by Kasie West
“Two days. You can last two days. I have a couple of protein bars in my bag. You can have them.”
I wasn’t going to eat those all by myself. I’d feel terrible. “Do you normally give yourself so little food when camping?”
“I’m normally not locked inside a building. I really hadn’t planned on the library. It was a last minute decision.”
I rubbed my arms. “Is this building really warmer than camping in the snow?”
He smiled.
“Can we at least try to turn up the heat?”
We stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the thermostat. Dax had used his knife to pry open the small lock. He was now pushing the On button, but it would only flash then turn back off.
“Maybe it’s programmed for certain hours,” he said.
“Let me try.”
“You can push a button differently than me?”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “Maybe.” I pushed the Up arrow several times, hoping to turn up the heat, but this time it didn’t even pretend like it was trying. I flipped open the panel. On the back side were instructions on how to program it, but even following them to the letter did nothing.
“You can wear this sweatshirt too if you want.” He pulled on the front of the one he had on.
“No, that’s okay. I’m fine for now. I just feel like it’s only going to get colder.”
“It’s probably not turned off, just down. They wouldn’t want the pipes to freeze.”
He was right—maybe this was as cold as it would get. “I hate being cold.” I turned toward him. “I especially hate cold ears. Feel them.”
“Feel your ears?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
When it was obvious he wasn’t going to do it himself, I took him by the wrists and directed his hands onto my ears. We were now facing each other. He was half a foot taller, and I looked up to meet his eyes. His hands felt warm, so I knew my ears must’ve been as cold as I knew they would be. “See. Cold.”
He didn’t say a word, just stared at me.
I felt stupid so I took a step back. “Socks. Maybe I can borrow a pair of your socks.”
“For your ears?”
I smiled. “For my feet.”
He cleared his throat and looked down at my feet and barely-there socks. “Yes.” In a surprise move, he reached around me, pulled the hood of the sweatshirt onto my head and tightened the strings so I could only see out a small opening. “That should help too.” There was a teasing sparkle in his eyes, one I’d never seen there before.
I laughed and shoved him, freeing myself from the hood.
A single overhead light clicked on. I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten. We’d just spent the entire day in the library. Two more and this would be over.
CHAPTER 12
As much as I’d wanted to sleep on the couch in the break room, it was too cold. So here we were again, on the main floor in the library, surrounded by books. Dax had loaned me a pair of socks, as well as the sleeping bag, and I was on the ground, pulling those socks as high as possible.
“What did you do with my toothpaste?” he asked from the other side of the table. Ever since I hadn’t pulled the fire alarm an hour ago, Dax’s expression had seemed less guarded. Like maybe he trusted me a little more now. It was a good change. It felt like we had some sort of pact, like we were on the same team now, like we were in this together.
“Oh, it’s in the girls’ bathroom. I’ll go get it for you.”
I started to get up when he stopped me with, “It’s fine. I’ll get it.”
“You can’t go in the girls’ bathroom.”
“Why not?” He sounded amused.
“Because . . . because . . . huh, I guess you can. We can do whatever we want. We make our own rules here!” My voice echoed through the room. I wasn’t sure if it was my tiredness or boredom taking over, but I started to giggle and couldn’t stop.
“Should I be worried?”
“Nope,” I said through my laughter. “Go brush your teeth in the girls’ bathroom. Don’t mind me.”
Last time I’d gotten a case of uncontrollable laughter was a couple weeks ago when my brother and I ate a whole bowl of cookie dough while my mom was on a phone call. She’d come back to help us finish baking and all the dough was gone.
“You’re going to get sick. There was raw egg in that.”
I’d looked at my brother and it had probably been the sheer amount of sugar we’d just ingested, but we both started laughing. When my mom continued to be irritated, we only laughed more. Eventually we’d worn her down and she had joined in.
“You’re still laughing,” Dax said when he came back a few minutes later. “It wasn’t that funny.”
“I know.” I had pulled the cushions off several chairs and arranged them under the sleeping bag. I crawled inside and zipped it clear up to my chin. “But when I start, it’s hard to stop.”
“You do this a lot?”
“Just when I’m tired . . . or hyper . . . or happy. Oh, and sometimes when I’m nervous.”
He gave a single laugh. “So the answer is yes.”
“I guess so.” The laughing picked up again.
He stretched out on the other side of the table from me, wadding up a shirt and placing it under his head. “But eventually it stops?”
Usually by now, the person who was witnessing my laughing spell had already joined me. Dax wasn’t having it, though, which only made me laugh more. “We’re stuck in a library.”
“Good night.” He reached up to the table between us and turned out the light.
“You’re no fun.” My giggling worked its way down for the next several minutes and eventually stopped.
I tried to sleep, but instead lay staring at the ceiling. Maybe it was the memory I’d just had of my mom, or the darkness that now surrounded us, but worry inched its way into my mind and crawled around freely there, dispelling the levity of before. Worry about my parents trying to get ahold of me. Worry about my friends thinking I had ditched them. Worry that Avi really did like Jeff and she’d beat me to telling him at the bonfire. My brain wouldn’t shut off. I tried to distract myself by thinking of something I could talk to Dax about.
“What would your government consist of?” I asked.
“What?” Dax answered from the blackness.
“Aside from being able to brush your teeth in the girls’ bathroom. What are your rules in our fake world?”
“Rule one. No talking once the lights go out.”
I laughed. “I would veto that rule immediately.”
He made a breathy sound that could’ve been a laugh, but it also could’ve been a sigh.
“Because we’re co-rulers in the library world.” I turned onto my side, propping myself on my elbow, even though I couldn’t see him. His body made a darker shape twenty feet from me, and I tried to focus on that. “My first rule would be games. We have to play games.”
“Head games?”
I gave a single laugh. “You’re good at those, but no. Real games.”
“Like poker?”
“Yes, like poker.”
“You like games,” he said.
“Yes.” Especially games with lots of steps and instructions where I could concentrate on those and not let my head get the better of me. Just talking about rules right now was relaxing me. Structure sometimes helped me feel safe. “What about you? What do you like?”
I thought he wasn’t going to answer, which wouldn’t have surprised me, but he did. “Hiking. Nature.”
“And reading?”
“Yes.”
“So, exploring new places?” I said.
“Yeah . . . I guess so.”
“That can be rule two. You must read in the library. I mean, that rule doesn’t make sense at all, but we’ll keep it.” He probably couldn’t see my smile, but even I could hear it in my voice.
“There should be no rules in our world,” he said.
“You�
��re right. That will be rule number three.”
This time he did laugh. A warm, deep laugh that made my smile double. It was the first time I’d heard it, and I hoped it wouldn’t be the last. I lay back down. “Good night, Dax.”
“Night.”
When I woke up, Dax was already gone from his spot. I stretched. Considering I’d slept on the floor, I had slept really well. I’d been warm and comfortable. Now that I was awake, I had a slight pain in my stomach from hunger, and I had to pee, but I did not want to get out of the sleeping bag. I stayed where I was as long as I possibly could, until I couldn’t hold it anymore.
After a trip to the bathroom I downed a full cup of water, hoping it would trick my stomach into thinking it wasn’t hungry. It worked a little. Then I went back to the checkout desk, where I remembered seeing something the day before in my search for an alarm.
“What are you doing?” Dax asked when he came into the room and found me behind the desk digging through a wicker basket.
“This is Mother Goose’s basket.”
“Okay.”
“She brings this to reading time every week. It has those cheapie little toys she hands out to the kids.” I sifted through a few more of those toys. “Why do they call her Mother Goose anyway?”
“Mother Goose is the fake author of nursery rhymes.”
“Fake author?”
“You know, like Lemony Snicket.”
“Who’s Lemony Snicket? And what’s a fake author?”
“It’s an imaginary person they attribute the writing of a book to. It makes the story seem more magical.”
“Oh.”
“So why are you interested in Mother Goose’s toys?”
My hand closed around what I’d been looking for. “Aha!” I held it up in the air, then threw it in the pile of the other things I’d already found.
“What is it?”
“A sticky hand.”
“Okay, then.” He tossed me a protein bar. “I’m going to read now.”
“No. You’re not. I’m bored out of my mind.”
“Maybe you should sing.”
My eyes shot to his. Had he heard me that first day belting out songs at the top of my lungs? Of course he had. “You know very well I can’t sing.”
He laughed, and my cheeks went red.
“I’m implementing rule number one,” I said, changing the subject. I ripped open the wrapper of the protein bar and took a bite. “Did you already eat one of these?”
“I told you they’re yours.”
I broke off another piece and handed him the rest. “I can’t eat all the food. I’d get a guilt headache.”
“A guilt headache?”
“It’s a thing.”
“It must be a nice person thing.” He popped the protein bar in his mouth.
“Funny.”
“Rule number one?” he asked, turning his attention back to my pile of toys.
“Games. Eat, and then we compete.” I gave a single laugh. “That totally rhymed.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was an amused look in them. Yes, me not pulling the fire alarm was the best thing I could have done. We were definitely on the same team now.
CHAPTER 13
We stood at the top of opposite wood staircases. He held a wrapped green Slinky and I held a red one. “Whichever one makes it to the bottom first wins. You can only touch it if it gets stuck,” I called across to him, my voice echoing in the large space.
“I could be reading right now.”
“I could be eating a home-cooked meal right now, but we’re both making sacrifices for the greater good.”
He smiled, then tore open the plastic wrapping with his teeth. “Are you going to be as good at this as you were at poker?”
“Hey! Better to talk smack after you win.”
We both placed our Slinkys at the top. I counted to three and we let go. His went three steps before falling between the slats of the handrail to the tile floor below. I laughed as mine kept going. “You’re still in the game,” I said. “You just have to get it and put it back on the same step.”
He ran down the stairs faster than I would’ve expected and hopped the banister at the bottom. He collected his Slinky and ran back up. I’d never seen him so animated as he put his Slinky back on the step and gave it a nudge to get it going again. It was too late, though; I had directed mine to a win before his had made it another five steps. I raised both hands in the air. “Winner! Who can talk smack now?”
He folded his arms and leaned against the railing as if waiting for me to give it my best shot.
“I win because I’m the best,” I said lamely.
“You’ve had a lot of practice, I see.”
“I win all the time. I’m just humble about it.”
He let out a single laugh, then scooped his Slinky up off the floor. “Best two out of three?”
“Sure. It’s not like we don’t have all the time in the world.”
After my fifth win in a row he stood at the top of his set of stairs studying his Slinky. “Maybe mine is defective.”
“Is that the excuse you’re going with?”
He flipped it over and pulled on the end. “If I had a penny and some gum . . .”
I lowered my eyebrows. “What?”
“If one side was weighted I think it would go faster.”
“And what would the gum be used for?”
“I’d have to stick the penny on with something.”
“And gum was the go-to? Not tape or superglue?”
“I was trying to think of two things we might actually be able to find in this place.”
“Let’s move on to the next game before you start searching under tables.”
“Next game?”
“Follow me.”
I led him to the end of the hall, past a bronze bust of the president of the college the building used to house, then turned around. The other wrapped toys were in my pocket, and I brought out the two mini Frisbees I had found. Each had a plastic launcher.
“So you put the Frisbee in the launcher and you squeeze the end. Whichever one goes farthest wins.”
“Is there a secret to make it go farther?”
“I don’t know. You seem to be the one with all the secrets.” When I realized how that sounded I quickly added, “I mean, pennies, gum—maybe you have some modification for this as well.”
“I don’t,” he said.
“Well, I haven’t used one of these since I was little, so I have no idea. You want a few practice rounds?” I thought he’d say no, but as he opened the package and stared at the blue disc he held, he nodded his head. I stifled a laugh. He was taking this more seriously than I thought he would.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, it’s something. What?”
“You’re competitive.”
He smirked. “I’m not the one who pouted every time I lost a hand of poker.”
“I did not pout.”
“What do you call it, then?”
I launched my disc. “I call it showing emotions. You should try it.”
“What are emotions?” He sent his disc flying down the hall as well. His landed several feet past mine. How had he done that? “So, I won?”
“No! That was a practice round. You wanted a practice round.”
“Who’s competitive again?”
I shoved his shoulder. “I’m not. I just like to follow the pre-established rules.”
He laughed and collected our discs. “Whatever you want to call it.”
When he held up his hand readying his launcher, I pushed on his arm, sending the disc flying into the wall.
He gave me a grunt, but his eyes were smiling.
I held mine up and I hadn’t noticed that he’d moved around behind me until he picked me up by the waist and swung me to face the wrong direction.
“Cheater!” I called out as my disc ricocheted off the window behind us.
“I thought dis
tractions were in the pre-established rules.”
“Okay, fine, no interference this time. We launch them together.”
As we held them up I kept looking at him, waiting for him to push me off balance or something. He didn’t, but I felt off balance and sent my mini Frisbee a little too high. His was aimed perfectly by a steady, unaffected hand. He won the round.
“Is it time for rule number two to go into effect yet?” Dax asked after totally dominating several rounds of the Frisbee game.
“Rule number two?”
“Reading.”
“Oh.” I laughed.
“Or rule number three would work fine too.”
“I vetoed rule number three. Last game.” I pulled him by his arm into the glass-enclosed walkway. The stained-glass window, the focal point of the hall, sparkled even brighter from the light reflecting off the snow-covered scenery outside. I handed him a sticky hand. “We need a tiebreaker.”
“What’s the game?”
“Whichever one stays stuck to the glass the longest is the winner.”
“The winner of what?” he asked.
“Did you want to play for something? Another truth?”
He pinched the hand between his fingers as if testing its sticking power, then nodded. “Sure.”
I counted to three and launched my hand over the rail. My red hand stuck a little higher on the curving arch of the window. His green one had a piece of the long string arm that hadn’t quite stuck. I was going to win. We just had to wait it out.
“How long do they stick for?” he asked.
“My brother once threw one on the ceiling and it stayed up there for two days.”
“Two days?”
“That’s not the norm, though. Didn’t you ever play with these as a kid?”
“No. I did not.”
I sat down and leaned against the railing. I stretched my legs out in front of me.
“Nice socks,” he said.
I smiled. I had pulled his socks over my jeans, and even though I knew it looked ridiculous, it was keeping me a little warmer. “Thanks. Everyone should wear them this way.”
He sat down next to me, our shoulders almost touching. An electric energy seemed to radiate between us. We were probably just the only heat sources to be found in this hallway, making that energy seem like a tangible force.