one of Jacobs hugs. And then Jacob was there, hugging me. The ice room disappeared, replaced by an endless green field. We stood in the middle clinging to each other.

"I liked you all along too," he whispered. "I don't know why it took us so long to admit it."

"Because I was scared," I said.

"Of what?"

What was I scared of? Letting someone close? Handing him the power to hurt me? Letting go of control? Possibilities don't hurt as much as realities. Possibilities are exciting and endless. Realities are final. That had always held me back with Jacob, the thought that if I said how I felt and he didn't feel the same way back, that would be it. There would be no more "what ifs," no more "might bes," no more dreaming.

Dreaming. That's what this was. Just a dream. It was all just a dream. I needed to wake up now.

My eyes fluttered open. Sun shone through the upper windows, lighting the room. Disappointment weighed heavy on my chest. I may have been dreaming, but being trapped in the library hadn't been a dream. I was still here. Still stuck.

With Joey. He was no longer lying on the floor. Where had he gone?

I sat up quickly and saw spots, the sleeping bag slipping off my shoulders as I steadied myself. His sleeping bag. He'd put his sleeping bag on me. I let it fall all the way to the floor and then stared at it lying there useless. I immediately missed its warmth.

It was eight o'clock and my stomach was tight from hunger. Nobody had come for me.

"Did the sleeping bag offend you?"

I let out a short scream. Joey sat in a chair across the room, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. His dark hair was slightly damp and was drying in a thick wave. He had a shadow of growth along his jaw. He held an open book, propped against his chest. The position he was sitting in—one shoulder down farther than the other, the shadows playing on his face creating shapes of darkness, the contrast of the red book against his black shirt . . . something made me wish I had my camera.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a girl like that."

"I didn't move."

"I know. It was a joke. I just didn't see you at first. Thanks . . . for the sleeping bag." A chill went through me, betraying the fact that I still needed it. "I . . . I have to go to the bathroom."

"No need for a running commentary."

"I was just telling you . . . right." I stood, pulled down my left pant leg that had somehow ridden up during the night, and went back to the restroom. The toilet seat was cold, and the mirror proved I was in worse shape than I'd thought. Mascara was smudged down both sides of my face, making my hazel eyes look darker than normal. My hair, perfect waves the day before, was now a tangled mess, and three days without face wash was going to cause the world's worst breakout. I turned on the water and did my best job to clean up the stray mascara and rinse my mouth out with water. I finger-combed my hair to acceptable. There was still a kink in my neck from the awkward angle at which I'd slept, and my stomach was not going to be happy with me if I didn't find food at some point today. I was angry with myself for falling asleep the night before instead of following through with the find-Joeys phone plan. Why was he making this so difficult? Why did he care if people knew we were here, anyway? Was he in some sort of trouble with the law . . . again? What had he done this time? I wasn't even sure what he'd done the first time. Rumor had it that he'd beat up some guy. It wouldn't surprise me if that rumor had been true.

I shivered again. I had been so thrilled with my outfit last night a teal green, flowy T shirt, a cute tailored jacket, and a pair of jeans. But it had been warm in the library when we were working. Hot, even. For the hundredth time I wished I hadn't taken my jacket off and shoved it in my bag. Wished I hadn't put my bag in Jacobs trunk. My bag. If I had that this whole thing would be over. Even without my phone I would've had everything I needed to last the weekend.

There had to be food in this place somewhere. The librarians had to eat lunch. A break room, maybe? On the third floor, I found it—a kitchen. There was not only a fridge but two vending machines—one for soda, one for snacks. They were kind of cruel really, the food on display without any way of getting it. I kicked the soda machine as I walked by, thought about reaching up and trying to grab one from the wide slot below, but quickly dismissed that thought. I'd once read a story online where a guy had to be rescued by the fire department because he got his arm stuck in a vending machine.

The fridge, unlike every other thing in the library, was not locked. It was a huge catering fridge. I'd almost forgotten that people had weddings and events at the library. It really was a big, gorgeous building that had become my prison. I crossed my fingers and opened one of the doors. On the shelf in the middle was the corner of a sheet cake. I wasn't even sure why anyone would save it that's how small it was. But I would gratefully eat it later.

Behind the next silver fridge door was a clear Tupperware container of who knew what, but I could see the dark spots of mold clinging to the sides. Aside from that were two mystery paper bags. I pulled out the first bag with the words DON'T EAT MY FOOD written on the outside in Sharpie and looked inside, an apple and a yogurt, which was over a week expired. Considering the warning on the outside, I had hoped for something more steal-worthy. I took the apple and left the yogurt for later. In the other bag was more Tupperware and a can of soda. I gingerly lifted out the plastic bowl and slowly opened the lid. No mold, but I also couldn't tell what it was. Pasta? Vegetables? Smelling it didn't help. That could wait. I took the soda and left the rest.

In the cupboards I found some coffee cups and split the soda into two. The drawers were free of real utensils, but I found a plastic knife. It immediately broke when I tried to cut the apple in half with it. I'd just eat half and hope Joey wasn't a germophobe.

I washed the apple for thirty seconds under warm water, then took a bite. Nothing had ever tasted better. I found some napkins tucked away in a drawer, and when I had eaten my share, I wrapped up the remaining half, picked up the cups, and went back down the stairs to face Joey again.

If I could just get him to trust me, I wouldn't need to sneak into his bag. He'd gladly hand over his phone to me. And he would. I was nice. People liked me. Joey would too.