A Kind of Paradise

by Amy Rebecca Tan

  Lenny got to him first, at the exact moment Black Hat Guy jerked too hard and pulled his charging wire out of the wall socket. The whole outlet came out of the wall with it, the screws caked with dried plaster, a small cloud of white dust raining down on the carpet below. Black Hat Guy popped up from his slumped sleeping position like a jack-in-the-box and reached frantically for the plug end of his charging wire. Lenny reached out to soothe him.

  “You’re in the library and you’re all right,” Lenny said to him, over and over. “You’re in the library and it’s all good, man. You’re in the library and you’re all right.” It almost sounded like an old folk song, the way Lenny said it.

  Beverly stood a few feet behind Lenny, running her hands down her corduroy pants, looking like she wanted to help but giving Lenny space to try first.

  After a few minutes of this, Black Hat Guy started to relax and slumped back into his turtle posture. His neck retracted into his bulky sweatshirt. His breathing slowed.

  I was walking behind the circulation desk to return cleaning supplies when Lenny noticed me and called, “Hey there, Jamie. Think you could get us a drink of water?”

  Lenny was kneeling now beside the chair, his hand still on Black Hat Guy’s shoulder. He smiled at me encouragingly.

  I headed straight to the watercooler outside Beverly’s office. Bubbles glugged up as I pushed the button in and watched cold water pour into a tissue-thin paper cup.

  Lenny took the cup from me. “Thank you, Jamie. This is excellent.” He handed it to Black Hat Guy carefully. “Here you go, man. Nature’s wine.”

  Black Hat Guy took a careful sip, then said, “Nature’s wine is actually wine, I think.” His voice was shaky but his face looked normal again, the bits of it you could see, at least.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” Lenny laughed. Beverly laughed, too, which made Lenny turn and realize for the first time that she was right behind him. I walked back to the circ desk to stand with Sonia.

  “I think we’re doing okay now, Beverly. We’re looking good,” Lenny told her.

  “Okay, great.” Beverly looked relieved and nodded in approval. “Is there anything I can get you?” she asked anyway.

  “We’re all good, right, man?” Lenny asked Black Hat Guy.

  “Yeah, sorry, though. Sorry for the racket,” he mumbled, addressing Beverly without looking up at her. The way he said it, and the way he was all slumped in his chair with his head down, made me think of the day I sat in Mrs. Shupe’s office, offering my own apology, slumped the same shameful way in one of her hard wooden chairs.

  “Oh, no, no, it’s okay. It’s no problem. I’m glad everything’s okay now. Just let me know if you need anything,” Beverly offered. She smiled at Black Hat Guy and smiled at Lenny and then headed back to her office, nodding to the few patrons she passed on her way, telling them, “Everything’s fine. I apologize for the disturbance. Everything’s okay.”

  “Must have been one banger of a dream,” Lenny said to Black Hat Guy.

  “Yeah, well. I have that one a lot. Keeps coming back.”

  “I hear you,” Lenny told him, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “I hear that.”

  Lenny and Black Hat Guy continued to talk quietly while I stood by Sonia, who was busy checking circulation statistics on the computer. I could only see the back of Lenny from where I stood. The hair on the top of his head was so thin you could see scalp peeking through, but his ponytail of wiry brown and gray hair hung a good ten inches down his back. He was wearing another one of his thin peasant tops made out of hemp. He had already explained to me how that cloth was made from the hemp plant, and how you could eat hemp, too. It seemed strange that something you could eat could also be turned into something you could wear, but I didn’t doubt him. He knew a ton about plants and loved putting healthy ingredients in the treats he brought to the library for us. Lenny really liked to feed people and take care of them. “Best way to help yourself is to help others,” he had told me several times already, like it was his own personal motto.

  Which was probably why he was the first to get to Black Hat Guy when his nightmare burst the seams of his brain and shattered all over the library.

  “That was weird,” I said to Sonia quietly.

  “I’ve seen weirder,” she said back, not missing a beat.

  I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “I’ve worked here twenty-some years now,” she told me, cupping her mug of steaming coffee with both hands. “Trust me, I could write a book.”

  “Are you going to?” I asked, completely serious.

  “Ay Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a writer now? What, with all my free time?” She tsk-tsked at me. “There are lots of people out there with stories to tell, anyway. I bet his is a doozy.” She nodded toward Black Hat Guy.

  I looked at Black Hat Guy again. He looked like a kid hunkered down in his sleeping bag, hiding from the screeches and creaks of the dark outdoors around him.

  Lenny kept talking and Black Hat Guy kept listening and responding.

  “I’ve never seen him talk to anybody before. Ever,” I told Sonia.

  “Everyone talks to Lenny,” Sonia said. “He’s like the bartender of libraries.”

  Lenny looked over then, as if he had heard his name. He smiled at me quickly but then rested his eyes on Sonia. A sudden warmth glowed from his skin, and his face seemed to open up as he gazed at her.

  I knew that look.

  I knew that feeling.

  That was me whenever I saw Trey. Tall, lanky, artsy Trey, with his velvety dark hair and his tiny tan mole under his left eye and his sketchbook clutched like a life preserver to his chest. Trey, who just had to be Trina’s older brother, who just had to smell like the most perfect mix of pencil shavings and cinnamon, who just had to tell his friend how worried he was about his language arts final on Jane Eyre when I was sitting right behind him at Art Club.

  I heard the concern in his voice. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

  Trey.

  And I could see now that Sonia was Lenny’s Trey. Lenny’s face said it all. He was crazy in love with her. Maybe that was why he said Foxfield was a good place to be. Maybe Sonia was why he was “staying put.”

  Sonia caught Lenny staring and turned back to her computer screen, shaking her head slowly.

  Working at the library just got a little more interesting.

  Black Hat Guy

  Lightning crackled across the sky and thunder boomed loud and sudden. It was Friday afternoon and we hadn’t had rain in weeks. The sky ripped open and gigantic drops, heavy and cold, fell with such force they bounced back up from the pavement. I was behind the library, emptying the metal book-drop containers, totally unprepared for rain.

  Luckily, there were only five books in the drop. I shoved them under my shirt and quickly worked to secure the book-drop doors, twisting the combination locks like Beverly had showed me, before hightailing it back into the library. One raindrop found its way under my shirt collar. It snaked down my back, leaving a trail of chill that made me shiver.

  As I struggled to wipe the water off my back, I noticed Black Hat Guy headed my way, weaving through the cars in the parking lot behind the library. He was moving quickly, and for the first time his sweatshirt, jeans, and hat made perfect sense for the weather. He was hunched over, as always, his stuffed backpack hanging off one shoulder like it was just another part of his body.

  I reached the front door the same time as Black Hat Guy. While I struggled to get a hand out from under my shirt where I was protecting the books, Black Hat Guy pulled open the door. He held it open while the rain pelted him and, looking down at his feet, muttered, “After you.”

  I hurried into the dry library. The cold of the AC brought goose bumps to my arms and legs instantly. Black Hat Guy followed me in and sighed like a weary traveler who had finally arrived home. He dripped his way to his chair, leaned his backpack against it, and plugged in his phone to charge
. Drops of water sprayed from the tips of his boots with each step he took. He helped himself to several paper towels by the watercooler and proceeded to wipe down his jeans and sweatshirt, front and back, before returning to his chair.

  “Oh no, Jamie, the rain got you?” Beverly asked, approaching me with concern.

  “Yes, but it’s fine. There were only a few books.” I pulled them out from under my shirt for her to see. “They look pretty good.”

  “Great job. Thank you.” Beverly smiled at me. “Let’s not empty the book drops again until the rain stops, okay?”

  “Okay, I won’t,” I said, proud that these five books looked okay. I had already been schooled, on my very first day at the library, about the dangers of water. Beverly had explained that water was the absolute worst thing for books. I couldn’t help thinking fire must be at least as bad, but I hadn’t mentioned it. It had been my first day, after all.

  “Well, Sonia can check those in, and we’ll just have to look carefully at any returns now, for water damage,” Beverly told us. She looked at the pile of used paper towels on the floor by Black Hat Guy’s feet and announced, “I’ll go get extra paper towels.”

  I handed the books over to Sonia. “You might want to dry off, Jamie. Your hair is dripping.” She took a handful of hair off my back and lifted it in front of my eyes so I could see the rain collecting on the ends, spheres of water hanging like glass ornaments, then falling silently to the tile floor.

  “Here.” She reached into her purse under the desk and came out with a comb. “Use this.” She handed it to me. “There’s a mirror downstairs by the sink.”

  “That’s okay. I’m fine,” I said, squeezing some water out of my hair.

  “You’re not looking fine at all. Go clean up. It’s important to look professional.” She thrust her comb at me again, then winked and said, “Besides, you never know who might show up here.”

  My mouth opened in response, but nothing came out. How much did she know about me and why I was working at the library this summer?

  “Hurry, go. I may need your help with wet books soon.” Sonia waved me out of her way.

  As soon as I saw my reflection in the mirror downstairs, I knew Sonia was right. Even without the rainstorm, I was a mess. I hadn’t combed my hair after rolling out of bed that morning and I had yellow bags under my eyes. My skin was sickly pale, which made perfect sense considering all the nights I spent in my room drawing until two o’clock in the morning and all the days I spent either inside the library or hiding at home. I didn’t want to see anyone, and I didn’t want anyone to see me. Even my short walk to and from the library each day had me on high alert, my heart pounding in my ears in fear of having to face anyone from school. Vic was at camp for the entire summer, and I didn’t have any other friends. I had people I was friendly with, but they all quietly drifted away once I became the most-talked-about girl in my grade.

  Our middle school Honor Code was long-standing, but it wasn’t like no one ever cheated. It wasn’t like the Honor Code hadn’t been broken before. Earlier this year, cheat sheets were found in a couple of hallway trash cans right after midterm exams. The evidence was clear—answer sheets that matched the tests perfectly—but the teachers weren’t able to prove who had used them. So no one ever got in trouble for it.

  No one got caught. Ever.

  Until me.

  The one time in my whole little life I did something so not me at school, so totally un-Jamie-like, and it had to become a school-wide scandal.

  It had to blow up in my face in the most public way possible.

  (“Our Honor Code cannot be disrespected,” Mrs. Shupe had said back in her office that Wednesday in May. “I’m sure you’re aware of the violations that occurred earlier in the year and the difficulties they presented. We were unable to pinpoint the culprits, which makes your position now particularly . . . unfortunate.” She paused, then her voice became more forceful as she said, as if to an auditorium full of people, “The message to the student body must be loud and clear. There is a zero tolerance policy for this kind of behavior. Helping someone cheat is just as bad as cheating yourself.”)

  I wished I could jump right to the library hours—it sounded much better than facing a whole month of school with everyone talking about me, laughing at me, staring me down in the hallway. From the moment I stepped out of the principal’s office, every whisper I heard seemed to be about me.

  Then Trina made her move, and it got even worse.

  She did it on Thursday, May 25, exactly one day after my meeting with Mrs. Shupe.

  Vic was waiting for me at my locker at the end of the day, same as always, but the look on her face when I got there made my mouth go dry and my skin feel prickly with heat. She didn’t say a word. She just lifted her cell phone to my face so I could see what was on the screen. So I could read what everybody was reading.

  All I had to see was the first line to know exactly what it was.

  “No” came out of me like a dying breath. My stomach cramped and my vision went wobbly and I wanted to evaporate on the spot.

  For the first time ever, Vic couldn’t come up with any reassuring words to say to me. She knew how bad this was.

  I raced home from school and called my mom at her office, begging her to leave work early. Then I collapsed on the kitchen table, sobbing into my arms until I was nothing but a heap of pink puffy eyes and crumpled used tissues.

  My mom made it home in ten minutes flat.

  “Oh, Jamie,” she said gently, pushing my hair off my forehead. “I told you this would be the hard part, these first few days of facing everyone while it’s still fresh. But it’ll fade and people won’t care anymore, you’ll see.”

  “She posted it.”

  “What?” My mom’s forehead wrinkled up. “Who posted it? Posted what?”

  “Trina. My letter.” I could only get out a few words at a time between sobs. “My apology. To Trey.”

  “She posted it?”

  “Yes. Everyone saw it. Everyone read it.” I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe my eyes. “They all know.”

  “Oh no.”

  My mom had encouraged me to write and deliver the apology letter the day it was assigned, so I could at least get one weight off my back. She had also encouraged me to be honest. Mrs. Shupe wasn’t going to see it. She only needed confirmation from Trey that he received it. So I took my mom’s advice and was honest. Very honest. I explained in the letter that I never intended to get him in trouble, that I was only trying to help him with his final because I cared about him, because I liked him so much. Because I had liked him for a long time. Because he was so nice. And smart. And talented. And really cute. And I couldn’t put it into words perfectly—but I just felt connected to him in some way, like maybe we were meant to be.

  I wrote all of that.

  And now the whole world knew. Now I was the cheater and the desperate loser getting in major trouble for a boy who didn’t even like her back.

  I was a total laughingstock.

  My mom didn’t say a word. She just pulled a chair out, sat next to me, and stroked my hair.

  “I can’t go back,” I finally said, my voice muffled in the crook of my arm. “I can’t.”

  “Well, you have to go back. You know that.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Thank you so much for the comfort.” I lifted my head to look at her. Maybe if she saw the true suffering in my face, she’d agree to call me in sick for a few days, maybe a week, maybe two.

  “This is the hand you dealt yourself, and now you have to play it,” was her response.

  She wasn’t going to call me in sick.

  “You know, Trina’s going to get in trouble for doing that, for posting it,” my mom said.

  “So what? That doesn’t undo it,” I huffed. “Everyone knows. I’m totally humiliated.”

  “Forget the summer assignment, honey. I think the real punishment is right here, right now, until school lets out in June.”

  “I d
on’t have to do the summer assignment?” I asked, hopeful.

  “Of course you do. Every single hour of it. I’m just saying the worst part is now, facing everyone, every day, until school ends.”

  I pushed back in my chair, pulled my knees up to my chin, and hugged my shins to me. “So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get through this?”

  “You have Vic.”

  “I have Vic for only three classes a day. I have no one for the other five.”

  My mom let this sink in. She twirled the bracelet on her wrist, a string bracelet I had made her when I was ten that she never took off.

  Finally she said, “Well then, duck feathers.”

  “Huh?”

  “Duck feathers,” she repeated, as if it were self-explanatory.

  “Again, huh?” I asked, trying to be patient.

  “Ducks secrete a waxy oil onto their feathers—”

  “Gross, Mom.” I made a face.

  “Jamie,” my mom scolded, not trying to be patient at all.

  “You said ‘secrete.’ Is there even a grosser word out there?”

  “Ducks have feathers covered in a waxy oil,” she continued, ignoring my question, “that makes them completely waterproof. In the water and out. Even if they’re in a lake and there’s rain pouring down on them, water rolls off their backs. It doesn’t get to them, the real them, underneath. They stay dry and protected—the rain can’t hurt them. You have to be like that.”

  “I have to be like a wet duck?”

  “You have to let it roll off your back.” She took my hand in hers and held it. “The stares, the teasing, the judgments. Let it all roll off your back.”

  “Mom, I’m in middle school,” I reminded her.

  “I know, Jamie.”

  “So that’s, like, the most unhelpful advice ever.”