Page 10

Five
Henley
2009
“What do you mean, someonechecked it out?” I say, staring at the librarian like she told me she took my book out back and burned it.
“There was a hold on it, Henley,” Margo, the librarian says, her tone calm and reasonable. “There was nothing I could do.”
“A hold?” I say shaking my head. “I’ve been checking that book out for the last six months, and no one else has ever wanted it.”
Her fingers click on her a keyboard a few times. “He placed the hold on it three days ago.”
“He?”
Margo blanches a bit at my tone. I sound angry. Probably because I am.
“Yes, a young man came in and picked it up, not more than an hour ago.”
“What young man?” I feel my spine straighten and my neck go stiff. “What’s his name?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Henley,” she chides me before twisting her mouth just a bit. “But I will tell you he didn’t leave…” her finger comes up off her keyboard and points toward the back of the library.
I should say thank you—while she didn’t break the rules for me, she certainly bent them—but I don’t. I just spin on my heel and stomp my way across the library, toward the back corner, where some idealistic, young librarian set up a couple of beanbag chairs and a few game tables and proudly proclaimed it the Teen Reading Center. There’s a sign and everything.
I’ve never seen anyone here but me.
Until today.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, standing over where he’s slouched into a tie-dyed beanbag chair, my copy of Gatsby held up in front of his face.
“Reading.” As if to prove it, Conner licks the tip of his index finger and uses it to catch onto a worn page so he can turn it.
“Why?” I sputter the word out, fists clenched at my side.
He arches a brow at me, the corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Because reading is fundamental, Henley.”
A weird sounding scream comes out of me. Like I’m being strangled. My face is so hot if feels like it’s melting off my bones.
Conner looks at me over the top of my book, his brow furrowed. Despite the look he’s giving me, he’s on the verge of laughing. “Shhh, people are trying to read.”
“That’s my book,” I say, louder than I should and more than a few people look at us. Margo shoots me a warning look and it reminds me of my mother.
Ladies don’t cause a scene.
He turns the book so he can look at the back cover before flashing it at me, along with another grin. “This book is the property of the Boston City Library—that means it belongs to everybody.”
I swallow hard, refusing exit to the swell of tears that threatens to pull me under. He doesn’t understand. How could he? With his brand-new shoes and parents who love each other, almost as much as they love him.
He could never understand.
So, I kick him.
Hard. Right in the knee.
“Fuck you,” I snarl at him, for a moment unable to believe that I said something like that out loud.
Ladies never swear.