On Saturday morning I was greeted by an unexpected alert on my phone: You have a new message from GigConnecter.
It could only be Mr. Oodles of Noodles. I was so surprised to see the alert that I messed up the passcode on my phone twice before finally unlocking it. It didn't help that I was still in bed, precariously leaning towards the side of the bed where my phone was plugged into the wall.
I opened the message.
Hi Emma! I know you said you would get back to me if the event was approved. I just wanted to let you know that I'm performing tonight at a restaurant downtown on Sat. Maybe you could attend and see what the vibe is like? It could count as research ;)
There was a winky face.
"What does that mean?" I said out loud to my empty bedroom. It was nine in the morning. Far too early for winky faces. Then I noticed he had sent the message late last night. Certainly later than what anyone would call business hours.
Interesting.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized it would be a good chance to see his famous pasta sweater in action. I resolved to mentally refer to him Jack from now on; Mr. Oodles of Noodles didn't sound as good when I was in bed.
Hi Jack! I'll be happy to come along. What are the deets?
I sent the message and immediately regretted it. The deets? Was I trying to sound too cool? Because I was probably the least cool person on the planet.
Moaning, I unplugged my phone and threw it on my blankets for dramatic effect. At least it was still early. The day was salvageable.
I wasn't hungover, either. Melissa and I had chatted for an hour last night before being joined by Matteo. Rob had dropped by when he wasn't too busy behind the bar. I didn't tell them about the performance plan. The last thing I wanted was for Melissa to feel worse than she already did.
It was a new day, and I wanted to make the most of it. The morning passed quickly as I wrote down more fundraising ideas - a bake sale, a book sale, a charity auction - and sent the list to the group chat I had with Melissa, Matteo, and Rob. They were certainly small things, although they were better than nothing.
By the time lunch rolled around I realized I had two missed messages on my phone. The first was from Jack, who had indeed sent me the "deets" of his performance tonight. The second was a text from Mom.
I spoke to Alex tonight. He said you haven't contacted him lately???
I bit the inside of my cheek. Nothing could derail my day faster than a text like that. So I did the most emotionally unhealthy thing I could think of: I ignored it.
Clothes would be an excellent distraction. My closet could be divided into two sections: weekend clothes (jeans, t-shirts) and work clothes (decent but cheap outfits that wouldn't be ruined when a toddler would inevitably color me with a marker).
I settled on a floral dress that looked nicer than it felt. The cotton was scratchy, and it rubbed weirdly against my shoulders. I wasn't quite sure why I felt I had to dress up for this meeting. It was absolutely, one hundred percent not a date.
Or was it?
No. Absolutely not. I usually paired the floral dress with heels for a night out with friends, but in this case I settled on a pair of old definitely-not-a-date sandals.
I took the bus downtown and followed the directions on my phone. I was led to a small family restaurant sandwiched between a jewelry store and a burrito place. Ignoring the lure of burritos, I stepped into the restaurant and into a scene of chaos.
Over time I'd grown quite battle ready for mayhem. Most people have images of libraries as quiet, peaceful sanctums - and that was true sometimes. But for a branch as small as Northern Ridge, all it takes is a handful of kids to raise the noise level to something similar to the sound of fighter jets taking off.
I realized in that moment how innocent I was.
I couldn't count the number of children. Some were at their tables, clanging their utensils together, but most were on the makeshift dance floor. They shrieked in joy as they jumped up and down as they tried to sing along with the man who stood on a small, raised platform.
Jack.
"I want everybody to scream!" he said.
The kids obliged.
My poor eardrums. There weren't any empty tables left, so I slid over to the bar on the far side of the restaurant. I took the stool that gave me the best view of the dancefloor.
"Can I get you anything?" the bartender asked over the noise. "I've got to warn you, tonight is family night, as you can tell."
I ordered a Coke. "I'm actually here to see him," I said, pointing at Jack. His chestnut hair was mussed with exertion. He was taller than expected in person. "Does he perform here often?"
"Once a month," the bartender said. He placed my drink in front of me. "Donates half the proceeds to charity."
"Wow." I would need thousands of dollars, diamonds, and a guarantee of immortality before even considering hosting a solo event like this. I still wasn't comfortable interacting with large groups of kids on my own, especially after my infamous storytime incident.
Jack started another song, one that must have been an original. It was hard to hear the lyrics over the sound of all the yelling. I was fairly sure it was about a boy named Eddy who loved spaghetti.
Clearly the kids knew the words. At one point there was a break from the guitar and Jack pointed at the audience.
"Eddy!" Jack yelled.
"Spaghetti!" The kids yelled back.
It was one of those songs that involved audience interaction. Kids always loved those. The song continued with more chances for the kids to yell back. I was confident that whenever the guitar stopped, the call-and-response would begin.
The song was catchy. I couldn't help but admire Jack's hands as he strummed the strings on the guitar. His fingers -
No.
Bad thought.
I was caught up in the song, that was all. I wanted to play along, to have some innocent fun. I tapped my toes against the stool, humming along, when the guitar stopped. Jack looked expectantly at the audience. He took a breath and said, "Eddy-"
"Spaghetti!" I shouted.
The kids burst into laughter. I had been the only one to yell. I was mortified.
The bartender snorted nearby. Even the parents chuckled.
And Jack looked up at me from the microphone.
We made eye contact. It was the longest three seconds of my life.
"Friends, that's not how the song goes!" He strummed the guitar. "Let's teach her what we say when the song ends. Eddy-"
He let the word drag out. That was my mistake. It was the end of the song, and he let the word rest for a few moments before breaking out into an acoustic riff that was wasted on these six-year-olds. The kids boogied. One girl did a somersault. A boy took off his shirt, just because he felt like it.
And then, only at the very end, did everyone finally shout "Spaghetti!"
I drowned my sorrows by finishing my Coke as if it was a shot of tequila. As soon as I finished it the bartender placed another beside it. "On the house," he said. "For the embarrassment."
My cheeks flamed. "Thanks."
I had been planning on bailing as soon as possible. Just from the one song I knew that Jack was popular and had a loyal following. I was sure that any library event would be a hit with him as the performer. It was time for me to leave while I had any shred of dignity left.
But now I had an extra drink to finish, so I decided to wallow in my mortification and stay for a bit.
Jack endlessly launched into more songs. They were originals, from what I could tell, rather than covers. And the kids knew all the words! He could start the world's first kiddie cult based on pasta.
Eventually the evening came to a close. That was one positive thing about working with children; events ended early. It was only 8pm and Jack was wrapping up.
"Thanks for coming tonight!" He said over the sounds of cheering and clapping. He made eye contact with me again from across the room. "Don't forget to stick around if you want to chat."
I knew, instantly, the line was just for me. Children didn't want to chat. Children wanted to run and scream and put stickers on things. And their parents would just want to go home.
In the end, I was right - there was only a small grouping around Jack as he stepped down from the stage and put his guitar away. I could hear someone asking about Linguine, whoever that was. Another kid wanted to know if Jack could replace his brother because Jack was much cooler.
"Another drink?" the bartender asked me.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. Jack was clearly on his way over to talk to me. Was this a business deal or something more? Business, I chanted in my head. Business, business, business.
By the time the parents and their tired children had left, Jack had finished cleaning up. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him walk towards me. I pretended to be very engrossed with something on my phone.
"You must be the famous Emma," he said, sliding onto the stool next to mine.
"The one and only," I said.
Up close he had a certain magnetism about him, even clad in his usual pasta-themed outfit. His sweater, for example, couldn't hide the definition of his arms. And his jeans were a little tight for a kid-friendly concert. I focused on looking at his face.
A strong jaw, light stubble, green eyes. I guessed him to be in his early twenties.
Business. Business. Business.
"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked. His voice was a little cracked from all the singing. Up close I could see a small scar over his left eyebrow.
"I did," I said, and meant it. "You have quite the loyal following."
"You'd be surprised at how much kids' parents are willing to shell out for something like this," he said. He ran a hair through his hair. "They want someone else to entertain the terrors for a minute."
The way he said it - with a smile and an eyebrow raise - made the comment seem lighthearted. Still, for some reason, I couldn't help but check the time on my phone.
"Are you on your way somewhere?" he asked.
"Not really," I admitted. A question had been lurking at the back of my head. "How did you know it was me, sitting here?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, you were the only person between the age of nine and thirty," he said. "But to tell you the truth, I Googled you. There was a picture of you when you were first hired."
Ah, right. I had never gotten around to filling out my own staff page, but Cherryhill was small enough that the hiring of a librarian was a relatively big deal. I knew the picture he was talking about. I was standing in front of a shelf of colorful books, holding a stack of children's books.
"You looked..." Jack's sentence trailed away before he cleared his throat again. "Anyways. Want to head somewhere else? We can talk more about this event of yours. Potential event," he added, when he saw my pointed look.
"Of course," I said. I was more tired than I expected, likely due to the hour of screaming I'd just endured. Still, this was my opportunity to see if Jack would be a good fit for a library event. It was fine for kids to run wild here, but it would be different in a library space.
"I know a great place just down the street," he said. "I'll take you there." Before I knew it, our bills were settled, and we were out the door.