by Tifani Clark
*****
On Saturday morning I woke up way earlier than intended, just as the sun rose over the ocean outside my bedroom window. I slept much better than I had the night before. Thankfully, no creepy feelings or sounds woke me up again. After spending at least an hour trying unsuccessfully to fall back asleep, I got out of bed and crossed the hall to my bathroom. Dad had a bathroom in his bedroom, and since I didn’t have any siblings I got the other bathroom all to myself. I guess that’s one perk of being an only child.
I took a long, hot shower and only came out when my skin was beet red and shriveled and the water had started to run cold. After pulling my still-wet hair into a ponytail, I shuffled down the stairs. Dad sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.
“Good morning. How was your night? I came in to see you when I got home, but you were already asleep,” he said.
“I was tired so I went to bed kind of early.” I poured myself a bowl of cereal.
“What are you doing this weekend? Any grand adventures planned?” he joked.
“Not really. Cam and I might get together Sunday, but tonight is the prom. She’s going. I’m not.”
“Oh. I see.” Dad twisted uncomfortably in his seat before changing the subject. “Jamie, I know I’ve been working a lot lately, but we’re trying really hard to straighten out some budget issues for next year and I’ll probably be working most of the weekend. Do you have any books to read or something else to keep you occupied?”
“Not right now. I’ve finished everything I checked out during my last trip to the library,” I said between bites. Dad hated it when I talked with food in my mouth. “I planned on biking over there this morning. I still need to finish an English report, too. I’m sure I can keep myself busy.”
He folded his newspaper and gave me a look mixed with both love and pity. Leaning down, he kissed me on the forehead before grabbing his car keys and briefcase and hurrying out the door to the garage.
Dad, or Randall Peters to his colleagues, was the Dean of Academic Affairs at Newton University in nearby New Bedford. He was a good father and he tried hard, but I think he sometimes hid at work so he wasn't reminded of his loneliness. My mom left us when I was only six. I had a few happy memories from when she was still around, but mostly I just remembered her fighting with Dad all the time. When she left they didn’t get divorced—they separated. It only made matters worse. Dad wouldn’t even consider dating anyone else since he was technically still married. I think he secretly hoped she’d return for good someday. Anyway, Dad was an economics professor at Newton University, but shortly after Mom left he was promoted to Dean of Academic Affairs and left me with the task of raising myself.
I carried my empty cereal bowl to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher along with the dishes Dad left. Gazing out the kitchen window, I let out a deep sigh. I felt dull. It was as if life was passing me by and I just watched, waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did.
While in junior high, I read all the Nancy Drew mysteries. I used to think of myself as Nancy Drew. She was raised by her father like me, but Dad and I don’t have the luxury of a full-time housekeeper like Nancy did. In our home, I was the housekeeper. I wished that there would be some mystery that would fall into my lap so I could go on fact-finding journeys with my friends George and Bess. In my case, it would be Camille and whichever other friends we could persuade to come along. I wouldn’t even mind having a hot boyfriend like Nancy did. I really did live in a fantasy world.
I wandered back upstairs to my room and plopped onto my bed, sitting cross-legged with my laptop in front of me. If I started right then, I knew I could finish my English report before the library even opened for the day. I was writing a report on the John Steinbeck novel, Of Mice and Men. We’d been given two weeks to read the book and then another week to write a three-page paper about it. I finished the book in two days. I was pretty sure Camille was still somewhere in the first half.
At eleven o’clock I hit save on my computer and printed the final copy of my report. Probably not my best work, but I was confident it would get an ‘A’ anyway. I stretched my arms over my head and twisted in my chair in an effort to straighten my back, stiff from being hunched over the computer for an hour. I emptied the contents of my backpack onto my bed, refilled it with library books ready to return, and headed for the garage. At least Dad had gotten me a nice bike a couple of years before. I would have hated to ride the same purple bike with a basket and a bell that I had when I was a child. Talk about a reputation killer. I got plenty of exercise riding my bike everywhere. If there were frequent flyer miles for library addicts, I’d be traveling free for the rest of my life. I think there’s even a rut on the sidewalk—thanks to me and my Schwinn—between my house and the library in town. It’s not that I didn’t like to do anything else but read, I just got bored by myself. A lot. And books could take me to places I couldn’t go in reality.
I let myself out through the garage using the keyless entry and headed down the driveway. That morning felt much more like spring than the previous day and my light jacket was more than enough to keep me warm. I even heard birds chirping in the trees. I could feel my mood getting better with every turn of my wheels.
The Elizabeth Taber Library is an older multi-story building with mature trees shading the front of the structure. Its white and gray exterior welcomed me as it always did. I chained my bike to a rack on the rear side of the building and went inside. I browsed through the young adult section, looking for any good mysteries that I hadn’t already read a million times. Since nothing jumped off the shelf at me, I made my way to the adult section in hopes of finding something more intriguing.
As I moved up and down the aisles, pulling out books and reading their covers, the familiar creepy feeling returned. I felt like I was being watched. The hair on my arms stood up and I shivered unexpectedly. Slowly, I lifted my head and turned my gaze toward the end of the aisle. I gasped and dropped the book I’d been holding when I saw who was standing there. Aphrodite.
Okay, things were getting a little weird. Other than Dad and kids from school, I didn’t usually see people I knew three times in two days, let alone complete strangers. Our town was small so it was odd that I didn’t know who the new girl was. Aphrodite disappeared around a shelf as quickly as she’d appeared and I went back to making my book selections, shrugging off the incident. I finally chose three that sounded promising from the descriptions on their book jackets and weaved my way to the circulation desk. You know you’re a library freak when all the librarians can greet you by name before you even pull out your library card.
There’s a cushiony chair near a window in the back of the building that I usually sat in while reading. It had a permanent butt imprint and I was almost certain it was made entirely by my rear end. I could always go home and read, but there I would be alone. At the library, I could read and watch as the world moved by around me. Occasionally I’d even see someone from school and get invited to “hang out.” Hey, I wasn’t a complete book nerd.
I was pulled from a story of sabotage and blackmail by the sound and feel of my stomach growling. Smells from Grandma’s Café and Bakery across the street drifted in through one of the open windows of the library. I glanced at my watch, shocked to see that it was almost one o’clock. It occurred to me that I could read at the café just as easily as I could at the library, except at Grandma’s I could eat a grilled cheese and greasy fries while I read. And, who was I kidding? I was definitely getting a milkshake, too.